The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series (10 page)

“Okay. It wasn’t. It was saying, ‘This guy’s a loser. What are you doing?’ That’s what it was saying.”
 

Summer nodded. “Thought so. So why were you ignoring it?”
 

“I don’t know. He liked me. He said I was charming.”
 

“He did, did he?”
 

“He was nice,” Delaney said again. She felt her resolve slipping.
 

“Oh, sure. Sure he was. You were mixing him free drinks.” She was pacing back and forth across the living room now, her long skirt swirling around her legs. “You told him you were going to take him home. Do you know why, Delaney? Because you wanted him to spend the whole night thinking you were sexy. And you wanted to spend the whole night feeling sexy. Well, guess what? You wouldn’t have felt very sexy when you woke up next to David Steadman tomorrow morning. Do you know who he is? He’s the scumbag who got fired from the hospital because he was groping all the nurses. Don’t you remember me telling you about that? The big hype at Derek’s work a couple months ago?”
 

“You didn’t know that until you saw him. And I wouldn’t have known it tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, you would have, after you heard all his one-liners. He’s famous for them.” She stopped pacing and stood facing Delaney. “Anyway. That’s not the point. The point is, David Steadman is a type. The wrong type. And he’s a prime example of the type you always pick for yourself. He’s down here –” she held her hand, palm down, an inch off the floor, “and you’re up here.” She stretched her arm above her head.
 

“You accuse me of being judgmental and over-critical, but you guys find something wrong with every guy I date. Who’s over-critical?”
 

“You’re only critical of guys who’d actually be good for you.” Summer shook her head. “If there’s a nice guy, normal, with a decent job, who doesn’t live with his mom, you find a sprig of ear hair or a splotch of eczema unbearable. Or the crescent-shaped mole on his cheek. I mean, really! This is exhausting. I thought I had a few more years before I had to parent a teenager, but look, I get practice now.”
 

She flopped down on the couch next to Delaney.
 

“That’s mean, Summer.”
 

“Face the facts, Dee. Now, I’m going home and to bed before I strangle you.”
 

For the briefest flash of a moment after watching Summer flounce down the walkway to her car (why hadn’t she noticed it when she walked up?), Delaney felt indignant. The facts? Delaney hadn’t been a teenager for a decade and a half, at least. It wasn’t even possible that she was acting like one now.
 

The realization didn’t dawn on her until she had to fight off the temptation to turn off the porch light before Summer got in the car.
 

Delaney did behave like a teenager. Yes, she broke the rules. Yes, she tried to avoid being found out. And yes, she felt self-righteous and then completely guilty when Summer put her on the spot. But it was more than that. Like a teenager, she craved male attention, even when it came from someone who was absolutely not a good match for her. Like a teenager, she went farther than she really wanted to, just to keep that attention flowing. And like a teenager, she had some growing up to do.

The problem is that I don’t know how to grow up,
she thought as she brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas. Her inner voice responded,
Now you’re acting like a baby, Collins.
 

She climbed into bed. As Pixie curled up beside her, she let the tears fall. They slipped from the corners of her eyes down onto her pillow, one after another. She didn’t cry out of anger at Summer and Josie, or out of sadness for herself. She cried because she knew they were right. She needed to make a change. The trouble was, although she had a vague image of where she needed to end up, she had absolutely no idea how to get there.
 

Weekly Happy Hour was starting to feel like a weekly examination.

“Yes. We were here Monday night, spying on Delaney,” Summer said to Benjamin, popping a green olive into her mouth. “Yes, we’re acting like the mothers of a teenage daughter. The crazy mothers of a teenager daughter. A crazy teenage daughter. And yes, we’re proud of it.”
 

Josie nodded, a demented smile plastered on her face.
 

“When she started mopping up,” Summer said, “I hightailed it to her house. I thought that would give her one more out. She could say something like, ‘Oh, my roommate must have waited up for me,’ or ‘My boyfriend’s here.’”

“But no,” Delaney butted in. “I said, ‘There’s a stalker in my living room.’”
 

