The episode with Rick had unnerved her completely, and she didn’t feel ready to go home and face Luke when her nerves were so utterly shattered. So, she treated herself to a walk through the Chicago streets, stopping for an obscenely expensive cup of flavored coffee and some leisurely window-shopping before recovering some level of tranquility. It was almost eleven when Regan finally arrived back at her apartment, her emotions once again in check.
Dropping her purse on the kitchen table, she listened for signs of life. The shower was running, which inevitably meant that her Rip Van Winkle had revived, about to face the light of day. She went to the tiny galley kitchen (who cooks anyway? she’d joked to the realtor who’d located the apartment for her), prepared a bowl of Frosted Flakes and cut an orange in slices, sliding them onto the table at Luke’s spot.
Eventually, he emerged, his hair blown dry (still slightly purple, much to her dismay), and dressed in a fresh pair of baggy, draggy blue jeans (she hated those things!) and an oversized baseball jersey. Memories of last night’s revelation lingered in her mind, and she wondered what the child-rearing experts would advise about how to handle it. Face it head on? Put her foot down? Show him who’s boss?
In the end, she took the wimpy, but proven path towards keeping the peace. Avoidance.
“Hi, champ. How’d you sleep?”
“Good.” He plowed a spoonful of the cereal into his mouth while still standing, spied his baseball cap on the couch and positioned it, bill backwards, on his head. One more spoonful of flakes and he headed toward the coat tree, where he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.
“Hey, whoa, wait a minute,” Regan said. “You going somewhere?”
Luke buttoned his jacket and nodded. “Doin’ Brad’s birthday thing today.”
“Brad’s what?”
“Birthday, Mom. Mitch’s goin’, too. I told you about it.” He eyed the cereal, plodded over to the table again, his jean legs swishing, and honked down another overflowing spoonful.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re going to the amusement park in the suburbs. How much money do you need?” She got up to retrieve her wallet, and was chagrined to see six dollars and some change in there.
“Brad’s dad said not to bring any. It’s his treat.”
Regan opened her mouth to argue, but decided instead to thank God for small favors. “Wow, how generous. Be good, and safe, okay?”
Luke did the predictable irritated rolling of his eyes, just like he did any time she expressed concern about his safety or his behavior. But she caught hold of his arm and held on long enough to force a glance in her direction. “I mean it, son. I don’t want anything happening to you, you understand?”
His lips curled up just a tad, and he even snickered a little as he nodded.
“How are you getting to Brad’s house?”
The oranges next to his bowl must have tempted him because he slowed his departure long enough to pop a slice in his mouth. “They’re picking me up here.”
“And what time will you be back?” She had a vague recollection that he’d covered this with her, but after her meltdown with Rick this morning, her memory needed a little prodding.
He grabbed a napkin to catch the sticky juice about to slide down his chin. “Tomorrow—we’re spending the night in a hotel. Is any of this ringing a bell?”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll wait for them outside.” And with a whoosh of pre-washed denim and a slam of the door, the apartment was suddenly still as a morgue. Meanwhile, Regan’s head reeled, realizing that her son had just strung together a conversation with more words than she’d heard come out of his mouth for quite a while, at least while they were directed at her.
Then, as an added bonus, the door swung open again and she heard, “Oh, and there’s a voicemail for you on the machine. Some guy. Bye.” And he was gone.
She smiled and began to clear the dishes from the table. Some guy. Couldn’t be anyone from the office. They wouldn’t call on a weekend—her book reviews weren’t that fast-breaking that they couldn’t wait till Monday morning. Her curiosity got the better of her and she went over to the answering machine and looked at the blinking red light. No other likely suspects popped into her mind, so she pushed the button to end her own suspense.
A male voice suddenly filled the apartment, its timbre deep but friendly, “Hi, Regan. This is Josh Gregory.” He cleared his throat although it hadn’t sounded the slightest bit froggy. “I got the winning bid from last night. And uh, well, I’d like to talk to you about setting up a date for our, uh … our, uh, date.” He chuckled lamely. “Anyway, give me a call. Thanks.” He left a number and was a few digits into it before Regan realized she was standing there motionless, not writing it down. So she pressed Rewind and Play, pen in hand, at the ready. She jotted down the number when he got to it again—a city number—but if she’d dwelled on it for very long at all, Regan would have to admit that she felt her heartwarming listening to his voice. His voice made her feel good, somehow. So much so, that she felt like pushing Play a third time, but scoffed and pressed Erase instead.
She held up the small slip of paper and stared at the numbers she’d written there. She picked up the phone and put it back down again.
