Page 31 of Accidental Blind Date
I wait for Joni to victory dance her way up to the bar for her second prize of the night, some kind of lily. She grabs another bottle of wine and makes her way back to me, refilling our glasses.
“Okay, sorry. Go on,” she presses. “You hooked up with Hemingway. That’s legit.”
“It’s legitimately a problem,” I state.
“How so?”
“Because Hemingway books is the company Kai signed my store over to.”
Joni shakes her head and sets her glass down. “Wait, wait, wait. So, your douchy brother, who I have never liked by the way, actually followed up on his threat to sell your cute little bookstore, the store your parents started, and we grew up in and I take my own children too weekly?!”
I nod and take a gulp of my wine.
“Damn. That man is savage. So anywho, now you’re telling me that you hooked up with a man who said his name was Jax, but it was actually Dax as in Daxton Hemingway of Hemingway Books and that’s the company that is ripping your store from your hands?”
“Yep,” I say, taking another gulp.
“Jesus, girl. I don’t know if that’s good luck or bad luck.”
“It’s bad,” I answer, setting my glass down and reaching for the bottle. “Because now, I have to see him every day and it’s just a reminder. A reminder that he is ruining my life one bookshelf at a time. You know he wants to get rid of story time? Who the fuck gets rid of story time!?”
“Like a said, a savage. I’m a first-grade teacher and even on my worst days I look forward to story time. There’s just something magical about it. And as someone who has had 4 natural births, which by the way are anything but natural, and changed more diapers than the octomom– I’d put actual money on it– I don’t believe in magic.”
I nod. The wine is turning my head to fuzz and my heart to Jell-O. Maybe one more glass will numb it. “The worst part is, every time I see him, every time he walks in the building or looks at me or says something stupid about the way my store is set up, all I can think about is how epic the sex was. And how sweet he was. It was…unreal…how that man treated me in bed, Joni. Which makes me think it was all a lie.”
“Not necessarily,” she argues, snitching an olive off the mini charcuterie we ordered. “Sometimes men can be one way in the bedroom and another way during business hours.”
That annoys me. “So, which is real?”
“Both.”
It makes no sense. And it pisses me off. I think Joni can tell because she moves the Bingo cards aside and leans in. I don’t think they’d let her get another bingo anyways. Her winning streak seems to be pissing off some of the other tables.
“Listen. I know you can’t just forget about it. Not if the sex was that good–”
“So good…”
“And you have to see him every day. But can’t move on. Maybe find someone else to go out with. Someone who understands what a one and done really is. If you can’t walk of shame away from it, it’s not an ONS, you know? Or hell, maybe find someone to actually date. Even if it’s slow or casual. It might be good for you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Jax…I mean Dax…has only taught me one thing since my divorce from Shane. Men are not what they seem. You know his phone’s constantly blowing up with calls from other women? Women that make him stop what he’s doing and take the calls outside. And they all have these ridiculous flower names. It’s just…pathetic.”
“As many men are. For tonight though, you’re with me. No kids. No asshole date slash bosses. Just us, and wine, and winning bingo boards. By the way, you’re one away from a bingo.”
“I am?” I ask, looking down. Sure enough, all I need ismilkweed.Charming.
But Joni is right. And as a typically eternal optimist, I am not going to let that man ruin my evening. I top off my glass of wine and wait for the bartender to call out milkweed.
As it would turn out, she did.
I got my first bingo ever, winning a prized cherry tomato plant of all things. And while I’m not particularly great with plants (most of mine are fake succulents in cute pots from Homegoods), I have hope for me and Tom. If he can survive my black thumb household, maybe I can survive Mr. Hemingway polluting my shop.
Joni and I say goodbye, and I make my way out of the shop. It isn’t until I am stumbling towards my car, dropping my keys and almost dropping Tom (he’s not a small plant. He already has green tomatoes growing on him), that I realize I maybe shouldn’t be driving.
I lean my back against the car, plant in hand, and look up at the sky. Stars are hard to see in the city, but I can see one. And I take it as a sign.
“Hey, Dad,” I slur. “I know, I know. I drank too much. Maybe I’ll just walk back to the shop and crash there for the night. I can sleep in the kiddy corner since that’s going away soon.”
I smile at the thought but it’s not a happy one.
