Sometime Soon

nineteen



The announcement is delivered by email on Friday morning. The subject line is “Department News.” The ding tone, signaling that a new email has arrived, sounds in Nate’s Inbox just seconds after it sounds in mine. I scan the text for my name. At the bottom, following the preliminary buttering up paragraphs about what a great job the department and everyone in it are doing, are my name and another name I don’t recognize. According to the key paragraph buried at the bottom, everything is wonderful, but they’re changing it all anyway. This means that I and some guy named Jack Hoffenmeyer from Napa Networks are now project leads on wireless security.

“Did you know about this?” Nate asks.

I turn to find him half facing me, his hand still resting on his mouse. His T-shirt says I used to be a people person...but people ruined that for me.

I nod. “Rob told me the other day. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

Nate turns back to his monitor and scans the email again.

“The good news is, we’re being reorganized rather than laid off,” I announce brightly.

Nate wears a confused expression. “Does this mean that I work for you now?”

“No.” I shake my head vigorously. “This only means that project work goes through me. Technically, we all still work for Rob. I just have an extra job to do now, which I’m not getting paid for, by the way. In fact, the details are pretty sketchy. I really don’t have any idea what being a project lead entails yet.”

He thinks about this. “No extra pay, huh?”

I probably shouldn’t be talking about pay, but I knew he would zero in on that once I said it. I guess I’m trying to lessen the blow. I also understand that he won’t pat me on the back and congratulate me. I’m playing this by ear, basing my responses on his reactions. So far, my instincts are telling me that keeping Nate’s friendship and camaraderie mean playing down my new position. Not because he’s a mean or jealous person, but because he is a completely insecure one.

“So, you’re just kind of organizing things for Rob?” he asks, a tinge of hopefulness in his voice.

“I guess you could say that,” I answer carefully. He’s making me sound like a secretary now. I’ll happily stop playing this down if he takes that theme too far.

Something seems to click in Nate’s head, and his posture relaxes. “That probably means you’ll have to spend a lot more time with Rob. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of punishment?”

I relax, too. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I’d better keep current with The Bachelor. Watching it may become a job requirement.”

He winces. “And when that ends American Idol starts, and that show is on practically every night. Your life is over.”

Nate is right. Rob moves on to American Idol in the winter, justifying that obsession by claiming it’s the only show he feels comfortable letting his kids watch with him. Of course, his justification for The Bachelor is the entertainment value provided by dozens of desperate single women. Let’s face it, who doesn’t want to witness other people’s desperation?

As the day wears on, my Inbox fills with congratulatory emails from my coworkers. Because everyone copies the entire department on their congratulatory emails using the department alias from the original email, everyone I work with, and many I don’t, receive these emails. Once everyone jumps on that bandwagon, doing so because they don’t want to be the only person not to send me a congratulatory email, it quickly becomes an annoyance. Eventually it degrades into requests from the suffering email-choked masses to stop copying the entire department when congratulating me. Bottom line, my first accomplishment as project lead is to indirectly irritate half the company.



“It’s all arranged. I got us a reservation at Café Blue.”

I groan.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Laura exclaims.

“Uh-huh,” I say, turning the corner, nearly home. Laura’s excitement is amusing. She’s attempted to fix me up many times with various single men she’s met through work or through Jonathan, but for some reason it never comes to pass. Either the guy in question turns out to be gay, or he takes my number but never uses it, or he declines the offer entirely. She sounds absolutely giddy at her very first success. Knowing her, she’s already imagining our new chummy foursome attending the theater together, hanging out at each other’s homes on weekends, planning Caribbean vacations.

“We’ll all meet here at seven-thirty for drinks, and then we can head to the restaurant.”

“Sounds good,” I answer. I’m now in my driveway. “I’ve got to run.”

“What are you going to wear?” she asks.

“I don’t know, a skirt I guess or maybe pants if it’s cold.”

“A skirt would be nice.”

“I can dress myself Laura.”

“I know.”

I end the call feeling a little guilty that I’m not exhibiting more enthusiasm for her. But, hey, I’m going. What more does she want?

The familiar feeling of nerves begins as I head out the door. I haven’t heard from Ryan, and I decide not to dwell on him. I suppose it’s possible that tonight could turn out well and that I’ll actually like David Rose. In fact, unless there’s something obviously awful about him, I’m determined to give him a real chance. I’ll even practice the three date rule, assuming that he wants to date me. The three date rule says that you should go on at least three dates before making any judgments about someone.

Due to an unexpected backup at an intersection on the way, I arrive about five minutes late to find an unfamiliar blue BMW parked in the only guest spot in front of Laura and Jonathan’s place. Since there are no other spaces available, I take a spot on the street just over a block away, and I arrive a bit flustered and breathless from my rushed walk to their building. I really hate to be late.

