30 First Dates (39 page)

"Did you ask Catherine about it?" Erin asked in a soft voice. "There's probably some reasonable explanation."
Why am I defending this woman?
"Maybe he was just consoling her, you know, as an old friend."

"It's for the best?" Ben stopped in mid-stride and looked at her. "We both know what he had to have meant, and there's only one reason he would have said it."

He quit pacing altogether and perched on the edge of the sofa, stroking his two-day beard—something Erin hadn't seen on him before, and his hair was longer now, too—with his left hand. She thought he looked like a stranger, not like her Ben.
Like Catherine's.
She grimaced.

"You're going to have to ask her, babe. I don't see how you're going to get any answers otherwise, and this is obviously killing you."

Erin was still trying to process the information Ben had brought her. Cat was pregnant—really pregnant, unlike Erin—or at least she had been. They'd found out in December, just weeks after her brother died and after Ben and Erin had spent the night together.

What was more, when Catherine was twelve weeks along, she'd miscarried. It had happened less than two weeks before the marathon—which explained Ben's strange behavior in Austin, if not the weeks since. And somewhere in the ensuing months, Ben had come to suspect Cat had been cheating on him with Ryan, his co-worker, Melody's new husband. No wonder he'd been so distant and distracted, Erin thought.

The reason Ben suspected Cat was cheating was because Melody suspected it. She'd met Ryan through Catherine and found out only after they were dating that Ryan and Cat had been high school sweethearts. Days before their wedding, she'd caught Ryan in a lie about where he'd been. She'd never managed to confirm it, but her intuition told her he'd been with Cat. That's what she'd asked Ben about at Erin's party.

"I haven't told you this yet, but there was a message in her phone." Ben's face twisted with disgust as he said it, as if he was ashamed he'd stooped to such petty surveillance. "I didn't want to spy on her, but I picked it up a few days ago when Mel was on one of her rants. Ryan was in her recent calls several times, and when I saw an undeleted voicemail, I listened. He was confirming plans to meet—plans she never told me about. In fact, if it weren't for Melody I wouldn't know she still talked to Ryan at all."

"Oh." Erin said. That was damning, then. Her heart gave a little leap that she instantly felt guilty about. She watched Ben run his hand through his hair once, twice, and then she stood up and walked over to him. She grabbed his hand to stop his agitated movement and laced his fingers through hers. Her heartbeat sped up, though she tried to ignore it. "You really think there's a chance the baby wasn't yours?"

Ben squeezed her hand before pulling his away, and then he stood and began pacing again. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it? Like a damn soap opera."

It wasn't a denial.

"You still have to talk to her. Maybe Melody's the crazy one. Maybe there's nothing going on at all. You said yourself that Catherine hasn't been herself since she lost the baby. Maybe she's just been talking to Ryan because he's an old friend."

Seriously,
why
am I defending this woman?
Even if none of Ben's or Melody's suspicions were true, Catherine still wasn't a good match for Ben—in Erin's opinion, at least. She realized she'd probably never think anybody was good enough for Ben.

"You're right," Ben said. He stopped pacing and sat back down beside her. "God, you're a good friend, Erin. I know I've been a terrible friend these past few months. I don't deserve this."

"Sure, you do," Erin said. "I'll always be your friend, Ben." Though she meant the words, they left her feeling hollow, like a cracked pitcher that had leaked its contents all over the fridge.

When he left a few minutes later, she went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. She pulled out a glass, hesitated for a moment, and then put it back into the cabinet. "Screw it," she said, and tipped up the whole damn bottle.

*  *  *

It was one week later when Erin smiled at Flirty Barista (aka Doug) across the table, feeling as if she'd been talking nonstop for two hours. Doug was one of those people who asked questions not to be polite, but because he really wanted to hear the answers. Also, as she'd seen from him at Starbucks, he was someone who made other people feel comfortable, including her. Erin was glad she'd asked him out.