“He was a slug, Dee,” Benjamin said, nodding. “Soggy, floppy, dejected. You could do better. I’ll get you ladies your drinks.”
 

“Does anyone besides me notice that I’m being picked on?” Delaney said as Benjamin walked away.

Neither of the girls responded. Instead, Josie raised her glass and said, “You’re a true friend, Summer. You had to get up at six with the kids and you were at Delaney’s ’til two-thirty.”
 

“She needs us,” Summer said.
 

“Not to change the subject,” Delaney cut in, “but did anyone besides me notice that Summer is eating green olives out of a bowl?”
 

Silence descended on the table while the women exchanged meaningful glances. Then Summer, having just swallowed another olive, burst into tears.
 

“I’m pregnant,” she wailed, putting her forehead on the table.
 

Benjamin had returned with their drinks and after setting them down, did a celebratory dance.
 

“Congratulations, Summer! I’ll exchange that wine for water!” He plucked her wine glass off the table and danced off. This made Summer cry even harder.
 

“What? That’s great news!” Josie said. “Cheers, Summer! Cheers to Gray Baby Number Five!”
 

“Wait,” Delaney said. “Why are you crying? I thought you wanted a fifth baby.”

“I do,” Summer said, at once insistent and miserable. “I do want a fifth baby. It’s just that I hope this little guy or girl can’t sense my—I don’t know—my anxiety.”
 

She took a tiny sip from the water glass Benjamin brought back. Josie dug a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Summer, even as she blotted her own eyes.

“What? Why do you have anxiety?” she asked.
 

“Derek lost his job,” Summer said. “They’re downsizing at the hospital. We just found out last night. He’s being laid off in a month. So I’ll be three months’ pregnant, supporting our entire family. Our growing family, I might add. On a freelance graphic design income. Not the best start to a new life for this little peanut.”
 

“He’ll find another job,” Josie said in a soothing voice. “He will. There’s a nursing home or hospital on every block in this town. Or maybe he could be a school nurse.”
 

“I hope so,” Summer said. “And you’re right, Josie. You always know how to put things in perspective. There are a lot of nursing positions in town. And I really am happy. About the baby. It’s just that I’m scared, too.”
 

“You’ll be fine,” Delaney said. “You always are. You’re the best mommy I know. You’ll make it work. And if all else fails, you could probably use the same techniques you used on me last night to shame someone into giving Derek a job.”
 

Summer chuckled.
 

“It was the middle of the night. I was tired and cranky. I wanted to be asleep in my bed, not at your house on loser patrol,” she said, then quickly added, “I didn’t mean you. I meant that guy. Anyway, Hannah’s pregnancy was so easy, I’d forgotten they’re not all like that. The insomnia, the nausea, the bladder. I tried to go to bed at eight, like I usually do, but I couldn’t sleep. So I hatched this plan to get a baseline for you. So we’d know what you were really up to. Once it was clear you’d be taking that guy home, I ran over to your house and sure enough…”

Delaney shrugged her shoulders.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Summer said. “We still have rules for you. And Josie made a flow chart.”
 

With a wicked grin, Josie pulled a folder from her purse. She slid a piece of paper out and placed it on the table in front of Delaney.
 

The Dating Intervention
 

The Rules
 

1. Do not, under any circumstances, tell the men you’re dating that your girlfriends are in charge.
 

2. Summer and Josie make all the major decisions. If you must make a decision, use the flow chart (Appendix 1). No exceptions.
 

3. Find a new job. A good job. A job that actually challenges you.
 

4. Withhold all criticism of all men we select for you. Period.
 

5. Do not access your online dating profile without one or both of us present.
 

6. Do not, under any circumstances, date anyone we haven’t selected for you.
 

7. Adhere to the 3-drink limit (that’s 3 drinks per date, not 3 per hour).

8. No sex. At all. Really. We mean it.
 

9. Remember, we love you.
 

Summer, who’d been reading over Delaney’s shoulder, took the paper, got a pen out of her purse and added:
 

10. Follow directions. Or risk being shamed by Summer. Publicly.
 

Delaney flipped to the second page, which was labeled “Appendix 1: Decision-Making Flow Chart.”
 