Laura welcomes me warmly in her hostess voice. Her hostess voice is a few beats slower and about an octave higher than her normal voice. Mom has a hostess voice, too. I wonder if I have one. I suppose I would actually have to host something to find out.

Laura leads me through the small apartment into the living room where Jonathan is sitting with the person I assume is my date. They both stand as we enter. To my amusement, they’re each wearing flat front khakis with belts, loafers, and golf shirts. Jonathan’s is green and David’s is red. There are definitely no metro-sexuals in this room.

I decide that David Rose does, in fact, resemble Matthew Broderick. His straight brown hair is combed slightly forward and to the side, making me suspect that some camouflage is being attempted. His chin is on the soft side, sliding almost seamlessly in his neck. His dark eyes widen, and he offers me a wide grin when we’re introduced. I smile back, and I can’t help thinking that he seems pleasantly surprised to see me. Maybe his expectations were set pretty low for this blind date.

When the introductions are finished, I settle myself on the couch next to Jonathan with David occupying the chair to my left and Laura fluttering around, filling wine glasses and making sure plates of cheese and crackers are neatly arranged.

“Laura tells me you work in the computer field,” David says, speaking directly to me for the first time. His voice is jarring, and I blink at him for a moment before answering. I recognize his voice from the message he left, but I was hoping a bad connection was the explanation for it. Obviously, that’s not it. David is a grown man with the voice of a teenage boy. It’s completely incongruous. It makes me think of David Beckham. The sound of his voice always surprises me when I hear it on television. He speaks with a high pitched nasal tone that seems utterly disconnected from the reality of the man himself. David Beckham’s voice belongs on one of the skinny, socially-inept engineering geeks that I work with, and not on the biggest soccer superstar on the planet. David Rose’s voice strikes me the same way. I wondered what his clients think when they speak to him on the telephone. I’m sure they don’t want to feel like an eighth grader is representing them.

“That’s right,” I smile politely.

“Andy just got a promotion,” Laura announces proudly.

“Really,” David replies with the appropriate amount of appreciation.

I sip my wine and nod. “And you’re a real estate lawyer, just like Laura,” I say.

“Much bigger than me, actually,” Laura answers for him. “He works for one of the larger firms in town.”

David shrugs. “It sounds better than it is. It mostly means that I work longer hours and get appreciated less.”

I chuckle and it’s real. Self-deprecating humor is nearly my favorite kind, right after dry humor.

“You’re Canadian?” I ask.

“I have dual citizenship. My father is from Canada, but my mother is from Boston. I grew up in Montreal though.”

“Do you speak French?”

David replies in French.

“Guess so,” Jonathan remarks.

“What is it you do in computers?” David asks me.

I think I stare at him a beat too long, as his disembodied adolescent voice puts me in a temporary trance. “I’m in marketing,” I finally reply.

The introductory banal conversation continues this way for another twenty minutes or so before Laura announces that it’s time to leave. David is already out in the hallway waiting when I hear Jonathan whisper to Laura, “What’s up with his voice?”

She shushes him and pushes him toward to the door.

We take Jonathan’s SUV into the city. David and I share the back seat and chat a bit about Boston and how he likes living here. He’s been here for just over a year and is still learning the ins and outs. Currently, he’s renting an apartment west of the city and taking the T into work each day. He complains about Boston drivers and their aggressiveness. “If public transportation is an option, I prefer it,” he states in a serious tone.

“When I commuted to work on Route 128,” I tell him, “I passed at least one accident a day during rush hour. I figured it was only a matter of time before my number came up.”

“And did it?” he asks.

I nod gravely, recalling the cute little hatchback I’d driven back then.

He shudders, eyeing the road in front of us.

Jonathan drops us at the door and goes off in search of parking. Café Blue is bustling. Although I’ve been here twice now, I have not been here on a Saturday night. The sidewalk by the entrance is littered with well-dressed patrons-in-waiting, sparkling and chattering under the glow of the streetlights. Laura pushes her way through the crowd toward the maitre’ d just inside the doorway and then turns back to wave us in. Apparently, those waiting outside do not have reservations.

I’m assaulted by noise when I step into the dimly lit restaurant. The familiar bar area is overflowing its boundaries, and the dining room is a sea of trendy individuals. Laura elbows me and raises her voice to say, “This place is really nice.”

I nod in agreement. With its grey-blue walls and soaring ceiling, the space itself is appealing in a modern, minimalist way. We’re led to a rectangular table for four that’s pushed against the side wall. It’s not a window table, but it is a decent spot situated centrally in the room. Laura places herself on the side of the table facing the door. “So I can watch for Jonathan,” she explains. David motions for me to precede him to the inside chair on the other side of the table.

