“That’s exactly what I used it for.”
“Used it for. You’ve had that thing for ten years. Your kid started driving his own car almost three years ago, for God’s sake. I don’t think you need the minivan to take him to practice anymore.”
“Whatever. It’s just a car.”
“Want to catch a movie tomorrow?”
“I can’t, actually. I have study group. The test is coming up soon.”
“See you next Saturday, then?”
I squinted.
“You’re coming to our Memorial Day barbeque.”
“Wow, is it the end of May already? I think my calendar is filled through June.”
Eve kissed my cheek. “Wiseass.”
She walked to her car parked a few spots away and yelled over her shoulder as she unlocked her BMW.
“By the way, I wrote your telephone number on the back of the check for the hot waiter. Goodnight, Valentina. Enjoy.”
Based on the grin she gave me as she rolled past me and waved, I had no idea if she was kidding or serious.
Jesus, I hope she was kidding.
***
The next morning when I powered my phone on, I had two missed calls from an unknown number and a text from Mark.
Mark: Chinese or Italian tonight?
It was Mark’s turn to host our Saturday evening study group, and the host supplied dinner. He lived in Edgewater like me. Desiree and Allison, the other two in our foursome, lived on the other side of the river in Manhattan.
Valentina: You do know my maiden name is Di Giovanni, right? I’m never picking moo shu over meatballs. ☺
Mark: Di Giovanni, huh? That’s much more sexy than Davis. You should use it. It suits you better. Italian, it is. See you at five.
He really was a nice guy. Moving things from friendship to more wouldn’t be that difficult. We had a lot in common—both divorced, kids around the same age, and decided on a late-in-life career change to teaching. But I just didn’t see him in that light. Not that I’d actually put any effort into trying, even though I was pretty certain he saw me that way. As was Eve.
My phone buzzed as I poured my morning coffee. Unknown caller. Hmm…the third one since last night. I swiped ignore and thumbed off a text to Eve.
Valentina: Did you really give that waiter my number last night?
She responded by the time I’d finished my first dose of caffeine.
Eve: No. But I might have accidentally given your phone number to someone else.
Valentina: Accidentally? How do you accidentally give a phone number to someone?
Eve: Promise you won’t be mad.
I hit Call rather than texting again. “What did you do?”
“Let’s start out with what I didn’t do.”
“Okay…”
“I didn’t give your number to that waiter.”
“You already told me that.”
“I know. But I could have, and I want to make sure you know I would never give out your phone number on purpose.”
For Eve to sound worried about telling me something, I knew it wasn’t small. “What did you do?”
“I accidentally put your phone number on Match.com.”
“You WHAT?”
“I didn’t mean to make it public. I thought it was private, but the setting was wrong. Green means go. Red means stop. Who the hell makes a website where the red button means yes?”
“What are you talking about? I don’t even have a Match.com account.”
“Umm…you do now.”
My stomach sank. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t.” She paused, and for a second I felt a little relief. Then she continued. “I didn’t…mean to.”
“What did you do?”
“I signed you up for a Match.com account last night when I got home. I set it all up, but didn’t intend for it to be public. At least not right away. I thought if I set it up and made it easy for you, you might be willing to give it a shot. I was going to talk to you about it at the barbeque.”
“You intended for it to be private. Meaning it isn’t private?”
“That’s not the worst part.”
“What could be worse?”
“Since I thought it was set to private. I set up the account with a joke status to show you.”
Oh God.
I ran to my laptop and flipped it open. “What does it say?”
“Relax. It’s down now. I took it down within an hour. But not before it got a lot of attention. I realized what had happened when the email I set up to use with the account started pinging every two minutes.”
“What did it say?” I screeched.
“It said, Thirty-seven-year-old, divorced mother of one seeks casual fuck to get primed for dating again.”
“Please tell me you’re joking!”
“I wish I was.”
***
A week later, my phone seemed to have calmed down. One night, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, I even summoned the courage to look at the page Eve had set up for me.
Something you’ve always wanted to do: Go to Italy.
Favorite color: Hot pink. Not cotton candy or strawberry ice cream pink. Fuchsia. The bolder the better.
I sipped my wine and smiled. That was totally something I would say. Eve had done a good job being me.
Favorite quote: Una cena senza vino e come un giorno senza sole.
My smile widened. She had actually spelled it right. A meal without wine is a day without sunshine. It was my father’s favorite quote. When he passed, I had two wooden signs custom made—one for my kitchen and one for my mother’s.
Physical description: Five foot five, slim waist with curves north and south. Olive skin, long, dark, curly hair that I obsessively straighten, even though my curls kick ass, and blue eyes that are my only genetic gift from my mom. My best friend said to tell you, “You’ll look twice. I promise.”
Age: Twenty-nine (plus eight, but who’s counting).
Who I’m looking for: Mr. Right, of course.
My ideal match is: Between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-eight. Tall. Smart. Funny. Loves to travel. Can dance (because I can’t). Takes the scenic route when driving. Has a distinguished palate. Is not named Ryan. Has a fun nickname. (Nicknames of Cunnilingus King go to the top of the pile.)
She had posted a few pictures of me. Each one was captioned. The first was a shot of me in a bikini cannonballing off the diving board into Eve’s inground pool. My hair was flying in the air, knees tucked, and I held my nose. You couldn’t see my full face, but from the profile, you could tell I was smiling and laughing. The picture was funny. It wasn’t one I would have picked, but it had a lot of personality, and I liked it. Underneath it, she’d captioned: Not afraid to fly.
The second picture was taken at Ryan’s high school graduation. I was wearing a black and white floral sundress with a halter top that made my boobs look bigger than they are. I had on a wide-brimmed, white sun hat. It had been windy that day, so I was holding the rim of the hat down, and it covered almost all of my face—except my lips. The only thing you could see was bright red lipstick on an ear-to-ear smile. The caption on that one read: This is me being a proud mom.
The last shot was a picture of Eve and me in high school. It must have been taken in 9th or 10th grade, seeing as I wasn’t pregnant yet. We had our arms around each other and wore matching outfits. Underneath that one she had written: Same best friend for more than twenty years.