What a Girl Wants (6 page)

Clicking off the television, I grab a women’s magazine only to find out the rest of the world is entirely immersed in their sex lives. At some point over the years women’s magazines become a litany on STDs and how to have good sex despite them—no longer fashion-oriented. Unless you count the latest lingerie styles. If women are from Venus, I’m living on Pluto.

Being celibate in today’s “forward-thinking” society makes me feel like the freak I am, and yet every time I read these mags, I thank my Lord He’s kept me pure. I go on faith that someday, some man somewhere will recognize my virginity for the gift it is, and not ask what’s wrong with me. Brea found her man, and some-where mine is searching for me. Maybe it’s Seth. At least I’m not completely tainted. There’s a dash of hope in me yet.

I settle back in my chair and force away the thought that Seth sounded very businesslike on the phone.
Ah, we have arrived at the
phone analysis portion of our day. What he said, what he meant. What
I said, what I meant, what I could have said differently
. . .

His business tone is what I’m left with. He didn’t sound overly gushy, but he was at work. He can’t exactly fawn over a date when he’s sitting in a cubicle. And he is Seth. So it’s not like he has the emotional capacity to coo anyway. In the end, I decide there’s nothing to worry about. Seth asked me out.

Looking at my watch, it’s 8:30 already. Too late to go to the mall, so I grab up a few mail-order catalogs for ideas and plan my grand entrance at Fresh Choice. I will be radiant. What’s that word they only use in romance novels? Oh yeah,
exquisite.
I will be exquisite. Or resplendent. Either one is fine by me. I will render Seth speechless at the mere sight of me. He will not hear the screaming toddlers, nor notice his chain-restaurant surroundings. No, he will have eyes only for me.

By Wednesday, I still haven’t found an outfit. You can never find anything when you’re looking for it. When will I learn this? So I’ve spent two lunch hours at the mall to no avail. My date is in four hours and what I’m now wearing—a white ribbed sweater and fitted red skirt from Ann Taylor—is looking awfully good to me at this point. Sadly, I’m not resplendent, I’m more what you’d call tolerable. But hey, Elizabeth Bennet was tolerable, and she nabbed Mr. Darcy. Maybe it’s better that I don’t knock Seth over with my appearance. Maybe it’s better to seem average and let him see my inner spark—which will ignite like a fireworks finale.

I’ve tried on a few pairs of pants, but the low hip thing is made for, well, I don’t know who it’s made for. Certainly not a woman with hips. I saw a picture of J. Lo in low-cut white jeans and they looked awful. Now if a style doesn’t look good on J. Lo, chances are very slim it looks good on anyone else, so why is this all you can purchase in the stores? I mean, if the average woman is a size ten, and J. Lo is, say, a small six, why are these pelvis-baring jeans available in a size sixteen? It’s a cruel joke on the women of America. And we purchase the punch line like lemmings.

Rather than go home and get ready for my date, I just finish a few projects at work. Taking tonight off is going to cost me. But before I know it, it’s time for Fresh Choice and I’m rushing out the door. I pat a little powder on my face and apply a sheer red lipstick. My look says I tried, but not too hard. It says,
I’m your friend, but
I’m open to more. Let’s talk.

When I get to the restaurant, Seth is there waiting in the foyer. Those eyes just make my heart stop with their icy blue color. His smile catches all the way to his eyes. Seth and I have known each other for years. We’ve worked the singles committees together, and while there’s always been this underlying current, neither one of us has ever acted on it. Clearly that’s all about to change. Never has he looked at me this way. I’m sure of it. Pretty sure. Almost sure.

“H-hi,” I sputter. So graceful! I pull my chin up, fighting to recover.

“Hi. I’m glad you could make it.” He grabs me a tray and lets me go first in the salad bar line. Okay, that’s kind of chivalrous.

