Page 10 of Head Over Heels

“Why, where would you want to go?”

“There’s this vegan bistro—”

His eyes got really wide.

“I’m messing with you,” I admitted. “I’m totally not vegan. But maybe something likeIl Capriccio?You know, gourmet food, candlelight?”

“That’s two more strikes against you.”

But he was grinning, and I couldn’t help grinning back. It was so absurd it was starting to be fun.

It was too bad it wasn’t going to happen, because he had a great smile, hair so rumpled it made my fingers itch, and the perfect amount of scruff on a strong jaw. Not to mention a gray T-shirt clinging to broad shoulders and sculpted pecs. But Zeke had been good-looking too, and look where that had gotten me.

That night, we managed to agree on a few things: that blind dating—really, all dating—sucked, that itwasimportant to know the points on which you couldn’t compromise, and that people overall spent way too much time beating around the bush about important stuff when they could lay it all out up front.

Also that we wouldn’t ever be a couple.

We parted ways after dessert, and I figured that would be the last I heard of Chase.

A couple of weeks later, I went out on the worst date of my life (still), with this guy who wouldn’t even make eye contact with me over dinner and could barely stammer out answers to my questions, let alone pose one of his own. I’m sure he wasn’t a bad guy, just painfully socially awkward, but it was brutal. And he’d successfully checked every box on my mental checklist, so I texted Chase to say that I’d added one more criterion to the list, the ability to carry on a conversation, and he texted back to say that he’d just been on a date with a woman who’d brought her cats with her in their carriers, one in each hand.

That was a waste of an evening,he texted.

Amen to that.

I would have been a lot happier at home with an action flick, a six-pack, and a large pepperoni.

Me, too, except chick flick, chocolate, and wine.

Let’s do it.

Do what?

Let’s have a consolation party. My place, 45 minutes, bring your own movie-playing device and snack and drink of choice.

I hesitated.

I texted back:Just to be clear, I’m not interested in hooking up.I didn’t want to be a jerk, but I also didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings. He was so not my type, and I was so not his. And he’d been so straightforward with me the night we’d gone out—surely he wouldn’t begrudge the same from me.

I am all for being clear. No hookup. Just movie. I swear on the Mariners’ prospects for this year.

It made me smile. Maybe because dating was so exhausting—the hope, the preparation, the anticipation, the burst bubble, the putting on the best face you could while the minutes crawled by.

Chase was offering me the opposite.

Just like that, we were friends. And we have been, for three years. I don’t know what I’d do without Chase to make me laugh, especially after bad dates. We have a tradition now: If either of us has a bad date, the other one has to come over afterward so we can debrief. We mock the bad dates relentlessly, laugh like fools, and toast our continuing single status (Chase stocks wine for me; I stock scotch for him; and we bring our own snacks, because we can’t agree on them). Afterward, if it’s not too late, we watch movies—sitting side by side with our iPads, earbuds in, watching our respective genres.

We get together other times, too, but for me at least, my favorite times are still those post-date bitch sessions.

I’m going to miss our get-togethers when I go. Earlier today, I was hoping Chase would say he’d miss me after I left, but let’s be real: He’s not good with emotions. He’s never going to say that.

Maybe we can move our consolation parties to FaceTime, but it won’t be the same…

Anyway, tonight, we’re midway through our cocktail ofJason BourneandBridget Jones’s Babywhen Bridget Jones’s baby starts crying. Only Bridget hasn’t actually given birth yet, so I pause my movie and tug out my earbuds. Katie.

I look over at Chase, and he’s asleep in his chair. Poor dude. I hate to wake him, not when he’s been getting up with Katie so many nights, so I push myself out of my chair and head up the stairs. I push her door open and kneel beside her bed. I put my hand out to touch her hair in the dark.

“Mommy.”