After all, Shawn and I aren’t having our real first date till tomorrow night. So there is nothing to share, not yet. And for some reason, it was really easy to share about the Jack night, the blind date that turned into nothing, a funny story, what with me half-baked and him ogling the waitress. But meeting Shawn feels somehow different. Less funny and more unnerving.
We’ve spoken on the phone every day since Saturday, talking as easily as we did at the party, and during the day he will send little funny texts or ask me what I’m cooking. Every time I get off the phone with him I’m really happy—for about three minutes, and then I get a pit in my stomach, and it sends me into something of a tailspin. I don’t want to hope, or think great things, or imagine that he is going to be something or someone for me. It’s been so long since I even entertained the thought; I feel like if I even dare allow the tiniest imaginings about him, it will pull some muscle. I realized that while I hadn’t been looking forward to the dating part of the bet, it was because I was anticipating a series of dates sort of like with Jack—benign, of no consequence, all one-offs with no actual romantic pressure. They told me I had to date, not that I had to find a relationship. The idea of actually liking someone never occurred to me.
He called earlier tonight while I was in the middle of coaching Ian, and while I didn’t take the call, apparently just seeing his name on my phone made something change on my face, because Ian stopped frosting his chocolate beet cupcakes with his vanilla goat cheese frosting.
“Why is your face all red and happy? Was that a boy?”
I’m mortified. “It was a friend. Less chat and more work, there, Chef.”
“It was a boy,” Ian said and then got back to work.
“I agree,” Teresa says. “I think the dates are a big step. When is your next one?”
Sigh. “Tomorrow night,” I say.
“Ooh. Do tell. Who is this one?” Lynne says, dunking a slice of pizza strudel into the tomato sauce.
“Just another Lawrence fix-up. Former client,” I say, brushing it off. After all, it’s true, and I don’t need to tell them about the party or the communications that have occurred since.
“Well, I think you should broaden your horizons beyond just Lawrence,” Teresa says. “So I hope it’s okay, I gave your number to my cousin Joey. His best friend is divorced and a really nice guy, so expect a call from Angelo!”
“And Milo,” Lynne says with a grin. “He’s a marketing guy for a restaurant group.”
Oy. So not excited about the coming deluge of new boys. But I suppose, for the bet, if everyone keeps sending me dates, I can get it all out of the way.
“Great, ladies, thank you for the assist! Enough about me. I want to hear how your stuff is going. I mean, obviously we are sitting in the first major hurdle for Lynne . . .”
“She’s totally going to knock her whole list off in, like, two seconds,” Teresa says.
“I know, right? Very annoying.”
“Hey, I can’t help it if I’m Just. That. Fierce.” Lynne snaps up in the air with every word, the way she used to in high school when she was feeling proud of herself. We all laugh.
“Well, I’m not exactly having the same luck as the two of you,” Teresa says. “I signed me and Giorgio up for a salsa-dancing class at the Park District, you know, heat things up a bit . . .”
“That sounds like fun,” Lynne says. I think it sounds like a nightmare, but then again, I can’t dance.
“That’s what I thought! But the teacher was really annoying, and the class was way overcrowded, and we didn’t really do much except step on each other’s feet and then Gio got mad at me . . .”
“Why did he get mad?” I ask.
Teresa looks at her hands sheepishly. “I couldn’t stop leading.”
Lynne and I look at each other and bust out laughing.
“It’s not funny! I was really trying, but when I tried I would just go all noodle legged, and then he would step on my feet and get madder . . . We ended up leaving class during the bathroom break and just going home.”
“Well, at least you tried?” I say, trying not to laugh, since Teresa is clearly upset.
“Right, the bet isn’t that you have to be successful at spicing up your relationship, just that you do things that show you are trying!” Lynne says. “After all, we didn’t tell El she had to find a boyfriend, just that she had to be dating!”
I can feel myself wanting to grin, so I stuff half a piece of strudel into my mouth to hide my secret bit of happy.
“Well, I hope the next thing works, or I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Teresa says.
“Wha’s the next thnngg?” I say, chewing the cheesy, meaty pastry.
“I signed up for a pole-dancing class,” she says with a wicked gleam in her eye.
“Ha!” I say, almost spitting out my mouthful.
“Don’t laugh too hard, I signed you up too,” she says, making Lynne snort. “Both of you.” Teresa looks at Lynne and nods determinedly.
“Hell to the no, woman. I am not getting up on a pole,” Lynne says.
“Yeah, that is just not going to happen,” I say, grateful for Lynne putting her foot down. If she had agreed, I would have been in trouble.
“Oh, yes, it is. Eloise, it is a social night out, so it checks off a box for you, and maybe you can find some hidden rhythm in your no-dancing body. And, Lynne, you are coming because you are way too fancy for your own good, and it will be fun. It’s like a whole burlesque thing. You don’t have to do the pole; you can do fan dancing or even belly dancing. The class is, like, ten girls and four instructors, and there will be cocktails.” She holds her hand up as Lynne and I gear up to protest. “You. Are. Both. Coming.” When Teresa puts her foot down, there is no point in arguing. I can kind of see Gio’s point about the whole leading thing.
“Fine,” Lynne says, throwing her hands up in surrender. “We’ll come. What the hell.”
“This should be seriously embarrassing,” I say, imagining my enormous, ungainly self attempting to dance seductively while tripping over my own feet.
“Yep,” Teresa says and winks lasciviously at us, and we all reach for more wine.
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