It was her next-to-last date. In the past few weeks she'd met with a financial planner and crossed No. 15, Invest in the stock market, off her list. She'd also opened a Roth IRA and afterward had felt almost like a responsible grownup. She'd researched nonprofits, and though she hadn't joined a board, she'd started volunteering for a community center youth program near her old school. One evening a week going forward, she'd be helping with activities, tutoring, manning the sign-in desk, and doing basically whatever they needed her to do. She wouldn't accomplish board membership before her birthday arrived, but Erin wasn't worried about that technicality. That type of thing would come in time, and she wanted this list item to be a long-term commitment, not a self-serving checkmark on a list.

Erin watched Doug sip the coffee he'd ordered as an after-dinner drink. "Is it up to your standards?" she asked, nodding at the cup.

He smiled. "I don't judge."

"You really don't," she said. "That's a rare quality these days."

"I take it somebody's been judging you?"

Erin huffed out a laugh, for some reason thinking of Ben and his disapproval of her plan to go on
The Bachelor
.

"Nah. I mean, yeah. I've gotten some haters from the blog, you know, but nothing I can't handle. I've got to grow a thick skin if I'm going to do this TV show thing." She'd told Doug about the show's offer. She'd gotten an email just that morning about pre-production, which included preliminary on-camera interviews with the contestants. She was flying to L.A. in three weeks.

"Onward and upward," he said and smiled again. "When does the taping start?"

"Oh, um, early September." Her mind was far away. She shook her head and looked at him. "Tell me more about the book you're writing."

Doug was interesting beyond his friendliness. He was too old for her, Erin thought, and she wasn't actually attracted to him. But he was fun to hang out with, and she wondered if they'd be friends later or if this date would hang too awkwardly on a friendship. She listened as he told her about his book, a novel loosely based on his great-grandfather's World War II regiment. As he finished his story and sipped at his coffee she wondered if he'd ask her for a second date—or try to kiss her.

She didn't think he would.

Once they'd finished their drinks and paid the bill, Doug sat back and asked who Erin planned to go out with next, for her thirtieth and final date.

"I have absolutely no idea," she said. Her birthday was the following Sunday and she'd completed every item on her list except skydiving and the impossible task of fixing up Ben. But she didn't yet have a date to her own wrap-up party.

She stood and Doug followed, and he motioned for her to walk ahead of him as they left the restaurant. They'd driven separately, so they stood for a few minutes outside the front doors before walking to their cars. The air around them was completely still, heat settling over the city as if claiming ownership, though summer was still two weeks away. Erin slapped at a mosquito that landed on her arm and moved aside for a couple that walked out of the restaurant behind them.

Doug waited for the man and woman to step off the curb, and then he moved over to her.

"Best of luck to you," he said. "Your life's going to be beautiful. Remember that. It already is."

Erin felt a swell of affection. Coming from somebody else the words would have been corny, but from Doug they were just right. She sucked in her cheeks and studied him for a long moment.

"You're a great guy, Doug Cantarello," she said, leaning forward and giving him an impulsive hug. He smelled like peppermint and coffee beans, and she smiled. "Best of luck to you, too."

When they separated he winked at her and pulled out his keys. "See you at the shop."

"You know I'll be there."

Flying Solo

June 1: two days to thirty

Erin listened to the voicemail message in disbelief, and then slid the bar backward on her phone screen to listen to it again.

"Erin, my name is Bill Rice, and I'm a programming consultant with Hulu.com. I'm calling because we're working to develop a show concept that's a perfect fit with the work you're doing with the blog 30 First Dates…actually, it was your website that gave our producer the idea for the show. We'd love to sit down and talk with you about coming in with us on this project, as a writer or a co-producer. Please give me a call at 555-236-9146 at your convenience. I look forward to speaking with you."

She felt lightheaded. A magazine column, a spot on a national television show, and now
this
? Never in a million years had she expected so much to come of her simple blog project—her way to joke off the serious hopelessness of her singledom.

Her mind whirled for a few seconds. Should she call him right back, or would that seem too eager? When had he left the message? She checked the time stamp. He'd called about two hours earlier, around 2:15. Erin fumbled with her phone as she rushed to tap the "call back" button.

