30 First Dates (8 page)

It was Ben that Erin was worried about. She felt a surge of protectiveness, wishing they were alone so she could pull him closer and comfort him in some way. She leaned toward him over the table. "Really, Hon, he'll be fine," she said. "He's going home tomorrow. The hospital wouldn't release him if they thought there was any reason to keep him there. He's a lawyer, for Pete's sake."

Ben scooted back loudly on the tile floor. She'd met him after work at the Starbucks around the corner from her school. He seemed agitated on top of being depressed. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing Erin's favorite curl through his fingers. She watched it spring back into place.

"They're splitting up, I think. I think Mom's leaving him."

"What?" Erin said with genuine shock. "Because of the DUI?"

Ben shrugged. "I don't think so. I think it's more than that. My dad's been acting weird lately, taking a lot of business trips, and he never traveled a lot with work before. I know he's been unhappy at work for, well, always. I think he's always hated his job. And I think he's probably been screwing around." He leaned forward again, putting both elbows on the small round table. "Mom hasn't told me or Brian that, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's what's going on."

Erin reached up and tugged the blond ringlet, again fighting the urge to reach across the table and squeeze him to her. It was troublesome to see Ben upset—she didn't like it. He was the rock. She was the mess.

"Ah, honey, I'm really sorry. I thought Mike and Jessie were an institution. That really is shocking to me." She paused. "Maybe it isn't true? Maybe they're just in different places in their lives. That happens, you know. People grow apart."

He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. I'm an adult—Brian's an adult. Shit happens."

She frowned. She could tell he was shutting down, the way men did when feelings floated too close to the surface. Shit happens. Pound the chest, Tarzan-style. Move on.

She had to tread carefully.

"It's okay to be upset about it, Ben. Even as adults, we rely on our parents—even though we know they're not infallible. We know they make mistakes and have regrets and want more than they can have the same way we do. But still, they're our parents, you know? Our foundation."

He smirked. "So this is like a crack in the foundation?"

He was sounding more like her Ben. She felt her kinked-up insides smooth out a little. He was as thick a layer in her foundation as Joanne and Bob, her own parents.

"Exactly. And they have to fix it. And that fix might mean time apart. Or splitting up. But the important thing is, your dad's going to be okay, and your mom will be, too. This might be the best thing for her."

He smiled, but it still didn't touch his eyes.

"What else is wrong?" she said.

He stared at her for several seconds without speaking, and then he smiled again. His eyes were warmer this time.

"Funny we can still do that."

"Do what?"

"Read each other's minds."

She leaned back in her chair, studying his face. "So there is something else." It wasn't a question. Ben had been acting weird lately, too.

He looked down at the varnished tabletop and ran one finger back and forth along the edge of the white plastic lid on his paper cup.

Erin watched him, waiting.

"The whole thing has just pointed out to me how I don't have anything together," he said, looking up. "My folks are splitting up after thirty-three years of marriage.
I'm
almost thirty, and I just got out of school. I just got my first professional job, and I haven't even made it through the probation period yet. I don't even have
vacation time
. I have no wife, no children, no mortgage, a shitload of student loans, and no investments to speak of. Hell, my dad's upset about not making partner at the firm he's worked for since he was twenty-five. I've built nothing. I
have
nothing. When he was my age, he had a wife, a house, and two kids. I still have a goddamn roommate." He growled the last words. His hands clenched either side of the table.

Erin giggled.

Ben looked at her, wide-eyed. He glanced around as if he'd forgotten where he was.

Her hand flew to her lips.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. It's just that you sound like I did a few weeks ago. Remember?" She paused for a few seconds, thinking back to their conversation that launched her blog. "Apparently it's time for a quarter-life crisis."

After a long moment he chuckled, relaxing his hands and sitting back in his chair. "E, I hate to tell you this, but it's more like a one-third-life crisis."

