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“This place doesn’t have a dress code,” he says after saying hello. “I think you should be fine.”
I blink a few times, confused about his comment. He’s wearing the same slick, mid-priced suit as when I met him at the office where he’s an associate accountant.
“Is this not okay?” I ask, frowning at how he ushers me into the restaurant.
“No, it’s fine. Black is very slimming.”
Rather than reveal my irritation, I erase all emotion from my face like I would when a customer became belligerent.
As we’re seated, I look around and spot women dressed in denim and T-shirts. Rather than be offended by his comment, I decide Alan’s just nervous.
Even so, my mind returns to Hobo seeing me in faded blue denim and a pink “XYZ Coffee” T-shirt. I’d been crying and looked worn down.Yet, he called me “pretty.”
Of course, Hobo didn’t come back or ask me out.
Alan did, so I need to enjoy this man’s company rather than wonder what Hobo’s doing right now.
I look over the menu while Alan explains in great detail how he became an accountant despite his story boiling down to “My dad was an accountant, so I became one, too.”
The prices on the menu freak me out a bit. I’m unsure what’s appropriate to order on a first date in McMurdo Valley. If I go too cheap, I might insult Alan. Picking something too expensive would seem greedy. I decide on a mid-range scallop dish.
Alan talks throughout dinner. I nod and ask questions, but he really doesn’t need any help with focusing on himself. The food is good, but the company needs work.
Or am I just too rusty at dating to know what’s normal? I try to imagine Alan and me on our Christmas cards. Would our nightly dinners involve me silently listening to him talk about clients and his coworkers? Is unending boredom my only option for the future?
“I thought about hitting up your shop,” Alan says as we finish our meal. “It’s just out of the way of everything. I’ll see if I can find a reason to be in that area.”
Nodding, I feel like he’s making fun of me. Just in case I didn’t pick up on his dig at my shop’s location, he adds, “There’s a location for lease in our building. Nowthatplace would have gotten you a lot of traffic.”
“I should have visited town before signing anything,” I mumble, tired after another disappointing day. “I was distracted by dealing with my parents’ estate, so I jumped the gun.”
“Eh, it’s not the end of the world,” he says and leans back to smile at me. “Do you play racquetball?”
Shaking my head, I’m ready to end this date. That’s when Alan waves over the waitress and asks for separate checks. His words are like a knife to the gut. He just mentioned my shop doing poorly, yet he brought me somewhere expensive while expecting me to pay. I’d rather have stayed home and eaten veggie fajitas.
“I had a sous chef who pulled that move,” I say as I fish out my debit card.
“A racquetball move?”
I nearly hold my tongue. I was raised to be polite. Except being nice meant I got disrespected by employees, suppliers, and customers.
Being nice tonight would only make sense if I wanted to date Alan again. I don’t care about remaining realistic with what a woman of my age and qualities can find in the world. I’d rather die alone than listen to this man talk about accounting and make fun of my bad choices. If he’s cruel to me on a first date, he’ll be worse once the newness wears off.
Rather than hold my tongue, I rest my card on the bill and explain, “One of our sous chefs would take a woman to an expensive restaurant. If things went well, he would pay and impress her with his finances. If things didn’t go well, he’d go Dutch to ensure the woman didn’t wait around for a follow-up date. It was his casual way of letting them down easily.”
Alan frowns, ready to defend himself. I see how he thinks this date went well. He’s just setting boundaries, so I’ll know what to expect. I wave off his attempt to speak and ask the waitress to add a twenty percent tip on my end.
“How much will you give?” I ask him, holding his gaze in the way I would with a disagreeable employee once my niceness wore out.
Smirking at my comment, Alan offers her the same percentage. I realize he thinks we’re poking at each other as a courting ritual. He can’t fathom how I might be disinterested. Alan views himself as a catch while I’m a failed businesswoman in her late thirties.
“Let’s not make this awkward,” I tell him as we walk outside. “I’ll ask for another accountant from your office. A clean break is for the best.”
“Why are you acting snippy?” he asks and then leans back on his heels. “Ah, mad I didn’t pay, are you?”
“We’re the same age, Alan. I know why I never settled down. Before dinner, I couldn’t imagine why you hadn’t. Now, I know. Goodnight.”
Holding my head up high as I settle in my car, I feel like a warrior princess.