We go through the entire line in silence and once we get to the register, I start to panic. Should I take out my wallet? It’s not like nine dollars is going to set him back, but is it tacky to expect it? I nibble on my lip for a brief moment, then decide he’s invited me; he can pay for it. I smile as he takes out his wallet, complete with coupon, and gets us a deal.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure.” We find a table and he ignores the tray in front of him, concentrating on my nose. Never has he looked at me so intently! And those eyes! I’m seeing him in a tux at our wedding, his eyes in our son’s head, a head covered with hair that is my color, definitely in more abundance than that atop Seth’s—

“I suppose you’re wondering what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Now, I’m close to panting. I didn’t know there was an agenda. Should I have caught some clue that there was an agenda? If Brea was feeling better, she would have caught it. I should have analyzed the conversation more.
Mental note: Listen to the answering machine
at least six times.

“No, I wasn’t really wondering. I thought you just invited me out for dinner. We’ve been friends a long time now, right?” My hope is that this dissuades him from telling me something I don’t want to hear.

He spills his Coke—he’s endearingly clutsy at times—and rises to go fetch some napkins. I shove an olive in my mouth and imagine our conversation to come.

“I need patent help on a project I’m working on. There was no one
else I could call. No one else I could trust.” Seth looks away for a
moment. The emotion is too great.

“You know I’m here for you, Seth.” I curl my hand over his. “Do
you have the drawings yet?”

“Right here.” Seth pulls out schematics, and our eyes meet again,
as if for the first time. He shoves aside the blueprints and kisses me
hungrily over the table.

I return his kiss feverishly.

My eyes drop to the paperwork on the floor. “Your product is
incredible. An unmet market. You’ll be wealthy beyond your wildest
dreams,” I say, breathless from macking.

“It will make us wealthy, Ashley. Which is why I bought you this
to say thank you.” He holds up a two-carat princess-cut diamond
ring—set in platinum, of course. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh yes, Seth. Yes.”

“Ashley, are you all right?” He sits down across from me again and mops up the mess. “I thought it would be good to talk over dinner,” he says, his eyes all business once more.

My heart’s pounding, and I try to steady my breathing. It wouldn’t do to die of a heart attack now. Not now. “Go ahead, Seth.”

“You’ve been singing in the worship band sometimes.”

“Yes,” I say slowly, flushing a little in pride. “I’m no Jaci Valasquez or anything, and my work schedule doesn’t allow for the practice time lately, but—”

He cuts me off. “The other gal who sings with you, Arin?”

My smile fades. “Yes?”

“Do you think,” he pauses. “Well, do you think she would go ever out with me?”

Breathe. Breathe. Don’t show disappointment
. But I can’t talk. I can’t force the words I don’t feel, and I realize why I could never be a trial lawyer or a poker player. I shrug an answer, but my heart is broken. I didn’t realize until this very moment what Seth meant to me. His quiet intellect . . . and searing blue eyes . . . and gentle smile captured a part of me. It happened so subtly over the years I never had time to notice. We have so much history, I took it for granted.

“Has Arin ever mentioned me?” Seth prods, puncturing that sharp object into my heart farther.

“She’s only twenty-four,” I say, feeling the distinct desire to point out his baldness and age, but I clamp my mouth shut, hoping
her
age will be enough to stab his over-inflated, egotistical, insensitive balloon . . .

He nods eagerly, blindly. “She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Oh, to wring his neck. To just reach my hands around his scrawny little throat and shout,
YOU ARE SINGLE FOR A REA-SON.
I THOUGHT YOU WERE A SEASON MAN, BUT YOU
ARE A REASON MAN IN THE WORST WAY!
My salad suddenly looks wilted and I’m debating how to get through the next half-hour, but my anger is simmering, brewing to a slow boil.

But suddenly I have this surreal calm. I am in control. I continue with all the composure in the world, like Glenn Close, Academy-Award-winning actress with maybe a little
Fatal
Attraction
thrown in. Without the bunny. “Arin is very beautiful,” I say calmly. Maybe a little scarily calm. “Arin also has a boyfriend at Stanford. In medical school,” I add. But I get nowhere. If Seth had any sense of Season in him, it’s long since buried under the multitude of Reasons. He could teach Clueless 101.

