Authors: Stacey Wiedower
She meant it. In fact, she was already looking forward to it.
* * *
A week later, in an exam room at her doctor's office, a test confirmed what two more First Response sticks had already convinced Erin of—she wasn't pregnant. But she still hadn't gotten her period.
"Have you been under an abnormal amount of stress lately?" asked Dr. Flowers, the OB-GYN she'd been seeing since she was fourteen.
Erin huffed. "Uh, yeah," she said, thinking about the
D
she'd just received on a late mass comm assignment, the reams of unanswered emails in her inbox, the blog entry she was behind on posting, and the fact that Ben had been MIA for seven days—he wasn't answering her calls.
"That's probably the culprit," said the doctor in the soft, wispy voice Erin had always liked—it matched her graceful, willowy figure. "Stress can do strange things to your body. Just make sure you're sleeping enough and eating right, and you should balance back out." She looked over Erin's chart, a yellow sheet on a clipboard. "Everything here looks good," she said. "We'll do some blood work. If you do keep having problems, call back and make a follow-up, and we'll figure out what's going on."
"I will," Erin said.
Dr. Flowers sat back and, almost as an afterthought, said, "You could also go back on the pill."
So far they hadn't discussed her request for a pregnancy test. At twenty-nine, Erin didn't feel awkward discussing birth control with her doctor, but the subject did have that residual taboo feeling (unmarried woman! fornication!) that was ingrained in the South. She didn't know how much she wanted to get into the intricacies of her love life.
"I don't know," she hedged. "I hate being on the pill. And it's not like I'm in a relationship or having sex regularly or anything. The pregnancy scare was a fluke, seriously. It was one time." Erin tried not to let herself think of Devon and wonder whether, or when, that one time might lead to more times.
Dr. Flowers nodded, her face impassive. "Just to put it out there, you do have other options," she said. "We could do Mirena, or fit you for a diaphragm, or try another low-dose pill." She paused. "I don't think you should do anything more permanent, since you're reaching the age when fertility begins to decline. One of these days, you'll
want
a positive result."
Unbidden, Erin felt her insides clench up. Before this pregnancy scare she'd never once worried about pregnancy or kids or future fertility. She'd always just assumed, like every twenty-something assumes, that those things would come someday, magically, way off in the distant future when she had her life together. Viewed that way, the precipice of thirty seemed even steeper and more foreboding.
Her mind traveled to Devon again, to Ethan—the child she still wasn't sure she wanted to meet. She'd been talking to his father every couple of days, though they'd yet to plan another date. It was as if he was waiting on her to make the move, scared of scaring her off, and she was waiting for the right moment when she felt in control of the situation and her life again. She'd been so busy in the past week she didn't feel in control of anything, not even her own calendar.
"I think for now I'll keep taking my chances," Erin said, wishing she had reason to expect a regular, healthy sexual relationship. She thought about her most recent date, with Zach Bouldin, charismatic owner of Zac's Tats in Lowest Greenville. They'd had a blast but, as with Ed, she knew there wasn't much chance for a future in the relationship.
October 17: Date 14
Name:
Jack*
Age:
36
Job:
Tattoo artist and entrepreneur
List:
No. 29: Get a tattoo, duh**
I met the guy I'm calling Jack* online—not through a dating site this time, but over email. He read my blog and knew I was in the market for a tattoo, and he sells tattoos, so…
When I took him up on the offer, he was surprised. I think he did it for kicks—obviously he didn't realize how hard up for dates I really am. I met him at his shop, but we didn't start the night with my tattoo. Instead I toured the shop and met the artists who work there, which was fascinating. I've seen the odd episode of
Inked,
but it's so much cooler to watch the process in person. I also picked out my tattoo and told Jack where I wanted it. (Breaking the ice before he drew on my ass also seemed like a good idea—one reason we did the date part first.)
