“Who is this nonsense child Philipe says you’re seeing tonight?” Wendy asked.
“Oswaldo. He’s not a nonsense child. I think he’s in his late thirties.” She tucked her tennis shoes into her locker and elbowed it shut. “How’s my hair? Any of the grays showing?”
“Ha. You’re not that old.”
“Older than you, boss. Older than Oswaldo. But no worries, I’m not going to lure him to my candy-coated cottage in the woods and shove him in the oven.”
“Shove him into your oven,” Wendy snickered.
“I would never shove. That doesn’t sound in the least pleasant. Do I need to have a talk with Mac about his technique?”
Wendy got that happily-married-smug look, so Chloe went on before they crossed the line between ribbing and too much information. “Oswaldo’s niece is Baby Laurens. He was visiting and we got to chatting.”
“Mac’s sister is always complaining about how hard it is to meet men. I don’t know what you’ve got that she doesn’t.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment?” Chloe held the door for Wendy.
“Hush. You’re both pretty and smart and valuable members of society, is all I mean. But Delaney does nothing but complain about trying to meet men who aren’t narcissistic or brutish or players. Is it a race thing?”
Chloe considered the question. “I read something about online dating as a black woman and it was depressing as hell, the automatic bias crap. But it was from a writer up north. New England or some such. Wouldn’t expect it applies the same way in New Orleans, though I’ve got no interest in telling Delaney what her experience is. At a guess, it’s not just that.”
Wendy reached up and fixed Chloe’s earring.
“Thanks.” She checked the other was in place.
“Sure. So, what is it, then? The big difference between you and Delaney?”
“She wants to find a partner. I’m not shopping for true love. She’s right about having to weed thorough some of that crap if we want to date men our age—or close to our age, don’t start with me—but she’s going out on every first date with an either/or scorecard. Not just looking to see if they can have a sweet time for an evening or a couple of weeks. They have to pass a test for the rest of their lives, all over a dish or coffee or a po-boy. It’s a brutish system.”
Wendy was nodding, but shaking her head at the same time. Amusing, but unclear.
“What? Am I wrong about what Delaney wants?”
“No. She may deny it if asked outright, but she’s looking for a life partner. I never thought of it as so either-or before. Mac and I met in college. We were such babies.”
“Especially you.”
“I was twenty when we met.”
“How old was he?”
“Twenty-three. But he was in undergrad still, so I was the one robbing the cradle, not him.”
Chloe shook her head. “Solid logic there, boss.”
“Don’t call me boss.”
“Fine. But either way, Delaney is in her mid-thirties now, correct?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Right, and she puts all this effort into meeting men, does the online thing, asks people to introduce her to single guys, walks her dog at the dog park at peak hours, whatever.”
“Is that why she has two dogs? I thought they were security, or company.”
“That, too. But they can serve a dual purpose.”
“Okay. But if she’s doing all that to meet more men, shouldn’t she be giving the ones she does date more of a chance? She’s always making us check in with her to give her an excuse to get away. They can’t all be so immediately awful.”
“And I’m sure they’re not. But listen, imagine she finds some guy, he’s good on paper or has a cute well-trained dog or whatever. And they’re both looking for a serious relationship. They scope each other out, they agree it’s worth a try. At last, they’re at dinner, and she orders the corn bisque and a veggie burger, or he smacks his lips after he tastes the wine. Something happens. Now for me, I’m not auditioning my date for a role in the rest of my life. He smacks his lips and I think, well, next time we’ll drink beers, and my problem is solved. I can drink wine with other men, or on my own. I don’t have to pretend your checking-in text is a 9-1-1 from the dog sitter. Meanwhile, he’s not contemplating a life sharing meals with a pescetarian, wondering if he has to brush the meat taste out of his mouth after every meal, or put up with lectures about factory farms. If I’m Delaney, both of us are on edge, looking for the deal-breaker, and knowing that as soon as it appears we want to never see each other again. But we’re also trying to stay positive, because of how cute his dog is or how great my list of favorite books was, or whatever other element was the bright spark that convinced us we could be fated.”
“This is so grim.”
