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Abbi picks up her pen. “Tell me about your perfect date.” I hope nobody heard that. I glance around, but not a single person is paying us the slightest bit of attention
“I can’t say I’ve given it too much thought. The company probably matters more to me than what I’m actually doing.” That’s all true, but how will she manage to provide that? I pretend to ponder
her question for another moment. “My perfect date would be one I can leave in under an hour, without any drama.”
She tilts her head at me and gives me a little smile—averylittle one.
“Okay, so your sense of humor is intact. That’s a good start. You can handle sarcasm. Actually—you can dish it out. Can you handle it as well?” She raises an eyebrow in challenge. Yes, I’m being a bit of a dick. I nod—perhaps I should reel it in a bit. She jots a few notes but angles the notebook away from my line of sight. I wonder if she’s writing about what a jerk I am.
The thought bothers me for some reason. I don’t want to make a poor impression on Abbi. I run my hands over my suit-clad thighs. What the hell—my palms are sweaty. The last time I was nervous, I was standing before the full Supreme Court bench.
I shift uncomfortably and busy myself with the coffee, grateful I have something to occupy myself with.
“What do you do on the weekends?”
“This and that.” She doesn’t look up.
“You’re close with your family?”
“Sometimes, I think too close.”Ha! Look where that’s gotten me.
“Want to get married?”
I half-choke. “Wow, cut to the chase. Bit soon to be asking about that, isn’t it, Abbi?” She regards me across the table with big sparkling eyes. They’re dark, like coffee with no milk.
“I’m not proposing, Dean. I need to know how you feel about commitment and marriage, so I can find you a match.” I bet she’s loving having a little joke at my expense.
“Well, I don’t know. I’m not opposed to it.”
Abbi scribbles furiously on the notepad. I don’t think this is going well. Do I believe in marriage? Sure. Can I see myself getting married? No. In my experience, relationships start out well, it’s fun, and you’re happy. Both of you are on your best behavior—charming and accommodating.
Then the cracks start to show.
There’s less consideration for the other person and compromises stop. You both make less effort to smooth things over until you reach hostility. Sex stops. Cheating starts. In short, I think the wholeromance thingis fake. Events like Valentine’s Day were invented by an ad agency to sell chocolates and overpriced flowers. Abbi’s fully bought into this. She’s a card-carrying romantic—to do her job, you’d have to be. But worse, she’s part of that system.
“Look.” I blow out a hard sigh. “I’m sure you’re good at what you do. I’m sure your company makes good coin exploiting lonely people who have more dollars than sense. But I just can’t see this working for me. So, ask me whatever questions you have left. But know this, it’s all a giant waste of time.”
“I’m sorry.” Abbi’s face is completely neutral—I can’t believe she’s apologizing. It appears she’s also utterly unruffled by my attitude. She’s being professional about this. I should probably stop giving her such a hard time.
“That’s okay, you’re just doing your job. If my mom hadn’t—”
“No, you misunderstand me. I’m sorry. Sorry foryou. I can tell someone has done something really horrible to you in the past. Was it cheating or something like that?”What the hell?I look around nervously again, but I’m so flustered, I can’t even focus.
“It’s obvious that they set fire to your relationship and salted the earth on their way out. And for that, I’m sorry. Everyone deserves a chance at happiness. So I’m not going to keep asking you questions because what’s the point? At this stage, your answers aren’t going to be helpful in narrowing the options when I’m trying to choose a match for you.”
Abbi takes one last mouthful of coffee and then puts away her notebook. Gathering her things, she starts to rise. Our session is clearly over.
I sit stunned, reeling at her observation, my jaw ajar.
I don’t really want her to leave—I want her to stay. I’ve only just met her and spent a matter of minutes in her company, and I want her to stay. I want to keep talking to her. She’s unpredictable and intriguing. Abbi’s astute observations makes me feel off-balance, and I can’t ever really remember feeling this way. It’s like a high or something.
She stands and slings her handbag over her shoulder and her coat into the crook of her bent elbow.
“I’ll go back to the office and organize your first date arranged for Thursday night. That gives us options for the weekend if need be. I’ll leave it to you to decide where to go and what to do. It doesn’t need to be something off the charts, just make sure it’s somewhere public and you can hear each other talk and get acquainted.” I nod dumbly. “I’ll email you a brief of information about your date, and she’ll get the same about you. I’ll include information about contacting her and what you need to do.” I’m shocked that she’s so confident in her abilities. I gave her next to no helpful information, barely answered any of her questions, and somehow revealed my wreck of a track record with relationships. “Thanks for meeting with me and being… frank. Believe it or not, there’s plenty here for me to work with. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, she turns and saunters out of the coffee shop without giving me a backward glance.
All I can do for the next few minutes is sit there, holding my coffee mug and reflecting on the conversation. I stare at the dark liquid and realize that my smug approach to this whole exercise has been misplaced. She knew that from the start. She let me get it out of my system, and I showed myself to her in the process.
She’d be a formidable interrogator. I’m glad I haven’t come up against her in court.
I throw back the last of the coffee and place the cup down with a smile. I’m actually looking forward to Thursday night, just to see what Abbi comes up with. I mean, I wouldn’t say excited, but curious. Yes, I’m intrigued to see how this plays out. There goes my stated lack of interest. Abbi’s got me on the hook.
Damn, she’s good.
