How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel (4 page)

They say that when you meet the one you just know. I always thought that was bullshit, but I guess that’s only because it had never happened to me before. I know I’ve only known him a few hours, but everything is so easy with him. That’s how I always pictured it. The banter simply flows—mostly because he laughs at my jokes, which naturally makes me funnier. Talking to him is effortless. Smooth. Almost uplifting. I sound drunk, don’t I? I’m pretty sure it’s not just the alcohol talking though. I swear, I felt a connection to this man from the first moment our eyes locked. God that sounds cheesy. But I guess feelings, when they come, are cheesy. Maybe that’s just something I have to accept and embrace. Yes, I think I might love feeling cheesy. Bring on the cheese!

“So, do you like doing PR?” he asks.

“I love it. People give me their problems and I fix them. It’s creative and empowering.”

“I love your confidence!” he announces, genuinely impressed.

It’s always hard to ask a guy what he does because usually his whole sense of self-esteem is riding on how successful he is. His career often gives away his income level, which if it’s too high, makes him worry that women will like him for the wrong reasons, and if it’s too low, makes him worry that women will judge him. The answer also informs how creative or passionate a person might be. What kind of thinker they are. Are they analytical, literal, logical, or simply not into thinking at all. Basically, I’m saying that I realize this is a simple and yet loaded question, especially for a guy. But it’s his turn, and he’s gonna have to face the music.

“What about you? Do you like what you do?”

“How could I not? I’m a heart surgeon,” he names his job with the humility of someone stating that he’s a garbage man. I try to stay calm and act normal, like that’s no big deal.

“Wow,” I blurt, as casually as I can muster, “so what’s your favorite part of that?”

“The money,” he jokes. I’m laughing on the outside, but inside, I’m also doing a victory dance. I know it’s ugly to care, but when a guy doesn’t have money, I’m the one left dealing with his low self-esteem problems and depression about how he can’t afford to do nice things with and for me. I don’t even need “nice things”! But I get it, when a man doesn’t have money, he doesn’t feel like a man. I didn’t tell him to feel that way about it. I would never feel that way about him. But he does, so it’s always a little relief when he’s got that crossed off his list. Not that I would like John any less if he didn’t. As noted,
I like John
!

Not wanting to come off materialistic, John explains what he really likes about being a doctor, “No, I enjoy saving lives, too.” He’s altruistic. He’s generous. He’s caring. I like this man.

“But it’s also nice to be able to afford to do all the stuff I want.” See? He gets it. That’s what I was talking about!

“Like what?” I ask, “what do you like to do?”

“I like to eat out, go to concerts, travel…” This is all the stuff I like to do. We have everything in common, so far. Then again, why wouldn’t we? We’re clearly soul mates.

Suddenly I remember the conversation I had with Anna Rubin this morning, where I told her all the things I want to do with my new guy. John is a doctor. A surgeon, no less. I have to ask.

“Were you messing with me before? Are you sure you don’t know the meaning of the purple dress?”

“I honestly have no idea what that refers to.”

“So you don’t know Anna Rubin?”

“Why would I know Anna Rubin?”

“Because you’re a surgeon. And she’s a nurse in a surgeon’s office.”

“And you think we all know each other? Like famous people do?” he laughs.

“Just tell me the truth, John. Did she send you?”

“Send me where?” He finds my question hilarious, and I don’t know if I should believe him or not.

“Here. To K-Bar. To meet me.”

He turns pale white, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, were you waiting for a blind date?” Maybe he really doesn’t know.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of. But not really. Nobody sent you here to K-Bar to meet Samantha in the purple dress?”

“No, but you have definitely peaked my curiosity. Do tell.”

For the first time, I realize how ridiculous my plan must sound to people. This girl (me) is such a giant control freak that she thinks she can just orchestrate meeting the love of her life by calling up everyone she knows and having them send bachelors. How do I explain this without seeming dumb?

You know what? If he is the one, then he needs to know this about me. If we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together, he’ll accept that I have a strong personality, determination, ambition in everything I do, and a “no-fail” attitude. These are good qualities, aren’t they?

