Page 10 of Last First Kiss
We can’t figure out a movie to watch, so instead we get sucked into a home improvement show on HGTV for a couple of hours before Clara’s phone rings.
“Hey, Lala,” Clara answers.
“Oh crap,” I mutter, scanning the floor for my phone.
Lala must have tried calling me. She usually calls a few times before giving up and calling Clara instead.
Clara is as much Lala’s granddaughter as I am. After Clara’s mom died, my mom became her legal guardian, so she grew up around my family. But her bond with Lala started even before that. When we were around five, Clara asked her if she could call her “Lala,” too. Lala cried as she said, “Of course, mijita.” I think that’s still one of her favorite memories with Clara.
“Oh, yeah, we’d love to.” Clara smiles.
“What would we love?” I whisper, trying to lean into Clara’s phone to listen. “Oh God, please tell me she’s not trying to set us up on a double date again.”
Clara laughs and shakes her head.
Thank God.A few months ago, Lala set Clara and me up on the worst double date ever. It was with a pair of twins who talked so in sync they finished each other’s sentences and sometimes spoke at the same time, as if they were telepathic with each other. It was so odd.
“Alright, Lala, we love you. See you soon.”
“What did she say?” I ask the second she hangs up. “Did she set you up on a date? Please tell me she’s given up on me and is moving on to you.”
“God, no, she knows better. She asked if we’d want to play bingo with her at the center on Friday. I said we would.”
Something doesn’t feel entirely right about the invitation, but I ignore it because Lala calls us at least once a month to invite us to bingo, and the times we’ve gone, we’ve had a great time.
When Friday finally rolls around, Clara and I realize Lala didn’t just trick us, shebamboozledus.
The tables aren’t arranged in their usual bingo grid. Instead, there are numbered stations with chairs facing each other, each one with a tiny bowl of cookies and a single rose in a vase.
“Oh my God,” I say slowly.
“This isn’t bingo.” Clara looks around, horror written across her face.
Turns out, “bingo” was Lala-speak for speed dating.
“She fucking tricked us,” Clara says in disbelief.
From the back, as if summoned by the accusation, Lala weaves cheerfully through the crowd. She’s a full-figured woman, solid and comfortable in her skin, dressed in her usual mix of clashing colors—tawny orange with teal, floral against stripes—a look that’s somehow so perfect on her and no one else. Her signature thick yellow glasses sit on her face, making her eyes appear even bigger than they already are, and her long silver hair is braided neatly down her back.
“Surprise!” she sings as she wraps Clara and me in a tight hug.
“Surprise indeed,” I say, trying not to sound as annoyed as I am.
“Oh, look at you both.” Lala holds us at arm’s length and takes us both in. “So pretty. I will be very surprised if you both don’t walk out of here with dates to the wedding!”
Before we can say a word, Lala’s ushering Clara toward a table with a cute blond. “Be open-minded!” she chirps. “You never know!”
Clara stares back at me, wide-eyed, silently begging me to save her.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her as Mrs. Myer—Lala’s long-time bingo friend—takes my hand and guides me toward a table with a beautiful redhead.
And then the dates begin.
Round 1
Her name is Saffron. She sells homemade soy candles online and insists each one is infused with “ancient feminine energy.” Whatever that means.
“What’s your sign?” Saffron asks before I even sit down.
