{ 5 }
Date Two: Hurt in Loves
The anesthetist’s name is Barry. We meet at a restaurant he suggests on Monday. A casual Sushi place. We meet outside and walk in together. He seems like a nice guy. Tall and athletic. His blond hair is recently cut and his clothes are casual but obviously expensive.
We sit down and within five minutes he’s making references to his ex. When he says ‘ex’ his mouth does this thing like he’s one of the contestants on that show where you have to eat really gross things. And he’s about to bite into a live cockroach.
I think at first he’s heart-broken, and maybe he is, but he seems more angry that she got so much money when they divorced. I get the feeling that he thinks all women are out to take him. When he’s not ranting about the ex he’s an interesting guy. His trip to Fiji was amazing. He’s traveled a lot and reads voraciously. Mostly science and nature. Not, obviously, graphic novels. We talk a lot about his boat. Actually, it’s a yacht. It has a microwave on it. And staterooms. I think it even has a fireplace.
I pull out my wallet immediately when the bill comes, because I certainly don’t want to figure in the next rant about gold-digging women, but he insists on picking up the tab.
As we walk out he asks me if I’d like to go out on his boat Wednesday. He assures me it’s great cruising out in Puget Sound in winter. He’s got the day off and my schedule is nothing if not flexible. I agree to the date, thinking he’s perfect for my family. If not for me.
Then I don’t hear from him. Tuesday night, I text him. Hi. Had fun yesterday. What I hope to get back is a text telling me what time I’m supposed to be at the dock or wherever we we’re meeting for our boating trip.
He texts back: Me, too.
Then he stands me up Wednesday.