Page 17 of Save the Date

Debbie was big on respecting boundaries, mainly so she could enact her own and never have to address any potentially nosy questions about her personal life. So, while Emma was incredibly close to her mom and had spent an immeasurable amount of time with her, she knew very little about Debbie’s childhood. Whenever she’d tried to ask, Debbie would say something like “Who cares about that!” and then change the subject to the latestBachelordrama. As a daughter, Emma found this frustrating. As a therapist, Emma also found this frustrating. And a bit pathological.

“We were just catching up. He’s a doctor now.” Emma sneaked a glance at Debbie, who despite all her progressiveness was still a Jewish mother at heart. As expected, Rob being a doctor had brought a grin to her face.

“That’s wonderful. Is he…um…seeing anyone?”

“I hope not. Because he asked me out. We’re getting dinner on Thursday.”

Debbie pumped her fist in the air like she had personally scored a touchdown. “How exciting, Emma! I have a great feeling about him.”

“Great enough that you think he’ll agree to marry me in five months?”

Debbie’s face briefly revealed her skepticism about the entire plan, but she recovered with a grin. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Eight

EMMA WAS FINISHING UP EDITING A NEUTRAL THIRD PARTYvideo when her phone buzzed. With Jackie’s help, she’d filmed a Q&A where she answered questions from her audience about their relationship issues. She worried she’d been too harsh to a fan who wanted to know if it was okay that her boyfriend never said “I love you” unless it was a special occasion. Emma had gotten rather fired up during her response and was trying to finagle a more measured take in the edit. Clearly this man was withholding affection as a power move, but Emma didn’t need to be on record saying he was a terrible partner—especially now that she had more eyes on her than ever. The sound of an incoming message was a welcome distraction from her limited editing skills.

Her home screen showed she had a new notification from Hinge and she immediately hoped it was from Will. After matching over the weekend, they’d been chatting on and off. He’d tried to lock down a time to meet in person but Emma was being cagey. She wanted to go on her first date with Rob before committing to anyone else. While others had no problem seeing multiple people at once, Emma knew herself. Andshe didn’t want a nauseating sense of guilt—justified or not—hanging over her head as she tried to secure a husband.

Emma did her best to tamp down her excitement when she saw the message was, in fact, from Will. He had sent her a link to an article about Edith Wilson, the focus of his latest podcast project. Emma hadn’t believed him when he told her Edith secretly acted as president for over a year while her husband, Woodrow, was recovering from a stroke. But a cursory glance at the article proved Will had been right. Emma sent back a mea culpa followed by multiple questions regarding how this was legally allowed.

As Emma stared at her phone longing for a response, she noticed the time and realized she was supposed to be across town in forty minutes—something that was nearly impossible in Los Angeles. Normally Emma was overly vigilant of the time, arriving most places early and ending every client session at exactly five to the hour (unless someone was in crisis). She wondered if it was a bad sign that she hadn’t even left enough time to brush her teeth before her date with Rob. Or maybe it was good that she didn’t feel the need to overly primp and prepare. They already knew each other; it wasn’t the same as a normal first date. She didn’t need to have nervous butterflies to fall in love—in fact, in some ways, she’d prefer not to. Romance and anxiety were experienced a bit too similarly in her body for her liking.

Emma arrived at the trendy wine bar about fifteen minutes late, which might have been the latest she had ever been to anything. She’d wasted some valuable time trying to parallel park in a spot that far exceeded her parking abilities. By the time she got through the door her bangs were damp with sweat and she irrationally felt like she was in a lot of trouble. But when Rob saw her, he didn’t look mad. He looked delighted.

“I’m so sorry! I have no excuse,” she blurted out as she barreledinto Rob for a less than graceful hug. She noted that he had forgone another graphic tee for an overly tight button-down that didn’t look comfortable or flattering.

“Don’t worry, you’re well within the acceptable range of lateness.”

“Still. I hold myself to a different standard. Moskowitzes are never late. Except for my sister, which is why we made her take her husband’s last name.”

Rob laughed loudly. While Emma had always found her own jokes to be hilarious, she didn’t know if this one warranted such a reaction. But she was happy to take it.

The waiter arrived and provided an extensive tour of the wine list. Rob and Emma both selected an Argentinean Malbec, mostly so they could be left alone. Emma wasn’t even sure if Malbecs were red or white but she had discovered that the snooty waiter thought anyone who liked Riesling had no respect for themselves—and anyone who didn’t like Bordeaux somehow had daddy issues. It was one of the strangest interactions she’d ever had with a person outside of her office; Emma was dying to dissect it.

“Well…that wasinteresting,” Emma said, barely holding in her laughter as their waiter walked away

“I thought so too. I know almost nothing about wine,” Rob remarked without a hint of sarcasm. Emma looked at him to decipher if he was just being polite or if he genuinely hadn’t found the waiter’s three-minute monologue about the evils and sadistic nature of organic wine to be off-putting.

“He was a bit intense, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But I always love when people are passionate about what they do. So many people hate their jobs. It’s nice to find someone who cares.”

Emma nodded. It was a good point. But her brain couldn’t help but jump ahead to the possibility of a lifetime of not beingable to connect over other people’s weird behavior. If Emma got hassled by a man on the street about the restorative power of accepting Jesus into her heart while he flung a handwritten pamphlet in her face, was Rob just going to politely say how wonderful it was to see someone with such a profound spiritual life? One of the perks of having a partner was always having a safe space to trash-talk other people. She and Ryan had spent as much time dissecting what other people had said at parties as they did at the actual party. If Ryan had experienced that exchange, he would have made fun of their waiter for at least the next four to five months.

But Emma wasn’t with Ryan anymore. And maybe the type of guys who didn’t poke fun at other people’s general existence also didn’t abruptly leave their partners.

“So where are you living these days?”

Rob looked at her strangely. “You know where I live. You used to live there, too, remember?”

Emma did her best to hide her shock. “You’re still at Baxter?”

Baxter was the name of their old street in Silverlake, and what she had taken to calling the hellhole apartment complex where she met Rob. The twenty-unit monstrosity was managed by a woman who seemed to hate both humans and material goods. Emma had once caught her kicking the lobby garbage can for no apparent reason other than “it was asking for it,” which, quite frankly, was a pretty unhinged thing to admit. During the year she lived there, Emma had lost hot water about fifteen times and had three roach infestations. It was hard to believe anyone would stay if they had a better option. Or a medical license. But Rob merely nodded.

“Twelve years and counting. I think I’m officially the longest tenant other than that married couple in 3C.”

“Oh my god. I can’t believe they’re still married.”

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