Page 3 of The Blind Date

“You must think I’m crazy if you think I’m agreeing to fifteen,” I huffed and took a large gulp of my drink, needing something to take the edge off. Though arguably, the dozen or so drinks before this one should have been enough to take the edge off.

“Fourteen.”

“Three,” I countered.

Mum pinned me with a frustrated glare. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“You should be grateful I didn’t start with one. Or zero.”

“Fine. Thirteen,” she sighed dramatically.

“Five, and I’m not going any higher.”

“And I’m not going any lower.”

“Why don’t we settle somewhere in the middle and go for ten?” Dad interjected, playing mediator as he always did. “Doesn’t that sound reasonable, Saff?”

“It’s still a crazy high number,” I murmured in complaint.

“It’s lower than fifteen.” He sent me a pointed look. One which told me I needed to count my blessings and be grateful before Mum changed her mind and bulldozed me into agreeing to fifteen. Or more.

“Fine. Ten it is,” I sighed and pinned Mum with a quizzical brow. “Is that why you got me drunk? So you could trick me into agreeing to your crazy idea?”

“Of course, not,” Mum denied the same time Dad nodded and answered, “Yes.”

We decided to seal the deal with a round of shots which I regretted the next morning when I woke up smelling distinctly of vomit and feeling like a double-decker bus had run me over. Though I was sure the dozen or so drinks before that last shot also had something to do with it.

It wasn’t until later that day when I was bundled in a blanket in front of the TV and nursing my dad’s secret hangover cure that I remembered what I had been tricked into agreeing to yesterday. First came anger and annoyance, and then grief until finally, I was delirious enough to believe that perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

Who knew? Maybe I would meet the love of my life on one of these blind dates?

I thought about it for a moment before dismissing the thought.

Fat chance!

ChapterOne

Ten blind dates a month was absurd!

There was no way I would have sold my soul to the devil, aka my mum, if I had been sober. Of course, she waited until the right moment–when I was drunk off my head and incapable of making any rational decisions–to pounce. But I couldn't give her all the credit. Not when I knew she had Dad's backing.

Weddings always brought out the worst in my parents, and it appeared that Alina's wedding had been the tipping point to push them over the edge. Perhaps it was the abundance of booze or the innumerable nephews, nieces, and baby cousins that Alina and her new husband, her childhood love, Jeremy, had between them, but it had clearly proven too much for my parents.

I must have been drunker than I was willing to admit because Mum had made me agree that I would let them pick out the dates. All I had to do was let her know when I was available.

The only thing I remembered was that her first proposition was fifteen dates. If it weren’t for Dad, she would have gotten her way as well. In hindsight, I should have put up more of a fight or flat-out refused her ridiculous idea, but I was far too drunk to think straight. I was also drunk enough to think that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Of course, I still didn’t think that when I sobered up in the morning.

Mum's mission–her words, not mine–was to set me up on as many blind dates as it took until I found the perfect man– she kept saying soulmates–to settle down and have a bunch of adorable children with. Again, her words, not mine.

It appeared that she was tired of my spinster ways.

That was a little over a week ago. When chilly, spooky October reared its ugly head, my parents invited their first choice of the month to Sunday dinner without informing me. While it was against the terms she had set out, I had to admit that it was the smart thing to do. If I knew they planned to kick start their plan so soon, I would have come up with an excuse worthy enough to be excused from Sunday dinner that week. But of course, they didn't. I mean, why would they? That would be sabotaging themselves.

Conveniently, something came up, and my parents announced they needed to leave before we had even ordered our meals.

"He's smart. You'll like him, Saff,” Dad whispered to me as he wrapped his scarf around his neck to combat the chilly October wind outside.

People often told me that I looked a lot like my dad. I had his striking blue eyes, thick, arched eyebrows, pointed nose and high cheekbones. When they got to know me, they said we were very much alike in personality as well.

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