“I guess this is the part of the evening where we begin to share the intimate details of our personalities,” I reveal, inducing yet another one of his endearing laughs.
“I didn’t think I could become more intrigued, and yet I just did.”

How to explain?...

“Okay, so you know how I do PR for a living, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, as a birthday gift to myself, I decided to throw myself a party consisting of me, my friend Lacey over there in the tight fitting dress, and a whole bunch of guys that I have never met before, sent by my friends as possible long term romantic partners for me.”

“So wait, it’s your birthday?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Not until tomorrow. Or midnight. So like an hour from now.” This is what I mean about him. I just revealed a potentially embarrassing aspect of myself, which I happen to admire in me, but which I realize some people might take as a little insane, and all John heard, was that it was my birthday. And he cared that it was my birthday.

“I did notice an above average number of men in this bar tonight. Are you saying that was your doing?” he asks with a gigantic smile on his face.

“I would guess so. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Either way, I’m talking to the most desirable girl in the place! And I’m impressed that you did this.” You see? He’s amazing. “But why now? Why this birthday?”

“You know how it is, sometimes when your birthday comes around, you take inventory. And on this birthday I realized that I have yet to date a guy I would want to marry. So I needed to try for that.”

“So you invited all these guys here to meet you for your birthday, and you’re drinking with a complete random.” I’m not comfortable calling John a “random,” since I already know that he’s the one, but I guess it always has to start with someone who’s a little random at first.

“Talk about being in the right place at the right time!” I tease, cracking him up again. Then for clarity I add, “I mean you, of course.” His laugh tells me that he got what I meant.

Then, just as everything was going perfectly, I asked the question that would reveal his first flaw.

“How about you? How come you’re not married yet?” He goes silent, and I realize my mistake, “Or, are you?”

“No. I was. I’m divorced.” Okay. Divorce I can live with. A lot of people have starter marriages, and it usually teaches them lessons that make them better the second time around. I could learn from his experience.

“Oh… sorry,” I squeak.

“It’s okay. We just… I guess we just weren’t in love anymore.” Yes! Awesome! Perfect! Just what I wanted to hear. I’m not being callous, I’m just excited that I have a chance to reignite his belief in love.

“Any kids?” I ask.

“No, thank God. That would just make it hard—er.” Oh, thank you, Lord! I’m too young to be a step-mom, and at this point, I think I would do anything to be with this man, including that, so thank you for saving me from myself. Now let’s just hope that he hasn’t been so burned that he’s sworn off marriage.

“Would you ever do it again? Get married?”

“Definitely! I loved being married. I had my best friend right there all the time to do stuff with. Why wouldn’t I want that again?” Ding-ding-ding: Jackpot!

“That’s exactly how I picture marriage,” I say empathetically, although really I’m going with that tone because I’m trying not to seem too eager or obvious, “like you’re best friends.”

“Yeah, we had it all…” He gets pensive and maybe a little nostalgic, and for a moment, I wish the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. But then he surprises me again, by snapping out of it, plastering that excited smile right back onto his face where it belongs, and offering, “Do you wanna see my favorite place in the whole city?”

“And leave all my suitors to fend for themselves?” I quip mockingly.

“Why do you think I’m trying to get you out of here so fast?” he muses, as he holds out a hand to help me off of my barstool.

“You really have nothing to worry about though. I was supposed to wear purple, remember. These guys have no way of knowing I was me. They probably think I didn’t even show up. But I like your initiative.” We both giggle as I take his hand and dismount from the bar.

Touching his hand sends a warm excitement through my body. Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man romantically. I check his face, to see if he feels it too. He’s still smiling sweetly, so I’ll take that as a yes.

“I should probably tell Lacey I’m leaving.”

~

Lacey has been getting rejected all night by a variety of hot men, who are immediately interested in her looks, and then just as quickly turned off by how desperately strong she’s coming on. After each new rejection, Lacey returns to Marty at the bar, as if he were her corner man, refueling her with drinks, and boosting up her confidence with compliments, before sending her back into the ring to get knocked around some more. I’ve decided that he’s a good guy. I can trust him despite his misguided efforts to get her to forfeit her match and recuperate in the locker room with him. I can tell that he cares about her, and he just wants to protect her from being knocked out in such a way that it would lead to brain damage and end her career forever.

