The photographer, who Meena introduces as Vicki, shoots candids of all of us yammering and modeling our designer pieces. No one displays the slightest hint of embarrassment or regret at having confessed such personal things at Superica. No one brings up what I admitted about the night Nate died. Or that Sara is getting divorced because her husband has a secret family, or that Angela, Phoebe, and Wesley admitted that they have briefly considered murdering those they love. And then there’s Annell’s revelation that she was married. It’s strange how you can know people for so long yet only uncover slivers of who they really are and what they’ve been through.
What I do know is that this is a group that only supports and does not judge. And I am lucky beyond measure to be a part of it.
“Is Nancy coming?” Carlotta asks. “I made something for her, too.” She holds up a lime-green golf skort with a multicolored striped halter top that would be perfect on Nancy Flaherty.
“That is adorable!” I say, because it is.
“She’s in Augusta for the Masters,” Annell says. “And then she goes to Hilton Head for another tournament, but she said she’ll be back for book club.” She glances around the room. “What do you think, Meena? Are we ready to get started?”
“Yes, we are!” Meena steps to the front of the group and in a fair imitation of Annell’s usual book club welcome says, “So. How many of you have had a chance to read 121 First Dates?”
All hands go up, including Annell’s and mine. But I only read it out of curiosity, and while I did enjoy dancing at Meena’s building’s happy hour, I have no intention of going anywhere online that’s more personal than Amazon or Instacart.
“Okay then, you don’t need me to recap,” Meena smiles. “What did everybody think?”
“It was a fun read,” Phoebe says. “Except having to go on one hundred twenty dates before you find the right person sounds exhausting.”
“The fact that a size 16 middle-aged woman had plenty of dates and ultimately found a life partner was pretty uplifting,” Annell says.
“And her pole dancing hobby was an interesting choice,” Carlotta adds.
“I thought her advice not to date anyone who lives farther away than you’re willing to drive three times a week was pretty spot-on,” Chaz adds, stretching his arms and making his flag fly.
“And meeting in person as quickly as possible so you can find out whether you have chemistry seems like a time-saver,” Wesley chimes in.
I grin. Leave it to men to focus on the practicalities rather than finding true love.
“Okay.” Meena holds up a sheet of paper. “Here’s a list of dating sites with notes about optimal age range, consumer rankings, et cetera. Everyone needs to decide which sites make the most sense for them. I’ve gotten the best results with Match and eharmony, but I’ve heard good things about SilverSingles, too. Bumble and Hinge seem to be really big with younger people. Carlotta mentioned a site called BlackPeopleMeet and one called HER. On the back are some examples of strong profiles.
“I saw a statistic that people who use the word ‘whom’ correctly in a sentence have a thirty-one percent better chance of a right swipe.” At first I think Meena is joking—I mean, I never took dating this seriously when I was dating—but she turns to Sara and adds, “Would you be willing to help anyone who needs it with their profile? A little editing never hurts.”
“Sure.” Sara smiles. “It’s nice to know that grammar actually counts in the real world.”
“Vicki here”—Meena points to the bouncy young woman who’s been snapping photos since we arrived—“is going to shoot photos for us to use when setting up profiles. My treat. And you’ll probably want a number of other photos from real life. The sites vary as to how many photos they expect you to include.” She pauses and looks around the room. “So—how many of you are going to set up profiles and give it a whirl?”
Chaz, who must already be beating women off with a stick, is the first to raise his hand.
Wesley and Phoebe raise one hand between them, and I wonder if they’ll set up one profile or two.
“How about it, Dorothy?” Sara asks her mother-in-law. “Do you want me to help you get started?”
The shock on Dorothy’s face is comical. There’s sputtering. Eye narrowing. “Of course not. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Carlotta says. “You might want to at least get some pictures taken while you’re here.” She holds up a beautifully patterned silk scarf with brightly colored fringe that she made for Dorothy. “This would be stunning on you, and you can wear it with virtually anything. Besides, a woman can never have too many flattering photos of herself, can she?”
“Goodness, that’s beautiful.” Dorothy reaches for the scarf, then rubs it against her cheek.
Annell laughs. “I have zero interest in getting married again—saying ‘I do’ made me realize ‘I don’t.’ But I wouldn’t mind a date now and then. And it seems like this way you at least have some control over the situation. Besides, I am not wasting this gorgeous jumpsuit that Carlotta made me.” She holds up a green silk one-piece garment with a V-neck and flared leg. “What do you say, Dorothy? Shall we pose for some photos and consider creating profiles?”
I wait, assuming Dorothy’s looking for a way to say no. In the end, she says, “Hmph. I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
Sara’s eyes go big, but she doesn’t comment.
“Well, I’m going to help Jazmine set up a profile,” Angela says. “So I can live vicariously through her.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jazmine looks her friend over. “I am already dating. I do not need to put myself online.”
“I don’t know,” Angela replies. “I’m not sure three dates in fourteen years can really be considered dating. Going online will significantly deepen the potential dating pool.”
“Oh my God,” Jazmine says. “When did you turn into Thea? What if someone who knows me professionally saw it?”
“You don’t think people who work in sports use dating apps?” Angela deadpans.
“Angela’s right, Mom. You should get set up online. I’ll help.” Maya is looking at her mother as if she’s just realizing that Jazmine is a living, breathing woman. “Aunt Thea says Rich Handsome is interested in her. Only Aunt Thea isn’t happy about it, and she didn’t like the way my mom flirted with him at my match.”
“That’s Hanson,” Jazmine huffs. “And that was not flirting. That was irritation. And, and . . . business.”