I sit myself down and look around as waiters and waitresses speed-walk through the dining room, deftly handling trays of drinks and food.

Laura half-stands and waves. I turn to watch Jonathan thread his way through the tables toward us.

“Did you find a good spot?” she asks.

“I had to put it in a lot.” He takes the seat beside her. “It’s crazy in here tonight. Now I remember why we never come into the city.”

She scowls at him. “It’s fun to do something different once in a while.” She turns a bright smile to David. “Andy comes here all the time.”

“I’ve been here twice,” I correct her.

“The food must be good,” David says.

“Actually, not really. But I was here when they first opened. Maybe it’s gotten better.”

“Ah.” David nods at me. “That’s generally a mistake. You need to give a new place time to work out the kinks.”

“There were certainly a lot of kinks.” I chew my lip and peer at the menu.

“What’s good here?” Laura peers at me expectantly.

“Obviously nothing she’s had,” Jonathan says.

“I see they have calamari.” David notices, apparently pleased.

Laura and I look at each other and cringe.

“What?” David glances up from his menu. “You don’t like calamari?”

“These two aren’t exactly adventurous eaters,” Jonathan explains, taking a sip of his ice water.

“Calamari is adventurous?”

“It is to them.”

“I’m getting better,” Laura argues. “I eat shrimp now.”

“See what I mean?” Jonathan smirks.

David turns to me expectantly, looking for confirmation.

“I’m better than Laura is,” I tell him. “She still makes her sandwiches with white Wonder Bread like she’s in third grade.”

“Hey,” she protests, looking offended.

I grin and shrug at her. It’s my blind date. Whether or not I like David, I still want him to like me. If I have to save myself by throwing her under the bus, so be it.

He closes his menu and says, “Guess the calamari is out.”

An attractive blonde waitress, her hair pulled back in a severe, high ponytail, finally arrives to take our drink orders. David suggests that we order a bottle of something, but he doesn’t know us very well. Laura hardly drinks at all. Any type of alcohol in any amount seems to give her a splitting headache. Jonathan says that he only wants a beer, and he proceeds to order one. After the wine we’ve already had at Laura’s, I don’t want a whole lot more myself. “I was going to have a chardonnay,” I say. “But I’ll probably only drink one glass.”

Lines form at the sides of David’s mouth as he places his order. He’s been foiled in his wine and in his appetizer preferences this evening.

Once our drinks arrive I settle in a little more, but because of the high noise level in the restaurant, conversation is an effort. “What?” is generously peppered throughout our exchanges. As David and Laura engage in a detailed discussion of real estate law, as detailed as the din will allow, I covertly watch him and the way his smallish white hands move when he speaks. He’s bright. There is no question about that. His personality is hard to get a read on though. He isn’t overly funny or uptight either. He seems somewhat sedate in his mannerisms, not too effusive or too loud. He’s middle of the road on all counts so far, looks and personality.

When the blonde ponytail bops back over to our table for our dinner orders, I make a last minute decision to try the filet mignon. Beside me, David looks pleased. “It seems like everyone I know is giving up red meat,” he explains. But then I ask for it to be butterflied and well-done and I can feel myself sink in his estimation. He orders swordfish and Jonathan orders salmon. Laura goes for the chicken despite my less than stellar review of it.

To my surprise, my filet mignon is pretty good. In fact, we all enjoy our meals. We make more small talk over dinner, discussing the housing market because Jonathan and Laura will soon be jumping into it. When the fact that I own my own place comes up in conversation, David appears surprised and asks me several questions about it. When Laura inquires as to the whereabouts of the ladies’ room, in true girl style, I decide to make the trip with her. We have to navigate our way to the front of the restaurant and then squeeze through the bar area in order to reach our destination.

I spot him before he notices me. His familiar sun-streaked hair is neatly styled. His eyes are bright and friendly behind his frameless glasses. He’s leaning down, speaking to a woman with shiny, straight black hair that reaches to the middle of her back. It’s the kind of hair I wished for everyday in high school as I fought my frizzy curls. Briefly, I panic. I’m following Laura and I can probably hide behind her, avert my eyes and pretend not to see him. I could also abort the trip completely even though I really do need the ladies’ room. But I have no time to decide because at that moment he looks up, and I know that he’s spotted me. There’s no real reason to avoid him other than the fact that I haven’t returned his phone call and that could be considered rude.

“Andrea,” he says after Laura has passed him, and I have inevitably continued along the path she forged.

“Hi, Jason,” I say, stopping beside him, realizing he’s only said my name, no greeting of any kind accompanied it.

“Back for more Café Blue, huh?” he comments, his voice flat and unfriendly.

I smile hesitantly. “Yeah. You, too.”