*  *  *

Erin mulled over Ben's words on her drive home.
"A one-third-life crisis."
She had a vague idea of the current U.S. life expectancy statistics, and in that sense he was right. Good God, how had that happened. Where had all the time gone? And what was it about this age, anyway? Why did thirty feel like this precipice—this craggy, critical ledge with a 10,000-foot drop and no safety net?

Were those things Ben talked about—house, mortgage, kids—the net? Were they the answer? Those things she hadn't known she wanted, at least not consciously, now felt like some giant secret the rest of the world had failed to let her in on. A great big cosmic joke on her.

She felt lost…no, worse—like a loser. A loser at love. A loser at life. Like nothing she was doing was good enough, right enough. Maybe that was the reason she'd started the blog, and she'd been hiding behind the truth all along. It was no experiment, no exploration of the virtues and vices of the opposite sex. Maybe she
did
just want to find her Bachelor, her shining prince, so he could sweep her off the edge of the cliff at the last second and lead her to that place of safety and security she craved.

Maybe it was as simple as that.

Yeesh. Snap out of it, Crawford.
She shuddered away the thought.

Nope, it was growing pains—that was all. Thirty was the new twenty.

She just hadn't grown up yet.

*  *  *

The Monday after Erin's date with Nate, Dave flounced into the teachers' lounge, plunked his brown cafeteria tray onto the round table, and sat down hard in the chair across from her. She raised an eyebrow.

"What's up?" she asked, pausing with her fork in mid-air.

Angie Russell, in the chair to Erin's left, had been telling Erin about a fight in her second-period P.E. class. Now her voice trailed off, and she glanced between Erin and Dave like she'd been dropped unwittingly into the middle of a foreign conversation.

Dave frowned. "Uh, huh, Miss Thing. As if you don't know."

She gazed at him for a couple seconds and then popped in a bite of her salad. She chewed, swallowed, and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dave lifted a slice of pizza from his tray and examined it before biting off a huge chunk. "The blog?" he asked, his words garbled by the gooey cheese. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this sooner. You've got this whole list of things you want to do—crazy things, girl—look at you—and this whole love life whirlwind thing happening, and you didn't breathe a word." He twirled his hands in mid-air while he was speaking and then glared at her. "Some friend."

Erin continued to stare evenly at him. "Honestly, Dave, cut the drama king act. I'm not one of your students." Angie made a choking sound while sipping her Coke Zero. Her eyes still flicked between the two of them. "It's not that big a deal."

"It
is
a big deal," he said. "And that
Wedding Crashers
thing, holy tomato! I can't believe you did that to that poor guy." He leaned around the table and looked her up and down. "Girl, you'd better change your name from bachelorette to heartbreaker, because you're gonna have 'em dropping like flies."

Erin rolled her eyes. "Give me a break. I don't even know where my next date is coming from."

Angie hmmphed. "I've got a guy for you."

Erin and Dave swung their eyes her way, as if they'd forgotten she was there.

"I don't know what the heck you're talking about, but why don't you go out with Paul?"

"As in, Paul Moreno?" Dave asked. He looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "Yeah. That's a good idea. Make your next date with Paul. I know he's single, and chicks dig him, right?"

Erin laughed. "Do they, now?" Dave glared at her, squaring his shoulders in a show of machismo that made her giggle harder.

"He's definitely single," Angie said, choosing to ignore their banter. "He was dating a girl in my building for a long time, and they broke up a few weeks ago. I know he's not going out with anybody else because I heard him say so."

"Ah, a rebound fling. Nice," Dave said.

Erin pushed his shoulder. "I am not having a
fling
with Paul Moreno. I
work
with him. And I'm not asking him out, either. It'd be too weird. Forget it."

"I'll do it for you," Dave pushed. Apparently he'd decided to forgive her for not letting him in on her secret.

"No.
N
-
O
. I'll find my dates on my own, thank you very much."