She has just left his corner, after taking another shot of Kahlua flavored liquid courage, and is fearlessly talking to a brand new hunky guy when I approach.

“I’m not surprised you’ve done well in the Market. You look really smart!” I overhear her say, as she juts out her breasts. I hate to interrupt, but I’ll be brief.

“Hey, Lacey, do you mind if I take off?”

She hardly looks up at me as she says, “Huh? Sure. See ya’!” And turns her attention back to the hunk to say, “You know what would make you look even smarter? Glasses!” Ha! I love that girl. That said, she is a little drunk, so I stop by Marty’s corner on my way to the door.

“Hey Marty, can you make sure Lacey doesn’t do anything stupid here tonight?”

“She shouldn’t have any problem staying out of trouble, apparently all these guys she’s talking to are here looking for you.” Wow. So it did work. “Anyway, that’s the excuse they’re giving her when they decide they don’t want to talk to her anymore.”

“Really? It’s going that bad?”
“I just wish she would realize how much she has to offer. She’s gorgeous. She’s funny, even though most of her jokes are completely unintentional—“

“Right?!” I interject. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one who gets how hilarious she is.”

“Yeah, Lacey’s got everything going for her, she just doesn’t realize it. I hate that about her.” I laugh despite myself. “Don’t worry,” he finishes, “I won’t let her have sex with anyone until she’s 100% sober.” Adding at the last minute, “Including me.” He thinks about it, “Yeah, that would be gross. Yuck.” Then realizing how obviously he considered it, “It’s fun to think about though, right?”
“Thank you, Marty. You’re a really good guy. I appreciate that.”

“Hey, and congratulations on your master plan working out. Lacey told me about it. That was a really crazy idea,” he says, jovially adding, “You’re not sane.”

“Thanks… I think.” I seriously enjoy that guy.

I laugh and we share a warm goodbye, as I leave the bar where history has now been made to go outside, where John is already waiting for me. Mission accomplished. Feeling good. Some day I’ll tell my grandkids about this night.

Chapter 6

As we walk to this mystery place that John considers his favorite spot, he tells me more about his day to day as a doctor.

“When you’re in med school thinking about being a hero, you don’t really allow yourself to consider how stressful it actually is to have a patient’s life in your hands. Because, you know, it’s not just some patient. You meet with them, you diagnose them, you give them the news, you give them their options. By the time you get around to doing surgery, you actually know this guy pretty well. He’s not just a dummy. He’s got a personality, and a family, and sometimes even a sense of humor about it all. He’s someone you care about. I mean it doesn’t take that long to get to like a person, when they’re cool. Look at us? We’ve only known each other a few hours, and I would hate it if you died right now.” I laugh. “Especially if it was under my knife,” he adds.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t lead to that!” I joke, referring to the ridiculously large number of couples who kill their mates because they’re too chicken shit to just break up, like a normal person. As always, he gets my joke.

“I guess the risk of it all just seemed more worthwhile when I had a family to support,” he goes on. “I mean, it was just a wife, but still, I liked having someone to reap the rewards with. To do all that fun stuff with… or for. I wish I could have that again, because right now, it’s just empty money at great potential risk.”

I am loving how committal he is!

“Well, maybe I could help you out with some of that reward reaping stuff?” Did that sound too forward? “I mean, purely as a means of giving your life meaning,” I add, only half-joking, and mostly hoping he’ll bite.

“Really? You would do that for me?” he teases. “I’ll bet you’d even let me take you out to dinner and everything!”

“Yes, but only if it was gonna make you feel better about yourself.”
“That is so charitable of you, Samantha! I feel like a Make-a-Wish kid right now, whose every dream is coming true!” We share a nice laugh. “You know what else you could do to give my life meaning? Go salsa dancing with me. Do you salsa?”