Page 11 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Wait. What? Jackie? What do you mean?”

“Don’t look so worried, now.” He didn’t slow his pace. “They needed somebody, and they’ve got their stage all set up and everything. Annie was so excited when I told her I had a young lady coming over from America today. It’s all just for fun. Don’t worry. You’ll see.”

“But I don’t . . . I haven’t . . . I look terrible, Jackie.”

“You’ll have ’em eating out of your hand.”

He held the door open for me, and we walked into the Matchmaker Pub. The proverbial record scratched. And there at the back of the room was a stage set up with a curtain separating a tall barstool on one side from three on the other.

Jackie turned around and looked at my face. “Now, then, if you really don’t want to do it, I’ll tell them that you’ve got the stage fright and they’ll have to find someone else. But I think you should give it a go. It’ll be a good experience. And you never know who you could meet up there. Fortune favors the bold, Maya.” He gave me a warm smile.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

I let out a long, slow breath and thought about my podcast. I’d done a lot of crazy crap over the last year—from axe throwing, to clubbing, to even getting a small tattoo, just because that was what a guest host had planned for me to do. I could do this too.

“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we, Jackie?” A lady with box-red hair rushed up to us. “Is this your girl, then?”

“It is, Annie. And isn’t she just the spitting image of Jennifer Lopez?” Um . . . okay. So does he have actual face blindness, or is this just his shtick?

“Oh, I dunno about that one, Jackie. Nice-looking girl, though. Thanks for volunteering. I’m Annie. What can I get you to drink?”

This was my moment to back out. My only chance. I opened my mouth to apologize profusely and tell her there was absolutely no way I could do this, but my brain was on protocol autopilot.

“Happy to help,” I said, and then tried to mean it. “Another Guinness, please. Can I just ask, Annie—can I record the audio for my podcast? Would that be all right?”

“I don’t see why not. But I’ll double-check with the three men just in case.”

I should never have trusted Simone’s decision tree. My crazy shit decision tree had gotten me into some wild situations, but it had also brought me to Ireland and prevented me from living out the rest of my days alone in my room inside of a cat-hair cocoon of my own making.

So the setup was basically just like the TV show from the 1970s, The Dating Game. I was going to sit on one side of the curtain, and three men were going to sit on the other side, and I would be forced to ask them asinine questions and then choose one to go on a date with, sight unseen.

I hurried off to the bathroom to do what I could with what I had. Jackie had stored my bag at the first pub, so I had to wear my airplane clothes.

I probably wasn’t quite what they were expecting. I had never been especially girly and could usually be found in my uniform, which was basically jeans, boots, book T-shirt, band T-shirt, or a blank overwashed T-shirt, probably with one of my knitted sweaters on top. That day I’d worn high-waisted jeans, Doc Martens, and a black tank top under the gray sweater which I had taken off and shoved into my suitcase. I yanked at the straps and squirmed—this was too much cleavage for the stage. Welcome to Ireland, girls!

My hair was wild. It was always wild, frankly. Curly hair lived by its own rules. Somewhere during the course of the last year, one of the guest hosts’ stylists had given me a makeover that involved an asymmetrical pixie cut that was shaved on one side. I had sort of grown it out, mostly due to laziness, and the length had brought my curls back, so now I had short hair on one side and a deep side-part with a big mass of chin-length dark curls on the other. I thought it made me look kinda badass, honestly, especially when paired with big earrings, but I didn’t think it was what the farmers of County Clare were used to seeing.

I ran damp hands through my mane and twisted a few curls into something resembling submission, and while I never really bothered much with makeup, I put on some pomegranate lipstick that had been rolling around the bottom of my bag for the last three years, and I liked the effect. Welp. Good enough!

I breathed fog into the mirror, calmed my stomach, and pulled my big-girl panties on. I’d gotten pretty adept at being a good sport. I was going to be fine, it would make Jackie happy, and someday, maybe even today, I would have a good laugh at this. Either way, it was going to be priceless for the podcast.

The bathroom door creaked open and my stomach flipped.

“You ready?” Annie asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

There was a crowd. It felt like a huge crowd. I was escorted onto the stage. I slid up on the barstool, cleavage illuminated like a lighthouse beacon. Everyone was clapping and whistling and raising their pints. Nowhere to hide.

Jackie was standing close by at the front of the crowd, a huge smile on his face, and when he nodded at me with what I decided to decipher as pride, it soothed my nerves just a little. I can do this. I got a couples massage once and survived. This is easy. I plugged in my mic, hit record on my phone, and put it on my lap.

“Everyone, please give a big, warm welcome to Moira, who only just arrived today, all the way from America!” Oh, fuckity fuck. It’s happening. Here we go. People cheered. It was so loud. The lights blinded me. Do something.

I bit my lip and gave a little wave.

“So, Moira, tell us a bit about yourself.” Annie’s voice was far too loud over the microphone.