The straight line of his mouth does not change as he shrugs in response. I realize that Laura has continued on, unaware that I’m no longer behind her. It’s just as well. Now I don’t have to perform any introductions.

“How are you?” I nearly have to shout this to be heard. The bar is louder than the restaurant.

“Fine. You?”

“Good, thanks.” This is awkward. I’m beginning to wish we’d just ignored each other. “The food is actually pretty good this time,” I tell him.

“They’ve made some improvements,” he agrees, his eyes studying me from behind his glasses. He makes no move to introduce me to the woman he’s with. I wonder if they came together or if they have just met.

“Well,” I say, purposely not turning my attention to the mystery woman, “Good to see you. Enjoy your evening.” Then I spin around without waiting for a response and make a beeline for the ladies’ room door. Laura is coming out just as I arrive.

“What happened to you? I turned around and you were gone.”

“Jason is here. I had to stop and say hello to him.”

She peers around my head as though she could actually locate a person she’s never met in the sea of bodies behind me. “The one who didn’t walk you to your car?”

I nod.

“Did you ever hear from him again?”

“He called and left me a message, but I never returned it.”

“Oh,” she replies, taking this in. “Did he seem friendly?”

“Not really.”

“Big deal. He’s a jerk, anyway.” With that, she grabs my arm and pulls me into the ladies’ room. “So what do you think of David?” she asks, practically pouncing once we are inside the relative quiet of the ladies’ room. Of course, there’s a line in front of us and we have to wait in it.

“He seems nice,” I say in response to her assessing look.

She stares at me expectantly, wanting more.

“His voice sounds kind of funny though. Don’t you think?”

“He sounds a little young maybe,” she hedges.

I raise my eyebrows in response. “He sounds like he belongs in a boy band.”

“Oh my god, Andy. He does not. He’s a good guy. You’re going to give him a chance, right?”

“Right,” I agree quickly.

She eyes me skeptically.

“I am.” I insist. “A prepubescent voice is not a deal-breaker. That would be wrong. Right?”

“Right,” she replies sternly.

I decide to just breeze by Jason on the way out. But there is no need for a plan. He’s no longer there. A quick scan does not reveal him or the woman he was with, and I feel relieved at not having to face him again. But I do feel out of sorts now. He had no right to act so cool to me tonight. He’s the one who left me in on the street, in the middle of the night, in the city.

When we get back to the table, I wish that I’d thought to speak to Laura about the check while we were in the ladies’ room. Do I offer to pay my share in this situation? My own logic tells me that the evening has been Laura’s doing. David didn’t ask me out. That being the case, he shouldn’t have to pay for me. For all I know, he isn’t the least bit interested in seeing me again. If he asked me, I’d go out with him for no other reason than the fact that Laura would strangle me if I didn’t. So I should offer to pay my share, I decide. It’s the right thing to do.

Once the check arrives, Laura looks like she wants to strangle me anyway. The guys reach for their wallets and so do I. David glances at me and then back to the check again, seeming unsure of what to do. Jonathan obliviously puts down a credit card and sits back.

“This is on us,” Laura declares suddenly.

Jonathan turns to her surprised.

David looks from Jonathan to Laura. “That’s not necessary.”

I know Laura is doing this to prevent me from paying. “You were nice to enough to arrange this, but you don’t have to treat.” I reason with her.

She glares at me, trying to be covert about it by pasting on a smile, but her eyes are shooting darts all the same.

“I think we should all chip in,” I say.

Jonathan likes my idea. I can tell.

“That makes sense.” David takes out his credit card and places it on top of Jonathan’s. I then do the same.

Jonathan looks at Laura and nods toward the check, obviously waiting for her to put down a card and trying very hard not to laugh.

Laura opens her mouth wordlessly and then closes it again before turning back to us. “There’s nothing wrong with us wanting to treat you guys. Please, I insist.” Laura is reaching toward the small pile of credit cards.

“No, really,” I say.

“That’s right,” David chimes in. “Thank you, but it really isn’t necessary.”

The waitress comes by, swooping up the cards, and that is how it’s finally settled.

Across from me, Laura sits back in her chair and sulks.

On the way out of the restaurant, she grabs my arm and whispers. “That was ridiculous, Andy.”

I get home just after midnight, relieved the date is done and happy to be home. I’ve been living alone for a while now, and I really like it. I like everything about it. I like the quiet. I like that when I put something down, it’s actually still there when I next look for it. I like that my place stays clean and orderly. I like not having to share the remote. I like cooking or not cooking and just eating ice cream for dinner if I feel like it. I like having every radio in the house tuned to the same station so that I don’t miss a note when I move from room to room.

My family worries about me. I don’t think I’m supposed to like being alone so much.