Perfect on Paper (23 page)

A couple weeks later, I met a guy named Eric. The scene of the crime was Mollie Stone’s, the supermarket around the corner from my apartment. I went in there one Monday night after yoga for a salad. Mollie Stone’s has a fantastic salad bar that is ridiculously overpriced, but I ended up making my dinner there at least three times a week. It was just too easy, too close, and too tasty.

I was trying not to crush the hard-boiled eggs with the tongs when Eric struck up a conversation. I was wearing a tattered Cal Berkeley tank top and black yoga pants, with a sweatshirt wrapped around my waist and my hair pulled up into a sweaty, messy bun. So it was obvious that I’d been involved in some sort of exercise, either that or I was just gross. Anyhow, he asked me what sport I had been doing, and we started chatting. When I finished making my salad, he asked me if he could call me some time, so I said sure and gave him my cell phone number. After stalker Pierce, I’d decided that I couldn’t deal with any more personal calls at work. I was all about the cell phone now.

Physically, Eric wasn’t my type, but he seemed friendly and funny, so I figured why not? His thinning hair was pretty light, and at five foot eleven he didn’t meet my height requirement, but I had decided to get over myself and stop being so picky. What was my problem anyway? Like I was some beauty queen? Please.

Eric called a couple days later and asked me to dinner. We made plans to meet at Godzila Sushi (spelled with one
l,
though I have no idea why), a popular spot on Divisadero Street about ten blocks from my apartment. The night of the date, I left my place wearing a pair of jeans, a white tank top, and a black shawl. I’d straightened my hair and pinned a few strands to one side with a tiny clip. As I walked toward the restaurant, I suddenly realized that it was March 12, which meant that the next day was March 13.

I stopped in my tracks.

March 13 was the day Aaron and I had gotten engaged.

Back then we’d laughed about how our marriage was doomed because we’d gotten engaged on Friday the thirteenth. Apparently, we had been right.

I looked up into the starry sky and closed my eyes, then told myself to snap out of it and kept walking toward the restaurant.
Baby steps, baby steps.
I continued down California, and when I turned left onto Divisadero, I saw the Godzila Sushi sign a couple blocks away. There was a handful of people milling about outside, and I wondered how long we’d have to wait for a table. Godzila Sushi was always packed and annoyingly loud. And it didn’t take reservations. Did that make it a good place for a first date? I wasn’t so sure, and I wondered why Eric had picked it. On the one hand, the noise and informality took away the pressure to be romantic, but on the other hand, it was sort of awkward to manage small talk in a loud room.

When I walked up to the restaurant, I didn’t see Eric anywhere in the sidewalk crowd, so I poked my head inside to take a look.

“Waverly, over here!”

I turned my head to the left and saw him waving to me from the bar near the back. I made my way through the crowd and walked up to greet him. He stood up and gave me a tight bear hug, so tight that it was sort of hard to breathe. I broke away from him to smile and say hello, and when I took a step back I noticed that, I swear to God, he was wearing a yellow tank top tucked into a pair of black jorts.

“Hi, Eric.” I swallowed and tried to mask the look of panic that was surely plastered all over my face. Was he kidding me?

He smiled. “I put our name down for a table. It should be just a few more minutes. By the way, you look hot.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, focusing more on his outfit than his compliment.

Then I noticed that he had a large bottle of beer in front of him, the liter kind that you would normally share with someone else. I also noticed that it was nearly empty.

“Have you been here long?” I said.

“Nah, not long. About thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes? I looked at my watch. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I thought we’d agreed to meet at eight o’clock. Am I late?”

“No, you’re not late at all. I just thought I’d come early and have a brew. Do you want something?”

“Um, okay. A light beer would be nice, thanks.” Hello? Weird vibes everywhere.

He poured what was left of his huge Sapporo into his glass and ordered another. The bartender also brought out a Bud Light and a cold glass for me.

Eric poured me a beer and held his up for a toast. “Here’s to the salad bar and cute girls in yoga pants.” He smiled and patted my thigh.

I lifted my glass and fake smiled back. This was going to be brutal.

Just then I felt a light tap on my shoulder. “Hi, Waverly.”

I looked to my right and saw Mandy Edwards standing there.

Mandy Edwards, witnessing me on a date with a guy wearing a tank top and jorts. Black jorts, no less, perhaps the only sartorial offense more tragic than regular jorts.

She was with a tall, brown-haired, very cute guy who looked vaguely familiar. I stood up and gave them an awkward smile. “Hi, Mandy. How are you doing?” Then I turned to Eric. “Um, Eric, this is Mandy. We work together.”

Mandy held out her hand. “Hi, Eric, it’s nice to meet you. This is my fiancé, Darren.”

Fiancé? Who would marry Mandy Edwards?

I looked at the guy next to her and momentarily stopped breathing.

Holy crap.

It was Right Darren, the cute Darren who had taken my card a few months before but had never called me while Wrong Darren had. I glanced at the huge rock on Mandy’s finger. At least now I knew why he hadn’t picked up the phone.

Darren shook Eric’s hand and then mine. “You look familiar,” he said. “Have we met?”

I took a sip of my beer and shook my head. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Then I looked back at Mandy. “When did you get engaged?”

“A few days ago, when we were wine-tasting up in Napa. We just got back today.” She smiled wide.

