When Stephanie returned to the table, Frank took the iPhone that had been consuming his attention and placed it in his back pocket. She sat down. He leaned forward in his chair and smiled. His teeth were white and straight; the result of braces, she figured.
“Let’s try this again. So, what did you do this weekend?” he asked.
“I sailed to Tiburon with some friends,” she replied.
“Ah, Tiburon,” Frank said slowly, drawing out the words in a way that made Stephanie think that he was reminiscing about a special time spent in the waterfront town. “Did you go to Sam’s Anchor Cafe?”
“Why, yes, I did,” she answered, scooting her chair forward. “Actually, I love that restaurant.” One of her favorite getaways, she’d spent three hours the day before seated on the restaurant’s vast deck, enjoying some cocktails while gazing out over the bay.
“Sam’s is pretentious. It’s just awful,” Frank said. Stephanie saw no levity in his brown eyes. He was serious in his indictment.
An awkward silence ensued. Frank stared into his empty coffee cup. Stephanie picked up hers and sipped it slowly.
How much more of this guy’s attitude am I going to take?
After what seemed like a minute, but was probably less, Frank looked up and blurted out, “I’m really into antiques. Are you?” “No, I’m really not,” she replied.
“You’re not? Why? Antiques are the embodiment of the history of a family, a society, a people,” Frank said. “Even though the pieces are old, most of them are stately and mysterious in truly unique ways. I spent a lot of my childhood going to antique flea markets with my mom. It was an adventure each time we went.”
As Frank rambled on about why he enjoyed antiquing, Stephanie’s mind wandered.
I probably should have saved the four dollars on the coffee.
Stephanie took another long sip of her drink. It was almost gone.
When Frank stopped speaking, she looked up, leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs, and smiled.
What happened to the connection we had on e-mail? Maybe some flirting will salvage this date.
Frank flashed her a momentary grin but then shifted his gaze to her tan UGGs. He looked down at them intensely.
“Nice shoes,” he said in a tone of voice that could only be interpreted as sarcastic.
Stephanie threw her hands in the air. “What? You don’t like my shoes?”
“Don’t you have any heels?” he replied.
Stephanie could feel her face heating up. She sprung out of her chair. “Listen, buddy, in the eight minutes I’ve been here you have reamed me for being late, made me buy my own coffee, trashed Sam’s after I told you I liked the place, dominated the conversation talking about antiques after I said that I’m not interested in them, and then you insult my choice of shoes! Exactly who do you think you are? And you don’t even look like your photos!”
Stephanie yanked her jacket and purse from the seatback, grabbed her scarf and hat, and stormed out of the café without looking back. Testing the speed at which she could move in her UGGs, she turned the corner and walked as fast as she possibly could for three blocks until she reached her apartment building. All the while, she ignored her ringing phone.
When Stephanie got home, she collapsed onto the couch, pulled off her boots, and kicked her feet up onto the cushions. Lying there, she played back all that had happened during her record-setting date.
How could a date that seemed to have so much potential go so terribly wrong?
After a few minutes, Stephanie sat up and pulled out her phone. Frank had called her three times and left a voice mail after the third missed call. Stephanie pressed the “play” button.
“Hi, Stephanie. You should know that you’ve really opened my eyes to the errors of my ways. I’m going to handle things differently in the future. Sorry about what happened. Take care.”
“Good luck with that,” she said sarcastically before pressing the “delete” button.
Stephanie reached down, picked up her UGGs, and carried them into the bathroom. Placing them on the closed toilet seat cover, she opened the cabinet drawer and pulled out her suede brush. She first worked on the left boot and then on the right, lightly brushing the nap toward the rear of each boot to restore the smooth grain that had been disrupted ever so slightly.
After inspecting each boot, she carried them into her bedroom and placed them back in their appointed spot on the floor of her closet. They were ready for her next date.
Excerpted from First Date Stories: Women’s Romantic and Ridiculous Midlife Adventures by Jodi Klein. Reprinted with permission of She Writes Press. Copyright Ó 2021. All rights reserved.
First Date Stories: Women’s Romantic and Ridiculous Midlife Adventures is available from Amazon and Bookshop.