She shrugged. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t go husband-hunting. Take Oswaldo. He was visiting Baby Laurens, he brought his brother and sister-in-law smoothies, he rolled up his sleeves to scrub his hands before meeting the baby. Nice forearms, nice eyes, kind demeanor. He caught me checking his hand for a ring, gave me a smile. Stopped to chat some nonsense on his way out, so I asked him out.”
“Just like that?”
“Sure, why not? I’m single, he’s single, we might have fun. If he’s lucky, we might have a lot of fun.”
“But how do you know he’s not looking for something long-term?”
She paused by Wendy's car. It was a nice day. And she had time, so she’d declined the offer of a ride. It was her habit to leave her car at home when she had after-work dates. “What if he is? I’m not stopping him.”
“But you don’t want to get married.”
“I’m not opposed to long-term relationships.”
“Just to marriage?”
“Look, there’s nothing wrong with marriage. I admire yours, if you want to know the truth. You and Mac are good to each other. My twin’s got a great marriage. Our brother and sister, too, far as I can see. Secure marriages everywhere, and more power to them. But that’s not my goal. I don’t need it.”
Wendy reared her head back. “Need it? I don’t need my marriage. I love it.”
She resisted rolling her eyes. The lifers always got defensive about their choice. “It’s not an insult. Loads of people are looking for what you and Mac have. Look at Delaney—she’d be over the moon for your kind of security and comfort. Don’t go getting offended because I feel fine about my life without having a ring on my finger.”
Wendy’s mock-surrender hands matched her wry tone. “No need to take out a three-page complaint ad in the hospital newsletter. I get it. You like your life. I like my life. We both like our lives. And if Oswaldo has designs on your maiden name, you’ll set him out on his ear.”
“A three-page ad? Does the newsletter even take advertising?”
“I don’t know. I think so?”
“Well, I won’t ask. I don’t intend to lead the poor man up the garden path. If he’s sitting there judging the rest of our lives because I pay for his dinner, we just won’t go out again. And if he turns out to be great in bed and charming upon further acquaintance and, I don’t know, makes me a nice meal when I’ve had a hard day at work. Then, fine, he can throw his happily-ever-after agenda at me, and I’ll think about it.”
Wendy's head cocked to the side. “You just told me you’re not interested in marriage.”
“I’m not seeking out marriage. I’m not dating with an eye on eternity. That doesn’t mean I won’t find some man I can’t live without, someday. It means I like living alone, directing my own actions, and also, I like dating. Meeting new people, getting to hear about their lives and tell them about mine. It’s fun. If they’re hot and adventurous and make my life easier, all the better.”
Her boss climbed into her car. “Sure you don’t want a lift?”
“Nope. Thanks.”
“Okay. Well, I hope Oswaldo is everything you’re hoping for tonight. Need me to text you in two hours to check in?”
“Not my style. If we don’t work, I’ll just say so and walk away.”
Wendy shook her head again and drove off. The woman did not understand her lifestyle, and that was okay. Most people didn’t. She’d had to explain it to her parents and three of her four siblings over and over; if it weren’t for her unattached baby brother, she’d feel like a total outcast from them all sometimes. Every other Lee gave her tips about being approachable, or told how they’d had initial reservations about their now-true-loves, but gave them a chance and found communion. Even her oldest niece had texted her a link to an article about soul mates. Why a preteen kid was reading women’s interest magazines was beyond her, but it was clear Chloe’s sister deemed it appropriate enough to result in advice for the maiden aunt.
Shaking off this onset of the ‘nobody understands me’ blues, she plugged her headphones in and set off to stroll through the neighborhood between work and the restaurant where she was meeting Oswaldo. Azaleas bloomed in almost every garden, along with islands of hydrangea or cattails or gladioli. The heavy sweet scent of magnolias heralded their appearance long before she spotted their profuse flowers and navigated the petals dropped across lawns and sidewalks. Kids young and old bumped their bike tires over shaded streets warped by tree roots. She passed bright-painted shotgun houses and iron fences and tantalizing wafts of cedar smoke and grilled meat from someone’s grill.
Picturing the same walk with a not-quite-likeminded partner, pointing out her small joys while worrying he’d scorn her pleasure—no. She shivered with distaste.
Every way she looked at it, Chloe’d set her life up exactly right.