Four rings, and then she heard the same voice leaving his own voicemail prompt. She left a message:
"Hi Bill, this is Erin Crawford. I received your message, and I would love to talk to you about your team's ideas for a show based on 30 First Dates. I look forward to hearing from you."

"Short and sweet," she said out loud after clicking "end call." She glanced at the clock on her phone screen and realized it was twenty after four—twenty after five on the East Coast. Bill had probably left the office by now, which meant she'd have to wait till Monday to get details. It occurred to her that she should probably consider calling one of the agents who'd contacted her in the past couple of months—she'd heard from three.

Not a bad note to turn thirty on, she thought.

Thirty!

Erin's birthday was in two days, and she'd been so busy she'd barely given it any thought.

In the past year, she'd come full circle. She chuckled as she thought about Cristiana and Fiona and the crumpled notice about
The Bachelorette
they'd brought her more than a year earlier. If only they'd known the chain reaction they were about to set off, she thought with a smile. She mulled over the idea of sending Fiona a Facebook message to tell her about
The Bachelor
, but then decided she'd ask Dave to tell her instead.

Which reminded her of the party. She flipped open her laptop lid to make a final check of the Evite. Every single person she'd invited had RSVP'ed yes, including Ben plus one. She'd be ringing in her fourth decade with Sherri and Alex, Hilary and Mark, Dave and Missy, Angie and Dan, Kyle and Becca, and Ben and Catherine. Catherine was the only person who hadn't received her own Evite, which was why she was included merely as Ben's plus one.

And Erin would be the only person at the party without a plus one…ironic, considering. She'd decided not to turn this event into her final blog date. She wanted to relax and enjoy the evening and celebrate everything she'd learned and accomplished in the past year. A first date, as she'd learned through fourteen months of experience, would make relaxation impossible.

Instead she was going on date No. 30 tonight, the night before the party and two days before her "deadline." The date was with another stranger, a blog reader who'd volunteered his services months earlier, at the height of her Devon drama. He was thirty-eight, a thoracic surgeon and, if the pictures didn't lie, the spitting image of Adrian Grenier. Not that looks were everything, or even all that much—something else she'd learned in these fourteen months. But she was looking forward to a potentially interesting date.

 "Want me to pick up some champagne for tomorrow night?" Sherri asked, poking her head around the door, and Erin jumped.

"I didn't even hear you come in."

"Oh, sorry. You must really be wrapped up in…what are you looking at?" She peered around Erin's laptop screen, where Erin had pulled up Max the Surgeon's Facebook profile. He seemed to spend his spare time volunteering for children's charities and attending church events.

"Yum! I'd be wrapped up in that, too. Is that Dr. McDreamy? Or maybe he's more like McSteamy—a bad boy." Sherri plopped down on Erin's bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.

"I don't think he's a bad boy. More likely to sing in a choir than ride a motorcycle, from the looks of it." Erin let Sherri pull the computer out of her lap. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I've had enough adventure to last me a while."

"You might be surprised," Sherri said. "If he's crazy enough to ask out some random chick he found on the Internet, there's definitely adventure in this guy."

"Mmm, I guess you're right," Erin murmured, distracted by the clock on her nightstand. Adventurous or not, attractive or not, crazy or not, McDreamy would be waiting for her at the entrance to the Magnolia Theatre in exactly forty-five minutes. She jumped up and, through a barrage of Sherri's unsolicited fashion advice, got dressed and ready for the thirtieth of 30 First Dates.

*  *  *

"Have you ever tried swinging?" Max the Surgeon leaned in closer on his barstool, placing his left hand on Erin's right thigh.

She stared at him, waiting for a chuckle or the punch line, but Max didn't crack a smile.

"Um…uh…I don't think—" She inched away from him, sliding her elbows along the glossy wood bar. Her skin crawled where his hand gripped her leg, and she wished she'd ignored Sherri's tips and worn jeans.

"Kidding!" Max laughed so loud the woman beside him jumped and then gave Erin a "this dude's crazy" look with her eyes. Erin was starting to understand how it was that an attractive heart surgeon was still single.