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Have fun?
It made no sense. I was staying in his house. In his bed. I woke up on top of him. His hand had been on my bare butt!
And his response was have fun?
“I was filling the needle with novocaine and he took one look at it and bolted from the chair as if he’d been shocked by a cattle prod.” Alan laughed at the memory and pushed on, straightening his silverware on the white cloth as he did so. “Ran from the building as if it was on fire. Dental dam still in his mouth.”
I offered him a smile and swallowed a big sip of white wine.
I took a deep breath and pushed thoughts of Dex in his athletic shorts and snug t-shirt to the side.
Or up. I imagined pushing that t-shirt up, seeing his steely abs. Feeling the ridges of his hard muscles with my palms. Licking each one.
Shit. I had more wine. “So, Alan, tell me what you like to do when you aren’t working.” Hopefully he’d talk about something else besides oral hygiene because it was far from interesting. Or sexy.
“I’m in a pickleball league on Tuesdays,” he replied. “The community center has courts and everything. Next week is the championships for the summer season. Sundays, I meal prep for the week.” He patted his flat stomach beneath the blue button up he wore. He probably had toned abs, but I didn’t have any interest in licking them. “I eat Keto, but I’m also gluten free.”
“Do you have celiac disease?” I wondered. It was a horrible thing to have and made contact with any kind of wheat product life threatening.
He shook his head. “No. It gives my meals boundaries when I don’t include wheat products.”
“Oh.” I finished my wine wondering what food boundaries were.
“I have a cabin on the far side of Hunter Mountain and go there for a week every Memorial Day and Labor Day. Fourth of July is spent at the lake.”
“And Christmas?” I asked.
“Ten o’clock present opening at my parents’ house in Missoula.”
I wasn’t sure if he was serious about the precise timing, but I didn’t push for the answer because the waitress arrived with our entrees. His plate was spartan with a piece of grilled chicken, steamed vegetables and small side salad. He’d had to special request the lettuce mix–no dressing–instead of whipped potatoes. Oh, and no marsala sauce either.
In front of me, I had the chicken picatta, loaded with lemony butter goodness. And a side of pasta. A big, huge, wheat filled pile of it. My food boundaries were the size of the plate.
“What about you?” he asked, picking up his silverware.
I glanced up at him from how I was twirling pasta on my fork. “What about me?”
“You’re an accountant. Very… structured.”
Meaning boring. He probably found my job as dull as I found his. I dealt with calculators and the IRS. He dealt in spit.
“What do you do for fun?” he asked.
I raised my fork and before I shoved the saucy noodles into my mouth, I said, “I eat gluten.”
Petty? Maybe.
But looking at Alan, with his crisp clothes, perfectly combed hair and exacting dinner, I felt like I was staring at myself. A male version of Lindy Beckett. As I chewed on the tangy bite, I realized Alan was me. He had a boring job that never changed. Mouth after mouth of teeth, day in and day out until retirement. If the only excitement from his work was scaring a patient out the door, then it had to be monotonous. Specifically–and consistently–planned vacations to the same place year after year, traditions down to an exact time…
Me.
While I didn’t cook all my meals on Sunday, Saturday was my shopping day. Sunday I did laundry and ensured my clothes were ready for the week. I cut the grass on Monday nights because it was cooler, and I liked being outdoors after a day at the office. Yoga was Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I kept lists. Even pulled Dex into making one.
Who was I to judge Alan when I was the female version of him? Except he met every single requirement on my man list that I’d taped on the bottom side of the toaster. Employed, well mannered, well kept, solid family. It was eye opening, and depressing. Was this how everyone saw me? Bland and boring as a keto, gluten free meal? Was this how Dex saw me? Was he humoring me by keeping track of all my to-dos? Was my man list bad?
Suddenly, the pasta in my mouth tasted like saw dust. No wonder Dex had been happy to wave me off on my date. He wasn’t interested. Sure, he’d kissed me, but… well, that made no sense. And the waking up on top of him thing? He hadn’t initiated it. I’d gotten past the berm and ended up on top of him on his side of the bed. I’d practically molested him.
“Those capers will get stuck in your teeth.” Alan pointed to the little green bits of tangy yumminess on my plate. “Be sure to floss later. And use a different spot on the thread with each tooth so you don’t spread bacteria.”