We had dinner at this super-secret restaurant Jack knew about in Downtown Dallas. It doesn't have any outside signage, and to go there you have to make a reservation months in advance. But Jack does all the owner/chef's tats, so he can go pretty much any time he wants. I wasn't sure where we were going at first, and I'll admit that I was scared for a minute. (Side note: There's a safety element involved in this blog that I'm aware of, and I'm careful about who I go out with. Also, my friends always know where I am.) So, we parked in what was literally a dark alley and entered through a beat up metal door. Inside, we walked down a short hallway to a stairwell, and I'm thinking, "OMG, he's leading me to some kinky S&M lair." But then, beside a door to some stairs, was a sign that said
délicieux,
and I breathed a sneaky sigh of relief. (I'm pretty sure Jack was laughing at me on the inside.)
The food at this place was INCREDIBLE. I've been to nice restaurants before and I had some amazing food in France, but the food at délicieux was hands down the best stuff I have ever put in my mouth. There were only four people there besides us, two other couples, and they were totally part of the Dallasite cool kids set—I had to pretend like I fit in (hello, high school), but I'm pretty sure they all saw through me.
By the end, we were stuffed and liquored up—we had wine pairings with each course of the meal. I was getting worried about how I was going to pay for all of this, (because as you know, my 30 First Dates and I go Dutch treat), but as it turned out we were comped. Yay, me! (Actually, thanks Jack.) From there we went and hung out for a bit on the Geo Deck at Reunion Tower—for anybody who doesn't know what this is, it's the building in Dallas' skyline with the sparkly ball on top. We looked at the lights of the city and told each other our life stories (his was much more interesting than mine) while I sobered up enough to get tatted up. Then we headed back to his shop.
Knowing I'd be writing about the night, Jack was prepared. He asked if I wanted to video the experience to include on the blog, and I was absolutely down with it. So check out the link of me getting inked
here
. My mom thought I was nuts to want to "permanently disfigure myself" like this, but all I can say is, when I'm eighty, I know I'll be watching this video with a huge smile on my face.
As she got dressed after her exam was over, Erin twisted sideways to see her new tattoo in the dressing room mirror. It was small, but swirly and elaborate—a tree with the word
inspire
wound into the branches, all in black. She'd had Zach place it on her right cheek, level with her hip bone. Even though it was on her list, she was proud that she'd actually gone through with it. She'd chickened out twice before, once in college and once a few months post-grad school.
Plus, Zach had been a trip. Totally not her type—she could get into tattoos
to an extent
, but not when they covered virtually all visible skin. His face was tat-free, but his chin, eyebrows,
and
nose were pierced. He was tall and wiry and completely crazy, the kind of guy who attracted attention everywhere he went, inspiring equal parts fear and admiration in the people around him (as in, some people feared him, some people admired him).
Erin had seen pictures of him before the date, so she'd dressed the part and worn fishnets and cowboy boots with a short black sheath she'd bought for the occasion. With her blonde hair recently touched up and a little extra makeup a lá Sherri the makeover artist, she felt like her own party-ready evil twin. Listening to Zach talk about his life—he'd dropped out of Stanford a semester before graduation and bummed around the world working odd jobs for about a decade before coming home to Texas to open his shop—she felt like her own life adventures were sheltered, indeed.
At any rate, she'd had a great time, and she'd sorely needed it. A few more dates like Zach would put the fun back in the blog she'd felt lacking since the Paul-Devon-Ben disaster.
After her doctor's appointment, Erin hurried back to her apartment. She had a load of work to get done for both her classes—which she was pretty sure, at the current moment, she was failing. Even though she didn't know yet if she wanted the degree, she didn't want to
have
to quit because she was flunking out.
She also needed to post a blog entry. She hadn't had a date since Zach, but she'd made some progress on her list, and she wanted to write about that.
She'd started reading
War and Peace
, for one. When she picked it up and saw how tiny the print was in its thousand-plus pages, she realized it might take her six months to finish it. She'd also watched two more Best Picture winners,
Annie Hall
and
Driving Miss Daisy
. She'd been knocking these out on free weeknights.
