Page 4 of The Marriage Game

“So Fridays and Saturdays, then?” I venture…this time with not nearly as much optimism. “Don’t tell me,” I add as she opens her mouth, “on Fridays you go to the club and you won’t miss that for anything.”

She laughs. “The club? I don’t think so, Max. Not my scene unless there’s karaoke happening. But I do usually work Friday and Saturday nights.” She wrinkles her brow. “I waitress over at The Screaming Monkey.”

“I see.” I say again. “It would appear that you truly don’t have time for a relationship right now.”

She shrugs regretfully. “I tried to tell you.”

“You did try to tell me,” I admit. I look around the coffee shop, feeling slightly deflated, then back at Jill. She’s studying me and quite suddenly I get the feeling that this is a test of some sort. Like maybe she’s seeing how far I’m willing to go to date her or perhaps if I even have what it takes to date a woman with sucha full and busy life. Will I complain about her prioritizing other things over our time together? Or will I go the extra mile to see her whenever it works for her?

Heck yes, I’ll go the extra mile.

“Here’s the thing, Jill,” I say matter-of-factly, “I’ve got a pretty busy schedule too, but if after five minutes together I already like you as much as I do, then I’d say you're worth rearranging my schedule for.” The soft pink color that spreads across her cheeks as I speak lets me know I’ve said the right thing. Assumed correctly. “So I know you’re busy Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights—”

“And Sundays,” she adds hastily.

“And Sundays,” I amend. “But what would you say to letting me buy you a coffee right now? On this Saturday morning?”

Jill bites back a smile. “I have to study,” she says.

“What a lucky coincidence—so do I. I left my books in my car, but I can run and grab them. We can study together.”

Her smile breaks free. “Are you suggesting a study date?” she asks.

“I think I am.”

“Okay.” She nods.

“Great. I’ll just go grab my stuff.” I try to play it cool, not wanting to give away how happy her answer made me, but as soon as I’ve turned away from her I can’t resist a little victory arm pump.

I’m back with my stuff in three minutes flat. Jill has nicely cleared an area of the table for me. I sit down and we smile goofily at each other as we both grab hold of our textbooks.

“What are you studying for?” she asks.

“My bar exam,” I tell her. “You?”

“My business ethics test.”

Those are the last words we say to each other about school and over the next four hours neither of us study our books. Insteadwe study each other, learning as much about the other person as one can in a cram session.

By the time we eventually part ways so she can go to work I know for sure the Holy Spirit was spot on: I’m going to marry Jill Garza someday.

Chapter 2

Jill

Twenty-fouryears.That’showlong I’ve been driving and also how long I’ve gone without getting in a single car accident. Not even a fender bender or an altercation with a mailbox. My driving record is completely clean—or at least it was. Until today.

It figures, though, that my first ever car accident would occur during the twenty minutes of drive time from my OBGYN’s office to my house. The only twenty of minutes of my life that I have ever had a piece of paper on my front passenger seat boldly declaring (literally…the font is bolded) that I, Jill Bernard, née Garza, need to see a pelvic floor therapist for issues related to pelvic floor weakness/incontinence.

Of course due to the shock of getting forcefully hit by another car, I forgot all about said paper. At least until the officer collecting my statement—a young twenty-something who probably isn’t even aware that he has a pelvic floor—glanced behind me at my front seat, his eyes zeroing in on the incriminating papers.

Now he can’t even look me in the eye because he knows I’m the type of woman who often accidentally pees a little when I laugh, cough, or make any sudden movement at all. He’s probably worried the stress of the accident is going to make me pee myself right here and now.

Honestly, shouldn’t there be a code for this kind of medical diagnosis? Sure, it may seem like pelvic floor weakness is pretty cryptic, but then they go ahead and stamp incontinence on there right next to it and ruin the whole charade.

As someone who used to spend my days making sure that politicians looked as good as possible no matter what they’d done or said, I’m appalled by this oversight. If I got my foot in the door at the gynecologist’s office I would give their literature a serious overhaul.

For starters, instead of incontinence I’d say, urinates with alarming frequency. No, that’s no good. Alarming has a negative connotation. Maybe urinates with the enthusiasm of a toddler.

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