“Is it serious?” Seth asks. “Between Arin and her boyfriend?”

“Are you serious?” I don’t mean to sound nasty, but can this man be so completely dull-witted? Can he possibly think a gorgeous twenty-four-year-old woman, with a boyfriend who resembles Hugh Jackman in doctor form, would be interested in his balding science-fiction self ? Every part of me wants to start shouting his list of reasons off for the benefit of the restaurant’s crowd.

“So you’re saying you don’t think she’d go out with me.” Seth stabs a cherry tomato with vigor. He obviously still has hope within him despite my non-answer, and I want to snuff it out with my heel.

“I can’t really say what she’d do. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

Too late
. The crying kids in the restaurant become louder. Unbearably loud. And I can’t stomach the thought of one more bite sitting across from Seth. “You know, I’m not feeling very well, and I have a lot of work that I brought home with me tonight. Good luck with Arin. Sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I don’t know her that well. She’s a little young for me to be close friends with. And maybe for you to date.”

He doesn’t catch on that I’m gathering up my things, preparing to flee. “I thought maybe because she liked allegory and science fiction we might make a good match. She also likes to ski, I heard.”

I like to read romance novels, but you don’t see me calling up
Fabio.

I rise, preparing to let loose a comment worthy of this night. But my heart softens at his furrowed brows, and my fingers massage my purse strap.
Lord God, give me Your grace here when I feel
like slicing him to ribbons!
“Seth, um, you’re a . . . great guy. Who’s to say what Arin might do? But you don’t seem like the kind of person to go after another man’s girl.”

“Thanks, Ashley. I appreciate your honesty.”
He doesn’t believe
a word of it, but he appreciates it all the same.

“No problem,” I breathe, singing “Chain of Fools” in my head. “See you Sunday?”

“Sunday,” he affirms.

I wouldn’t mind if I never see a Reason again. I leave the restaurant thankful I didn’t spend one red cent on this “date.” This wasn’t even worth a new lipstick. I’m embarrassed to call Brea and tell her what a yutz I am, but I won’t make it through the night without her emotional support. Besides, she’ll have some good bald jokes, and tonight I will relish every one of them.
Two-carat
princess-cut—
Seth would buy a cubic zirconia and tell me about the deal he got on QVC just to add insult to injury.

Mental note: Do not expect blood from a turnip.

6

S
aturday night arrives—if I had a date it would take forever to get here but, alas, I don’t, and it’s snuck up on me like a deadline. It’s talent night at the local Starbucks, and I debate a thousand times if I should go. Seth will be there, which discourages me, but I figure I can’t run from him forever. He doesn’t know what I feel any more than Arin knows about his secret crush.

I check the TV guide first, and there’s nothing worth staying home for. Which is really saying something. It wouldn’t have taken much; even a
Growing Pains
reunion would have worked. Kirk Cameron in puberty was all I was asking for, but I got nothin’.

I head to the coffee shop, determined that I will not perform under any circumstances. I’m thankful I never signed Kay Harding’s infamous clipboard under duress. The blank clipboard is my ticket to freedom.

First Community Church’s Open Mic Night at Starbucks is our attempt at showing the world we Christians are fun without the alcohol, without the drugs, without the sex. We
are
in Silicon Valley, so fun is relatively tame anyway. If it weren’t for the sales and marketing people, the Christians would blend right in. It’s perfectly acceptable for a weekend’s entertainment to include video games or RISK. You don’t have to be Christian. Being an engineer is quite enough.

I’m a Trivial Pursuit gal myself, but engineers, while they know the universal language of math, are quite naive on useless facts. The singles group has played a few times, and I’m always left realizing I barely know that WWII took place but can repeat verbatim a cover story from
People
magazine back in 1988. There has to be a market for that kind of talent somewhere, wouldn’t you think? Maybe there’s a don’t-repeat-this-fashion-era-mistake think tank or something in Washington.