Well, this is silly, she thought. She knew when she agreed to be in the Singles Auction that she’d eventually have to go on a date with someone. But it had seemed so distant, and so unlikely, that she hadn’t stopped to consider how she’d actually do it. The logistics of it. Talking to a man, making interesting conversation, not boring him silly. Making oh-so-witty first-date repartee, which only left her with the pressure of having to outdo her own cleverness if he ever asked her out a second time.
Or the wardrobe. What did single mothers wear these days on dates with the opposite sex? Back when she had last dabbled in the dating world, she was twenty years younger, and at least twenty pounds lighter. She could wear anything she wanted and look perfectly fine in it. But now—she tended to gravitate to anything in her closet with elastic waistbands and Nike swish emblems. Probably not appropriate for trying to woo a man.
But wait. This wasn’t an actual DATE, date. In fact, this Josh fellow had stumbled over the word himself in his message, laughing over his use of it. It was probably entirely unnecessary to worry about wooing the man, or even making witty conversation. It was not a date—it was an obligation. A tax write-off. Something to assuage a charity-minded individual. Probably just one step up from a shift at the soup kitchen on Bleecker.
Regan glanced at the phone number again, picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Regan! What’re you up to today?”
“I got a call from my winning bidder last night.”
“Me too!” Liz squealed. “When are you going? Maybe we can make it a double date.”
Regan groaned. “Liz, it’s not really a date. The guy only put in a reduced bid because he felt sorry for me. I’ve half a mind to call him and tell him to forget it. Let him off the hook.”
“No!” Liz screeched it so loud, Regan pulled the receiver away from her ear and rubbed it. “You’ve got to go! He wouldn’t have called you if he weren’t interested in you. Now, get on the phone and call him back.”
Regan sighed. “But I really don’t want to go. I’m sure he just feels obligated. Besides, I have enough to deal with in my life right now without adding a new dimension.”
“Why, what else is going on?”
Regan quickly filled her in on her conversations with Luke last night, and Rick this morning. Liz was sufficiently best-friend-furious at Rick.
“But don’t you see?” Liz said. “One of two things could happen on this date. You could go and have a fabulous time and find out that Josh is the man of your dreams that you’ve been waiting for all your life. Or you could go, have a decent evening, and never see him again. Either way, you get a nice dinner out tonight. Luke’s gone anyway, so what else would you be doing?”
“Reading.” She hadn’t really meant to make it sound like a complaint, but Liz jumped all over it.
“All work and no play make Regan a very dull girl. Besides, you wouldn’t look half as cute with bifocals, so get your nose out of your stupid books and feast your eyes on something good for a change. That Josh was a real hunk, from what I could see.”
Regan hesitated. Liz hadn’t mentioned the third (and most likely) thing that could happen tonight—that she’d somehow make a total fool of herself. Life was so much safer at home. But, Liz had a counter for every argument Regan offered, so with Liz’s promise that she’d come over and dress Regan, do her hair and makeup and let her borrow all her accessories, Regan returned Josh’s call.
Her heart raced and she could feel it pounding in her ears, so hard that when he answered, “Hello?” she missed it and he had to say it again, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Yes,” she stammered. “Hello, Josh?”
“Yes, it’s Josh.”
“It’s Regan Samuels.”
“Who?”
Her face flushed and her stomach tensed. He didn’t even remember her. How unmemorable could she be if he left her a message a few hours ago asking for a call back, and by the time she called, he’d forgotten. Well, she didn’t need this hassle in her life. Nice knowing you, bud, and here’s what I think of you … and she almost laid the phone down in the cradle, when she heard speaking so she held it up to her ear again.
“I’m sorry—can you hold on just a second please? I’m on my cell, and I’m out on the street. It’s so loud out here with the traffic—there, that’s better. I’m sorry—who did you say this is?”
And Regan felt such a rush of relief that she almost laughed out loud. She managed to spit out, “Regan Samuels.” He hadn’t forgotten her. He just couldn’t hear her. Was she ever a lost cause when it came to this dating thing.
“Regan! Thanks so much for returning my call. I’m really looking forward to meeting you.”
“Really?” She was sure she sounded dubious, because, well, she was dubious.
“Of course! I was hoping—I know it’s short notice—but, by any chance, are you free for our date tonight?”
Date. There was that word again, and he’d actually said it without a chuckle this time. And before she could stop herself, she agreed. Yes. She was free. Tonight. They decided on a time and a place, and she hung up.
For the first time in nearly twenty years, she had a date tonight.