Once she'd completed enough coursework to feel less panicked about her ability to pass her classes, Erin sat down with her journal and her laptop and began to make a plan. She clicked open the calendar app on her phone. She had seven months and three weeks to complete every item on her list
and
get through sixteen more dates.
Looking at her list made her nervous. With a couple of exceptions she'd picked off the easiest items—and the easiest of the hard items—so the ones that were left were truly daunting. She'd also started running more regularly, but she wanted to talk to Ben before she created her official marathon training schedule. She picked up her phone and dialed his number again, unsurprised but still disappointed when she got his voicemail.
She'd tried to call him to tell him she wasn't pregnant, but he'd been avoiding her since their encounter in the park. She'd finally resorted to dropping her big news over voicemail, hoping it would jar him out of silence. It didn't. And now she was leaving yet another message.
"Hi Ben. It's me. Look, I know you're not talking to me right now…but I wish you'd call me back. I'm planning my training schedule for the Austin marathon, and I'd love to have my favorite running partner back. Call me. Soon. Please. Bye."
Pathetic.
Restless, Erin decided she felt like doing something more than sitting by herself in her apartment. Hilary was back from her honeymoon—and they were still on normal speaking terms—but she was in Chicago for some type of training conference. Sherri was slammed with a huge acquisition at work and was rarely home these days. Paul was long gone, she was sure her chances with him destroyed. And now with Ben MIA, she felt friendless and alone.
She dialed Devon's number.
Voicemail again. Dejected, she said, "Hey Devon. You busy tonight? I was thinking about ordering in and watching a couple movies. I'd love some company. If not, that's cool. Okay, well, talk to you soon."
She pushed back into the couch cushions after hanging up, shocked that she'd just done that—it was totally unplanned. She looked down at herself. She was wearing slouchy gray yoga pants and a ratty Cowboys sweatshirt. If Devon did come over, she wasn't exactly setting a seduction scene.
That's good
, she said to herself, the voice of the proverbial angel on her right shoulder.
Then the devil kicked her in her left ear and sent her scurrying to the shower, just in case.
* * *
When she was showered and dressed in slightly nicer yoga pants and a fitted T-shirt, Erin noticed a missed call on her phone. She was surprised to see that it wasn't Devon but Ben. The voicemail icon was lit up and, eager—she clicked it. A wave of relief drenched her when she heard his voice.
"Hey. I'm sorry I haven't been calling you back. It's not that I'm not talking to you, I just didn't know what to say after the spectacular ass I made of myself the last time I…we…well, you know. I've also been…busy. Are you doing anything tonight? It'd be easier to tell you all this in person. Call me. Bye."
As soon as she deleted the message and before she had a chance to call him back, the phone started buzzing in her hand. Devon. Of course.
Frozen in place, she let the call go to voicemail. When the phone beeped to let her know she had a new message, she clicked the icon again and heard, "Are you teasing me, Crawford? You give me an invitation like that and then don't answer when I call?" He paused, and she could hear loud, unidentifiable noises in the background. "I can come, by the way, but it'll have to be late. I'm with Ethan right now at his science fair. I'm dropping him back at his mom's after, so I could be there…9:30 or so? Call and let me know."
She closed her eyes and sighed. Why had she invited him? It was obviously clear to him what her message had said and what it had implied. Did she really want what she was offering? Could she handle it? She didn't know.
Erin stared at her phone's screen, her finger hovering over her list of missed calls. Until the moment her finger hit the button, she wasn't sure which person she was calling back. She bit her lower lip as she listened to the ringing on the other end.
"Hey babe." Ben picked up on the third ring, his voice subdued. "You got my message, then. You free?"
"Definitely," Erin said, trying not to let the guilt overcome her. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she
would
have to call Devon back, no matter how much she wanted to pretend she'd never called him. "Can you hang out for a while? I've got
On the Waterfront
,
The French Connection
, and
Dances With Wolves
." Lately, Netflix had been her best friend.