As she said it, though, she remembered she actually did need help. Sure, it was early in her blogging experiment, but she figured the thirteen and a half or so months left until her thirtieth birthday would fly by faster than she was prepared for. How
was
she going to find twenty-eight more guys to go out with? She dated a normal, healthy amount, she thought, but she probably hadn't been out with more than ten or fifteen guys in the last five years, let alone the last year and a half. She started ticking off names in her head.

Across the table, she saw Dave's eyes narrow, evaluating her reaction. He looked over at Angie and—deliberately, it seemed—changed the subject.

Uh-oh
, Erin thought.
What now?

*  *  *

That afternoon, she stayed in her classroom until 4:30, grading quizzes from her fifth-period geometry class so she wouldn't have to take them home. As she walked down the empty corridor toward the exit closest to her car, she was thinking about Ben—whether he'd talked to his mom, whether he was still feeling anxious about his dad, what she could do or say to help him out of his funk. She hadn't thought any more about her lunchtime conversation.

Just before she reached the double doors—hand outstretched, fingers just grazing the handle—someone called her name from the other end of the hall. She spun in the direction of the voice, and her bag slipped from her left shoulder.

"Wait up." Paul Moreno was jogging toward her.
Oh, jeez. Surely not?
She was going to
kill
Dave.

She hefted her bulky canvas tote back onto her shoulder and pasted a smile on her face to mask her annoyance. Whether or not she needed help finding dates, she obviously should have kept her mouth shut about her blog at work.

"Hi Paul. What's going on?"

He slowed his pace as he approached and then reached around her to open the door. "Nothing much. You?"

She followed him through the doors, distracted for a moment by the display of chivalry. Not many guys these days were chivalrous, and anyway, she was never sure whether she should feel flattered or offended by it. She smiled again. "Nothing much."

Paul walked beside her in silence for a few seconds, and she realized this was the first time she'd ever spoken to him one on one. He was new to NHS. He'd come in mid-year and taught history—she wasn't sure which classes. She'd been around him two or three times, made small talk with him at faculty meetings, but always with other teachers around. He was very tall, probably at least 6'4". She felt dwarfed beside him. His dark hair was short and neat, his skin the color of a caramel apple. Dave was right—he was the type of guy "chicks dug." In another situation she might have seen herself being interested.

Not in this situation.

Things were getting awkward fast, she thought. They couldn't keep
not
talking. She struggled to find words that would diffuse the tension she felt.

"So, Dave got to you, right?" She glanced at him to assess his reaction. His eyes opened a little wider, but otherwise he looked puzzled. "Look, I'm not sure what he told you, but you don't have to ask me out."

Paul laughed nervously, slowing his pace to allow a couple extra inches of space between them.

"I, um, okay. I…Angie Russell said you wanted to talk to me? I saw you walking this way…"

She stopped behind her car, and Paul was a few steps ahead of her before he realized it. Erin was glad—it gave her time to choke back her embarrassment. She laughed.

"God, sorry. My brain has a direct line to my mouth." She laughed louder. "You must have thought I was gonna ask about a student or something. Oh, I could just shoot Angie."

He still looked perplexed. Erin felt sorrier for him than for herself.

"Did you want me to ask you out?" he asked in a diffident tone.

Now she felt like one of her students. No, more like a student coming onto a teacher. OMG, was this ever uncomfortable.

"Well, technically I should be asking you out," she hedged. She thought for about half a second before adding, "This conversation couldn't really get any more awkward, so I might as well just say it. Do you want to go out for drinks or something this weekend?"

Internally, she shrugged. No reason to be shy—she had to get good at this.

Paul smiled with one corner of his mouth. Kind of sexy, she thought.

"I'm busy this weekend."

Ouch
. "Oh…kay. No worries. We're co-workers and all that, I'm not your type. Whatever. That's fine." She would
not
give away to him how much that smarted.

"No, really. I'll be in Odessa this weekend, visiting my folks. Maybe next week sometime?" His eyes were wide and earnest. Okay, he really was cute.

Erin's insides unclenched.

"Next week will be great." Date No. 3, in the bag.
Thank God.