“Wow, congratulations,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said. “I can’t wait to start planning the wedding.”

Darren kept looking at me. “Are you sure we haven’t met? I could swear we have.”

Before I could say anything, Mandy grabbed his elbow. “Well, we’ve got to get going. Nice to meet you, Eric. Bye, Waverly.”

They drifted off into the crowd, and I followed her with my eyes. She was marrying cute Darren? Wow. Then I looked over at Eric, ripped from a NASCAR poster, and could only wonder what Mandy was thinking. Had she noticed his outfit? Or was I just a superficial bitch? No—who was I kidding? She had noticed. Any normal person would have noticed. But yes, I was also a superficial bitch.

I turned back to Eric. “So, uh, you were saying that you got here a bit early?”

“Yeah, man, this place rocks for people-watching. Lots of hot chicks come in here on Thursday nights.”

“Uh, okay.”

After that promising start, things only got better. It turned out that Eric was an exercise freak, and since we’d met on one of my rare exercise days and because I worked in sports PR, he assumed that I was one too. And fitness was ALL he wanted to talk about.

“Which gym do you go to? I belong to Gold’s."

“How often do you work out? Do you like spinning?"

“What’s your exercise routine? I like to mix it up a bit, ya know, keep it interesting."

“Have you ever done a triathlon? I’m doing Escape from Alcatraz in June.”

And on …

And on …

And on.

We hit the iceberg as the waiter brought us a plate of California rolls.

“What equipment do you use?” he said.

Equipment? Like I ever went anywhere near the equipment.

I dipped a roll in soy sauce and wondered if his butt was smaller than mine. “Um, once I used a machine for hamstrings, but I’m not sure what it was called. And my legs totally hurt the next day, so that was the end of that.”

We were sinking fast.

“I work out six days a week,” he said. “It’s my passion.”

“Six days? Wow. That is a lot of days,” I said.

“Yep, six days a week, rain or shine.”

“Cool,” I said.

And then we slammed against the ocean floor.

“Here, feel my muscles.” He leaned toward me and flexed his bare bicep, right there in the middle of Godzila Sushi.

I winced and looked around. I’m not a religious person, but at that moment I was praying to God that no one was watching, especially Mandy. I lightly touched his upper arm with my index finger and pulled it away as if I had just touched a rattlesnake.

“Yes, uh, that’s quite a muscle,” I said. SOS … SOS …

When Eric walked me home later that night, he gave me another bear hug and then went in for the kiss. I dodged it and gave him the cheek.

“Can I call you?” he said.

“Uh, sure.”

He called me two days later to ask me if I wanted to go for a run, but I lied and told him I had to go out of town for three weeks for work.

After an awkward silence, I lied again and told him I would get in touch when I got back. It was more dating karma out the window, but another date with him and I would have thrown myself out the window.

A couple weeks later I met a guy I actually
liked
. And I couldn’t believe it, because he liked me back! His name was Reid, and he worked at my bank. The only time I actually went inside the bank was when I needed a roll of quarters for the laundry, and that was to the teller’s window, so I never noticed all those other people who worked at the desks in there. Another thing to add to my grown-up list:
You know you’re a real grown-up when you have a meeting with one of those desk people inside a bank.

I went in there one Saturday morning to get some quarters, and on my way out I noticed Reid leaning on the edge of one of the desks. He was talking to an older woman, like 90 years old older woman, and he had such a nice smile that I just sort of stopped walking and started standing there, right in the middle of the room, watching him smile at this tiny old lady.

After about ten seconds, he looked over and flat-out busted me.

“Do you need help?” he said.

“Um, no, just getting quarters for the laundry,” I said, clearing my throat.

“Well, do you need some help folding?” he said with a smile.

“Ahh,” said the little old lady.

For about two weeks I saw him a lot. It was so fun! He was charming, funny, handsome, tall, and smart. He even smelled good. And he was fascinated by my job.
“You got paid to hang out with Shane Kennedy?”
he said over and over.
“Do you know how many guys I know who would pay to hang out with Shane Kennedy?”

It was like there was nothing wrong with him.

The problem was that I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

One Saturday night we went to a big charity party in the Marina, and in an unfortunate demonstration of the dateable male-female ratio in that area of San Francisco, at one point I reached for his hand, and he didn’t take mine in return. I gave him a confused look, but he still didn’t take my hand.

An epic Waverly moment followed.

First I looked up at him and smiled. “Hey, you, don’t you want to hold my hand?” I said playfully.

He shook his head.

I smiled again and tilted my head. “Really?”

He shook his head again.

Then I sort of stopped smiling and said, “Why not?”

No response.

Then, like one of those lab mice that repeatedly shock themselves, I tried for the cheese one more time.

“Reid, will you please just tell me why you won’t hold my hand?” I said.

He finally looked at me and said, “Because I’m dating three other women at this party.”

“Oh,” I said.

It should come as no surprise that I never heard from him again.

But I’m sure I’ll run into him at the Marina Safeway someday.

So I was out there looking, but Waverly moments and Honey Notes were all I was really finding.

Front: Know what I want to know?

Inside: Honey, what are guys who wear tank tops THINKING?

Front: Is his butt smaller than yours?

Inside: Honey, run for the hills, and run fast. It’s not worth the humiliation, and yours is only gonna get bigger.