Page 39 of Give & Take

“You know, you could consider a career in medicine,” Daniel says. And just like that he’s veered the conversation back to himself, even if indirectly. “If you’re looking for something different than waitressing. You could be an assistant of some kind, maybe?”

This is good practice. I need to keep dating, to remind myself I deserve a healthy partnership.

Shit. Now I’m quoting my therapist.

“I’m perfectly content with my life,” I say. But the words feel wooden. Defensive.

I fold up my napkin. The thing was, a few weeks ago, Iwasperfectly content. I have a job where I take care of people, in a way. It affords me flexibility and time with my kids. A beautiful house in a beautiful town. Reading and the tiniest bit of writing as hobbies.

But now I can’t help holding this man up against the one at home, with my kids. The one who lost it over my bolognaise and looked so achingly sexy tipping his head back and sipping that beer, the bottle lost inside his broad hand.

As Daniel prattles on, I realize that the worst part about this date is that all night all I’ve been thinking about all the things he isn’t. He doesn’t make me laugh.He doesn’t look at me like he’s deeply interested in what I have to say.

No sparks frizz across my skin when he touches my hand during a story. Not even any anger swirls in my stomach as he pushes my buttons.

Because this man doesn’t push any of my buttons. He doesn’t make me feel anything at all.

I set my fork down, watching Daniel’s lips move without a care about whether I’m paying attention. And that makes me suddenly deeply irritated.

I wait for him to wrap his story up, then clear my throat. “Daniel,” I say, wanting to cut this off before we drag it out any further. “It’s been a lovely night, but I think we should?—”

“Have dessert?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say, not unkindly.

On the drive home, Daniel valiantly tries to keep up the conversation. He tells me a story about his grown daughter’s follies getting into med school. She’s going to be a doctor, too. Perfect right?

A lot more perfect than a twenty-something grad student who probably knows more about cannabis blends than cabernets. Not that he’s ever indicated that.

But he was an infant while I was entering high school, I remind myself.

And he makes my insides feel as if I’m flying down a winding road with no brakes when he so much as looks at me.

Now, as Daniel pulls up to the house, I chide myself at the feeling of having missed out on somethingwonderful when I see the house is dark. Of course the girls are asleep—it’s past the time I told Raphael to put them to bed. Maybe he’s asleep too, on the couch. I picture him waving as he passes me out the door, too sleepy to talk, and my disappointment deepens.

Daniel insists on walking me to my door. He’s quiet for the first time that night as we walk up the path. I wonder with sudden dread if he’s still going to try to kiss me. He hasn’t been great at reading signs.

I’m surprised Raphael didn’t leave the light on for me. It seems like something he’d think to do. But it just makes the sleeping on the couch scenario more likely.

At least he won’t be able to see us.

“Thank you for walking me up here,” I say briskly, needing this to be over.

“That was the best time I’ve had in a long time,” Daniel says, inching closer.

Were we on the same date? “Oh,” is all I can think of to say as I take a subtle step backward.

Even in the shadows I can see Daniel’s face fall.

“I had a nice time,” I lie. I don’t need to be a total bitch. I take another step toward the door, pulling my keys out so they jingle loudly in the darkness, the sound a clear sign the night is over.

But instead of Daniel taking the hint, he startles at a little shuffling noise from the darkness of the far end of the porch.

I groan inwardly. Raccoons are a problem here. I guess a raccoon tearing up my porch swing would be a fitting ending to this curseddate.

“You know,” Daniel says as I feel around for the right key in the dark. “I own my practice.”

You don’t say!I want to scream. Where the hell is this key?

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