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“Oh, I have not. You?” she asks, looking around.
I chuckle, causing her attention to come back to me with a questioning look. “Yes, I own the place.”
“Ah, well, that’s exciting.” Is all she says, then she picks up the pen on the notebook next to her and jots something down. I try to read what she’s writing, but I’m just too far away. Trying to think about what I would ask next on a date, I realize I would ask about her job, but I already know about her job. She’s a dating coach. So I go with, “Do you have any hobbies?”
“Oh yes, I love to garden. I’ve always had a green thumb. I also enjoy birdwatching,” she replies. Her smile is small and damn it, I can’t tell if she’s making this shit up or not. Birdwatching? Really?
“Oh, well, I envy you on the green thumb. I don’t have much luck with plants myself. I’ve always liked the idea of plants in my space, but if I’m left to take care of them, I tend to kill them,” I tell her.
“Interesting. There are a handful of indoor plants that are very hard to kill. Maybe look into those.”
Now I’m stuck, because if I were flirting, I would ask her to provide me with the list, but should I be flirting? My phone beeps in my pocket. I forgot to silence it.
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell her as I pull out my phone to silence it. I see that it’s my grandmother.
Gma:
Have you gone on your first date yet?
I put my phone back into my pocket. Polly smiles then jots down another note on her pad of paper. “So does gardening and birdwatching keep you busy?”
“Very much so. What kind of things do you do for fun?” she asks, looking up from her notes.
“The restaurant business keeps me very busy.” Is all I offer and just then a slew of vibrations go off in my pocket.
“I’m sorry. Someone is being very impatient.” I pull my phone back out and see several more texts from my grandma.
Gma:
Don’t screw this up Cole. Ruth is doing you a solid.
Once you’ve been set up, I want a picture of her. I want all the details.
Did Ruth mention any kind of social event to find you matches? Should I come for a visit?
You don’t tell me anything anymore.
Me:
I’m on a wingman date right now and I think she’s writing down bad things about me.
What are you doing texting? Bad manners.
You’re rapid-fire texting me right now!
I hear a dainty throat clear and slide my phone back in my pocket. “Sorry, Polly, it was my grandmother.”
Her eyes narrow on me like she doesn't believe me but not my problem. I hear a crash come from the kitchen and I can’t help but look over to see if I can make sense of what’s happened.
“You seem very distracted, Cole,” she says.
“I’m sorry about that. It’s hard to leave work at work when you’re sitting at a table at work.” I chuckle.
“Have you had a chance to look at the menu? If you’re not sure what to order, I can make a suggestion,” I offer.
“Oh, no, I think I’m capable of ordering for myself,” she snips. And fuck me, this woman is not making this easy. I wonder if she’s like this with all her dates. Maybe I need to mention something to Ruth later.
I open my mouth to tell her I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, but she pulls out her own phone. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