The first question: “Are you attracted to him?” led to “Are you attracted to him because he’s a loser?” for a “yes” answer and “Could you be?” for a “no.” There were questions like, “Are you having fun so far?” and “Have you seen his bare feet?”
 

“Seriously? ‘Have you seen his bare feet?’ What does that have to do with anything?”
 

“It’s an intimacy thing,” her friends chorused.
 

“Now. Any questions?” Josie asked in a sweet voice that contrasted her lethal expression.

“What if I totally hate the guys you pick for me?”
 

“Would we do that to you?” Josie said.
 

“What if
they
hate
me
?”
 

“Ah, there’s the real issue,” Summer said.
 

“Stop using your mommy powers on me,” Delaney snapped.
 

“Just sign,” Josie said, pointing at the bottom of the paper.
 

Delaney signed, and couldn’t say why she felt like she was signing her life away. Selling her soul. She cleared her throat.
 

“Now. I have some rules of my own,” she said. “And I used my brand new printer to print them out.”

Summer and Josie exchanged a glance. Josie shrugged. Delaney pulled her own sheet of paper out of her purse, unfolded it and smoothed it on the table.
 

“Summer, you have to agree to start looking for gigs for your band.”
 

When Summer started to interject, Delaney held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. You need to help Derek find a job, you’re going to have to take on more design clients to supplement the income, you’re pregnant and will be in the bathroom or at the doctor all the time, you have to take the kids to school, et cetera. Copy that. But you know what you’d say to me?”
 

Josie joined Delaney, in a mocking tone: “If you want something, you have to take the steps to get it.”

Despite herself, Summer smiled. Delaney pointed to the
X
she’d made on her paper.

“Fine,” Summer said. She signed. “I’ll do it. We can’t expect you to do all the work.”
 

“Josie,” Delaney said. “You have to start exercising. You’ve been saying for months that you’re overweight, you’re tired of being overweight, blah, blah, blah. I think your curves are sexy as hell. But frankly, I’m sick of hearing it. Hit the gym, sister.”
 

“Ouch,” Josie said.
 

“It’s just because I love you,” Delaney said. “And because I love you, I’ll join the gym with you.”
 

“Me too,” Summer chimed in. “If I’m going to get up on a stage, I’ve got to be in shape. I can at least do a little cardio and some light weights.”
 

“Deal?” Delaney asked.
 

Josie signed her paper.
 

“Deal,” she said. “I need a week to get mentally prepared. And to get my wardrobe situated.”

“Oh, of course,” Summer said. “Josie Garcia the Fashionable must ensure she is properly outfitted. Don’t you have any sweats?”

“I’m not showing up to the gym, or anywhere else, in
sweats
,” Delaney said in a high-pitched voice with a Spanish accent.

“Don’t mock me,” Josie growled. “Seriously. I’m not. Give me a week. Next Thursday, we’ll meet at the gym instead of Rowdy’s. Then we’ll come over here to celebrate. I’ll get a light beer or some crap. A skinny something-or-other.”
 

“Fine,” Delaney said.
 

“Now. Enough business,” Josie said. “I can’t take this personal development shit much longer. Who wants another drink before I kill you at pool?”

***

Nerves made Delaney five minutes early. She hated being early. She stopped outside The Sand Witch and squinted down at her watch. She found herself tapping a toe – a nervous habit she hated – so she took a deep breath and forced herself to sit on the edge of a planter box full of snapdragons. Four minutes. The girls had instructed her to show up two minutes early, which she found acceptable. She spent plenty of time showering and putting on the outfit Summer and Josie chose for her: a light green sweater to match her eyes and dark skinny jeans with boots. She spent more time than usual applying her makeup. But it still wasn’t time to leave. After a few minutes of pacing the living room, anxiety won, forcing her to start walking.