A Year to Remember (6 page)

Dear Sara,

My diving advice to you is not to become too excited every time you get a date. Otherwise, you’ll exert too much energy on men who don’t deserve it. Enjoy every day, regardless of whether you have a date, and the rest will follow.

Your Comrade in Singledom,

Adam

P.S. Every woman is the possible Mrs. Goldman.

For such a jerk, he certainly gave some good advice. I would try and listen to it, but it wouldn’t be easy to stay relaxed, knowing I may have just taken the first step in meeting my future husband.

I tried to concentrate on my client Dina’s teenage angst. Honestly, if I had to hear again about how her alleged best friend Christine sabotaged her chance of happiness with Robby by inviting him to the school dance before she got the opportunity to ask, all the while knowing she liked him, I swear to God I was going to throw myself out the window.

Two months ago, when the stab in the back had happened, I pointed out a true friend wouldn’t have behaved like Christine and she should examine whether Christine was truly her friend. I also pointed out she would one day have another chance at dating Robby, since it was unlikely he and Christine would end up together in the long run. After all, only a small percentage of people marry their childhood sweethearts.

Instead of moving on, Dina chose to dissect the situation every week during our counseling session, refusing to talk about anything else. Frankly, it was getting to be disturbing, and I noted I should find out from her parents if she was this obsessed about it outside of my office. I’d have to ask my mother how to do it without violating client/psychologist confidentiality.

While Dina babbled incessantly, my imagination wandered to my date tonight. Even though we’d only be getting a drink together, should I shave my legs? I bought new sexy undergarments to wear on the dates, even though I realistically knew no one other than me would see them.

Missy would be proud of me. Rather than the black I normally prefer, I chose red, purple, and hot pink bras and panties made of silk and lace. I don’t think I’d ever spent so much money on clothes no one could see.

Tonight, I would wear the red.

Finally, the session ended, and I had exactly a half an hour to put on makeup and get across the city. It would normally only take ten minutes to get to the bar, but it was snowing at the rate of an inch an hour and the meteorologists predicted at least six inches by midnight.

Born and raised in Michigan, my father had made certain I knew how to drive in the worst possible winter weather conditions. Besides, I drove an un-ecofriendly SUV with four- wheel drive, a must-have for the winter savvy population of Metro-Detroit.

Unfortunately, even in my gigantic American-made vehicle, I couldn’t get through the traffic any easier, since apparently no one else on the road had yet mastered driving in the snow. At ten miles per hour, it would take me an hour and a half to get to the bar.

I debated for a few minutes whether to call Jacob and let him know I’d be late. Once it became clear I would never meet him at the scheduled eight o’clock time, I decided I’d have to call him. I hoped he wouldn’t want to reschedule or God forbid, cancel the whole thing.

My vehicle has the hands free system, which meant in theory I could keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.

I listened to the prompt of my car. “Phone.”

“Call Jacob on mobile.”

“Calling Jennifer Dubb on cell,” it responded.

“Aaah, no!”

I tried again. “Call Jacob on mobile.”

“Press one to call Mom at home. Press two to call Club Workout at work. Press three to call Missy Stein on cell.”

How did my car’s computer confuse Jacob with Missy Stein? It wasn’t even close.

Technology is a fabulous thing, when it works. When it doesn’t, which seems to be quite often, I felt like one of Missy’s residents in the retirement home longing for the good old days.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and scrolled to find Jacob’s number. I could get a ticket for it, but something tells me the cops have other things to worry about today, since I passed two accidents in the last twenty minutes.

I expected he would answer his phone, but instead I got his voicemail. He probably couldn’t answer it because he kept his hands on the wheel when driving.

“Hey, Jacob, this is Sara. I’m on my way to O’Leary’s Bar, but I’m stuck in traffic. I should make it there by 8:45. If you get this message, call me back. See you soon.”

For the next forty-five minutes, traffic moved slowly and I watched as car after car spun out on the snow and ice. On days like this, I dream of moving somewhere warm like Florida. How nice it would be to never worry about snowstorms. I mean, what’s a little hurricane compared to a blizzard? I’d take the hurricane any day.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I reached my destination.

Before going in, I reviewed the notes I had taken from his profile and his emails. He described himself as five foot ten inches and two hundred pounds with light brown hair and blue eyes. His photo had been grainy, but from what I could make out of it, he seemed relatively handsome. He enjoyed watching sports and gambling.

I enjoyed sports and gambling now and then, but not enough to identify them as favorite activities. Still, how bad could it be to go to an occasional hockey game or visit a Detroit Casino? Definitely preferable over spending another date night alone with a carton of Ben & Jerry.

As I entered O’Leary’s, I immediately understood why Jacob had chosen it as the location of our first date. Dimly lit, the place was packed with twenty to thirty-something professional singles, all holding either a glass of white wine or something as equally socially acceptable.

While I did indulge in an occasional glass of merlot and champagne, my tastes generally ran to a simple Canadian beer on tap. From what I could see, not a soul in the bar dared drink something as common as a Molson Light. I guess I’d be ordering the house merlot this evening.

Now, I just needed to find Jacob through the mingling masses. Too bad God couldn’t make it a little easier on me and part the crowds like He did the Red Sea.

After making my way to the bar, I waited to get the bartender’s attention to order my Merlot. Apparently, I would need to show him some cleavage before he noticed me. I unbuttoned my blouse exposing not just my cleavage, but also a bit of my lacy red bra. Not surprisingly, the bartender suddenly noticed me waiting for him. That alone was worth the cost of my new undergarment.

When the bartender handed me my glass of wine, a hand landed on my shoulder.

“Sara?”

Thank goodness, Jacob found me. I turned around and a short-bearded man I assumed to be Jacob stood in front of me.

His photo from his profile had clearly been taken about five years and one hundred pounds ago. I honestly don’t mind a little facial hair. A mustache, a goatee, even a full, trimmed beard. Jacob didn’t just have a full beard and mustache. He could be one of the band members of ZZ Top. A cross between Grizzly Adams and the Leprechaun from the Lucky Charms cereal, Jacob barely reached my chin.

“Hi, you must be Jacob.” Or possibly, his older brother just back from a year alone on a mountain with no mirror or scissors?

He looked me over from top to bottom, then up again, his gaze stopping at my chest. Great, he’s a pervert to boot.

“I’m sorry I was late, but traffic was terrible because of the snow.”

“That’s okay, I just got here.” As Jacob continued to stare at my chest, I felt the urge to button my blouse. Something about it made me feel dirty, rather than sexy, and my instincts screamed “get out now while you can!” I owed it to him to at least give him a chance, just as I would want him to do for me.

“Did you get my message?” It suddenly occurred to me he hadn’t called me to say he’d be late.

“Uh-huh.”