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She replies with a laughing emoji and I put my phone away, bracing myself for the next few hours.
It doesn’t take me long to find my blind date, mostly because she’s literally holding a sign with my name on it like a chauffeur picking me up from the airport. I’ve been on some weird dates, but this is a first.
Unfortunately, the rest of the date is just as weird. In fact, it feels more like a business meeting than a blind date. She spends about half the dinner quizzing me about my work as a pharmaceutical exec, my salary, if I have benefits in my job, and what kind of health insurance I have. The other half is her telling me all about her ex-boyfriend and his job, salary, benefits, and health insurance.
By the time dinner is over, I can’t wait to get out of there, and, in keeping with the strangely formal conversation, she shakes my hand at the end. I’m left wondering what just happened and where my mom is finding these people.
As I walk back to my car, reluctant to tell my mom about yet another of her failed attempts at match-making tomorrow, I think back to some of the first women she set me up with. It’s clear things have taken a steady downward turn since then, and I wonder for a second if I should have just settled for one of the earlier women, just to make my mom happy.
I push the thought aside as quickly as it comes though. That would have meant leading someone on that I had no real interest in, and that just isn’t my style.
“I just can’t win, can I?” I mutter to myself as I get into the driver’s seat.
I lean back, taking a moment to enjoy the stillness and silence after the last two hours of boring conversation. I even chuckle to myself a little as I mull over that date again.
As terrible as it was though, sometimes I think I’m being too picky. It’s not like I really believe in real love anyway. At least not the way the movies make it out to be.
I don’t think anyone really gets that. There’s no soul mate, there’s no The One. If anything, people just find someone who’sokaywhen they get bored or lonely or they want to have kids. It’s more about survival instinct and hormones and chemicals than anything else.
And maybe one day that’ll happen to me too. Only, that survival instinct hasn’t kicked in for me yet. Maybe one day, but definitely not now. Honestly, maybe not ever – which is exactly why these dates seem like such a waste of time.
I shake my head again and sit forward to stick the key in the ignition, listening to the satisfying rumble of the car’s engine. I smile a little, thinking of how much I enjoy my life as it is.
Apart from my mom’s sickness, my life is actually great. I enjoy my work even if I’m not in love with it, I don’t want for anything thanks to theverynice salary that my date was so kind to pry about, I have friends, I have a good relationship with my family, and I enjoy my own company. Why would I need a relationship? It seems like more trouble than it’s worth, honestly.
2
JADA
The familiar door of my parents’ home greets me as I step up onto the creaky wooden porch. I stare for a second at the slightly flaking lacquer shining beneath the porch light, taking a breath before I ring the bell. Like every time I come here, I brace myself for what I know is coming – a series of needling questions about my love life. It always happens that way. It always will.
It only takes a second for my dad to answer the door after the little singsong chime rings out inside the house, and he immediately pulls me into his arms.
“Jada!” he says, wrapping me in a big bear hug. “How are you, honey?”
I hug him back, smiling as he pulls away to look at me. The smile isn’t forced, but my answer is, already anticipating where the conversation will go.
“I’m good. Just working a lot,” I explain, as he ushers me inside the house.
I wait for the part where he tells me I should spend more time looking for a husband and less time bartending, but to my surprise, it doesn’t come.
I’m sure Mom will lay it on me, I think, as I make my way to the dining table. My childhood dog, Coco, sniffs my hand as I approach, then walks away to lazily curl in front of the sofa, uninterested in my presence today.
“Oh you look so beautiful!” my mom cries when she sees me, pulling me into an even tighter hug than the one my dad gave me.
I’m dressed in a simple black blouse, jeans, and ballet flats, my long black braids pulled up into a messy bun, with not much more than a quick slash of eyeliner and lipgloss. Certainly nothing to warrant such a reaction from my mom. I can see where this is going.
I know she’s about to add something about any man being lucky to have me or some such subtle hint, but for some reason that doesn’t come either.
I’m certainly not about to ask why not, though. As I help them set up for dinner, none of their usual prying questions and not-so-subtle suggestions about my love life are brought into the conversation. After a while of this, I start to think that maybe, just maybe, they’ve come to the realization that their meddling isn’t exactly welcome.
Have they finally figured out that I’m not interested in another relationship like the last one?I wonder with growing hope.
I help my mom carry a pile of plates in from the kitchen as she tells me about some conversation they had with a neighbor, but her story is interrupted by the doorbell ringing again.
I give my parents a quizzical look. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask, wondering who that might be.
They exchange a quick look before giving a somewhat unconvincing performance of two people taken by surprise.
