Page 14 of Save the Date

“Whataboutme?”

“Do you have any living grandparents?”

Emma felt her poker face faltering. What kind of a conversation was this? She hadn’t been out of the dating game long enough for everyone to become this painfully dull, had she? “I have two, both on my dad’s side.”

“Lucky.”

Emma guessed it was lucky to be her age and still get to go to her grandparents’chachka-filled house for Passover. But right now, she felt a little cursed. She was clearly going to have to keep searching for Mr. Right-For-The-Plan. If she didn’t die from boredom first.

“I’m not really that close with them,” Emma confessed. “My grandma is kind of a bitch.” The shocked look on Tim’s face was almost worth the twenty dollars she was going to have to pay for an Uber home. “She once told me that my face would be perfect if I got a nose job.”

“That’s horrible. What did you do?”

“I got a nose job to prove her wrong. See?” Emma gestured to her face. “Still not perfect!”

Tim forced himself to smile but it was clear he was reassessing the seemingly normal girl in front of him. He not so subtly looked at his phone. “Oh, wow. It’s getting late,” he announced.

Emma, tickled by the experience of no longer trying to be a “good date,” ignored his attempt to wrap things up. If this wasn’t going to be a romantic success, she could at least conduct some field research. “Tim, can I level with you?” Her second drink, which she ordered only because he ordered one, was catching up with her. “Can I put it all on the table for your honest reaction?”

“Uh…sure.”

“Great. You see, Timothy—”

“It’s actually just Tim. My mom thinks all names should be five letters or less.”

“Wow. Okay. You see,Tim, I was engaged. Until my fiancé decided to walk out on me six weeks ago.” Tim opened his mouth to speak but Emma put up her hand to stop him. Better to get it all out at once. “And while I was initially heartbroken, I’ve decided that I’m not going to let another person’s callous actions stop me from moving forward with my life. So, I kept the wedding venue and I kept my dress and I am officially on the hunt for a new groom.”

“That’s…surprising to hear,” Tim mumbled.

“I know. Pretty brave,” Emma said, although they both knew that wasn’t what Tim had meant. “What I’m asking of you,Tim-not-Timothy, is how you think I should go about explaining all this to potential grooms in the future. Because I don’t want to scare them off, but I also want them to know what’s up.” Emma sat back, ready to hear his insight. She was also pretty drunk at this point, which prevented her from feeling anything resembling embarrassment.

“Wait. Are you asking me to marry you?”

Emma burst into laughter. “God no. We aren’t right for each other. I haven’t even seenDreamgirls.”

Tim nodded in agreement.

“I’m just asking your opinion, as a man in the dating pool, how I should best go about this delicate, but ultimately life-affirming, situation.”

For a moment, Emma thought Tim was just going to get up and walk out. But after what felt like an eternity, he said, “Honestly? I wouldn’t tell him a thing. Just date him and have a lot of sex with him and never do anything annoying. And then, the night before the wedding, you get him really drunk and say something like, ‘Wouldn’t it be epic if we got married tomorrow?’ Forty percent chance he’ll go for it. And in the game of love, forty percent odds ain’t bad.” He took a swig of his beer as Emma wondered whether she had underestimated this man in front of her. His plan was brilliantly diabolical.

“Tim, I’m not going to do any of that. But I will buy our drinks.”

“Works for me.”

As they clinked their glasses, Emma asked, “Do you happen to have any single friends who would be open—”

“No.”

Well, at least she asked.

Seven

EMMA STARED AT THE CLOCK. IT WAS 12:02 P.M. AND HERbook editor was supposed to call her at noon. She wondered if the delay was a bad sign. Or if she was just making assumptions without having any real information and evidence. It was hard to be a therapist with generalized anxiety disorder; sometimes she just wanted to let her brain misbehave without feeling any pressure to act rationally.

When the phone rang at 12:03 p.m., Emma answered on the first ring. She had given up trying to seem aloof years earlier. It didn’t suit her.

“Hi, this is Emma!” Her voice reached the level of pitch reserved for awkward phone calls and unsettling interactions with strangers on elevators.

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