“Funny you should say that.” I close my book and smile hopefully. “Being that you’re someone who changed careers and I’m reading a book about leaning in, I’ve been curious about what made you decide to open this place. I know you said you hated finance, and this is so far away from finance.” I sweep my arm to take in the place.
He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Yes and no.”
“Is that your final answer?” I tease.
He laughs. “Yes and no.” He grins at me, his blue eyes twinkling. “It was a long process. I’d like to tell you the story sometime, but it’s hard in the shop.”
“Then can I invite you out to lunch? I would say coffee, but that seems kinda silly in your case.”
“Ha-ha.” He rubs his chin again. “Sure, I can do lunch. I have to coordinate it with Brian to make sure there are two people here. When are you thinking?”
“I’m pretty much free whenever. How about tomorrow?”
“I can do tomorrow. Does one thirty work?”
“It’s a date!” I feel my face start to go a little hot, if not from the word choice but from my evident enthusiasm. “So, um, where would you like to go?” I ask.
“Someplace close in the neighborhood so I can get back here if I need to. How about Nico Osteria on State?”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you there at one thirty.” I pause. “That is, if I don’t see you beforehand when I come in for my morning coffee.”
This morning I decide to make coffee at home, skipping The Cauldron, and use the extra time to plan my lunch outfit. I’m still cringing a bit that I used the word “date” to invite Eric out to lunch. We’ve been on friendly terms, and I don’t want to give him the wrong idea (or lose my new coffee spot!). Even though my ring’s been off and he hasn’t commented, I do wonder if he’s noticed. Maybe to make sure that he doesn’t think I have any hidden motives, I should wear it for our meetup.
I open my top dresser drawer and dig through my other accessories to find the Tiffany box. When I spot it, I can feel my chest tighten as my hand clamps around it. I take a deep breath and pull it out. I open up the box and a wave of sadness hits me. The platinum looks a little dull and while the stone is still sparkly in the light, I can’t stand to look at it. I hurriedly close the box and shut it back in the drawer. Nope! That ring is not going back on my finger. If Eric asks, the stone is being reset.
I turn away from the dresser and walk into my closet. I look at my nice work clothes hanging idly in my closet, but they seem inappropriate. “Soon, my loves,” I say, stroking a Theory pencil skirt and petting a colorful DVF wrap dress, “I will have a new job and wear you again.” But I also realize that these clothes are a costume for the Allison who worked in the big PR firm. Lately it’s been nice to live in my workout clothes, sundresses, and T-shirts and jeans that have all been in heavy rotation these last few weeks. I may have also gone more than a few days without bothering to blow out my hair since a ponytail or messy bun is easier. I realize that not too long ago I felt completely differently about these things and wonder if this is the slippery slope I was worried about. So while a sundress will suffice today, I’ll take the time to blow out my hair and remove my nail polish since it has started to chip (another first).
While I’m doing my hair, I notice that my mousy brown roots are starting to show, and I’m overdue for a touch up. Although my stylist is expensive, I want to stay interview ready and should probably make an appointment. I’ve canceled my weekly manicures, though, since I can easily paint my nails myself, or not at all, like today. I just need to look presentable and not worry so much about trying to look so perfect.
Not so perfect. Huh.
I put down my blow dryer and reflect on that. Maybe it’s not that I’m on a slippery slope; maybe it’s that I’m onto a life-changing realization. I was being “perfect”—or I thought I was by trying to do everything perfectly—but everything I’d created still came crashing down around me. I give my damp hair a shake and decide to let it air dry. My face still has some color from my morning run, so rather than my usual heavy-duty makeup application, I simply apply a little mascara and lip gloss. I’m expecting Eric to be in jeans and a T-shirt (since that’s what I see him in every day), so it’s best to match his casual vibe and not look like I tried too hard. Though I’m not sure what I’m trying too hard at. The fact that he’s a good-looking guy hasn’t escaped my notice, but I can’t even imagine dating in my current state. So I notice his attractiveness the same way I admire a nice pair of heels at Nordstrom—nice to look at, but something I just can’t afford right now.
I ARRIVE AT the restaurant five minutes early, but he’s already inside sitting at the bar talking to the bartender. Just as I predicted, he’s wearing a short-sleeve gray T-shirt and faded jeans. The bartender notices me approaching, looks at Eric, and Eric turns around.
“Hey, Allison.” Eric stands and then hugs me.
We’ve never hugged before. I like his big, friendly vibe—the same as at The Cauldron. The book on friendship is making me hyper-aware of trying to read others, but rather than giving me the insight I needed, I feel I’ve gained a bad case of utter paranoia and skepticism. Ah, the days when ignorance was bliss.
When we pull away, Eric says, “Jonah, this is my friend Allison.”
Jonah reaches across the bar to shake my hand. “Hey, Allison. What can I get you?”
“Nice to meet you, Jonah.” I sneak a peek at Eric’s drink of choice, which is an afternoon beer. “I’ll have a glass of sauvignon blanc.”
“You got it.”
While Jonah gets my glass, Eric asks, “Should we get a table?”
The restaurant is rather crowded but we’re the only people sitting at the bar.
“Sure. Or we could eat here?”
When Jonah sets my wine in front of me, Eric says, “Can we also have menus?”
“Sure thing, man.” Jonah hands us two menus, and I idly notice his muscular forearms. Feeling caught, I look up. Jonah smiles at me and says, “Let me know what you’d like.”
I nod and, feeling a blush coming on, quickly bury my nose in my menu.
Eric, noticing the exchange, hits Jonah with his menu. “Hey! Stop staring at my friend. She’s already taken.” While he says this, I notice that he glances at my left hand, and now I sort of wish I’d had worn my ring.
Jonah laughs and gives a cocky shrug. “Relax, Caulder. Just doing my job,” he says and then winks at me.
Though Jonah’s flirting is a nice boost to my shaky self-esteem, the whole exchange makes me squirm in my chair. At some point, which is probably sometime soon, I need to admit to Eric that I’m no longer engaged. But now is not that time. Why ruin the good mood with my depressing breakup story? Anyway, not being ready to date is the same as being taken since they each produce the same result—me not dating.
Once we’ve ordered, I ask Eric, “So are you a regular here?”
“I’ve been here before, but I wouldn’t say regularly.”
“You seem to know Jonah well. Is there a bartender slash barista meetup that you all go to?”