The Real Deal

My stomach has officially twisted in knots, so I’m entertaining myself with as many diversions as I can find. A couple hours after I saw the ad, I sent an inquiry to Xavier’s friend. Now I’m in the limbo of waiting for a reply. Sometimes it sucks to want something.

Claire tromps over to me, her black knee-high boots click-clacking like they’re drilling holes in the floor.

I show her the man-size hamster wheel. “Can we get one, Mommy, someday, pretty please?”

As she peers at the image, her kohl-lined navy blue eyes widen to saucers. “That’s a hamster wheel.”

“I want one terribly.”

“Let’s put it on your birthday wish list, then.”

I whisper conspiratorially, though it’s only the two of us. “I feel like there’s probably some sordid sexual history to this wheel. Like, the dirtiest deeds must occur on this wheel.”

She grabs the back of my chair and twirls me around so I face the mirror. It’s the end of the day, and my hair is a little wild from the humidity. The sun has brought out the spray of freckles that travel across the bridge of my nose, but I’m not one of those freckles-hating girls. Better to embrace them than hide them. Claire arches an eyebrow at my reflection. “Why else would someone even have a hamster wheel?”

“Exactly. See? You get me. You understand the world. But why is he selling the fifty pounds of shredded newspaper, too?” I hover my finger over the screen, so she can’t possibly miss the room full of ripped-up news headlines covering the floor by the wheel. The man truly is imitating a small rodent on that spinning wheel. “Even if I had a hamster wheel fetish, I’d completely say no to taking a spin on this one, on account of the shredded newspaper.”

“How do you know that? If you had a hamster wheel fetish, you might very well like shredded newspaper.”

I tap my chin, as though deeply considering the possibility. I shake my head back and forth, my blond curls going whip fast. “I don’t think so. I’m not a fan of newsprint.”

She moves to straighten the hair sprays on her booth counter. I pop up, joining her, because this passes the time. As I push an aerosol can against the wall, I glance up at the clock. As I rearrange some gel, I sneak a peek at my watch.

Claire gives me a sharp-eyed stare. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” I return her gaze with my best doe-eyed look. It’s a look I’ve mastered—big green eyes with brown flecks in them aid my efforts.

“You’re worrying.” She taps my temple. “You’re wondering.”

“And what am I wondering about?”

“If this is crazy. If you should do it. If it’s the nuttiest thing you’ve ever done. Yet you want it badly.”

“Shut up, mind reader.”

She laughs. “Yes. I can see right into your skull. And he’ll reply. Remember, he wants the gig.”

“Do you think he’ll reply soon?”

Strangely, nerves flutter in my chest, flapping dangerous wings against my rib cage. I’m not entirely sure why I’m the nervous one. I’m not the loon who posted the ad. No, I’m just the loon answering it, which I did about twenty minutes ago. Fine, I replied nineteen minutes and forty-seven seconds ago, but who’s counting. Just me, the fidgety hummingbird jacked up on extra sugar water.

Claire pats my shoulder. “Xavier wouldn’t hook you up with a flake. He’s totally reliable. The guy is probably busy serving appletinis to socialites.”

“At his dive bar? Doubtful.” I sort the sprays and gels.

“Regardless, he’ll respond. This is what he does. Kind of a cool little job, if you ask me.”

I shrug noncommittally. “This would be so much easier if Tom would help me.”

“You know I love you, but my boyfriend is not on loan.”

I huff. “Please. I’m not stealing your man. I meant, if he would help me with a friend. Why doesn’t he have any single men he can lend me? A Xavier replacement.”

“No one gets that much time off work. Xavier was a rarity, and look what happened to him. He snagged a gig.”

“It’s either a gig or a significant other. I was going to ask Cole,” I say, naming a talent agent friend of ours, “but he started dating someone a few weeks ago, so he’s off the market. And Anders has a conference in Miami. I’ve combed through the list of last-minute replacements. Pickings are slim to nil.”

Claire tucks a bottle of hair spray into a drawer. “See? It’s better to hire someone than to ask for a favor.” Her boyfriend is a world-class photographer, and he helped me get one of my biggest breaks. I, in turn, helped him with something even bigger: I introduced him to my best friend, and now they’re madly in love, and they can’t keep their hands off each other. Yep, it’s love and sex, and sex and love, the lucky devils. Plus, he’s not an emotional leech. Bonus points for that. “Besides, your Satisfaction Guaranteed man will totally work out.” She taps her breastbone. “I can feel it.”

Is it odd that I already want him to say yes? I don’t even know this guy, but I swear his ad spoke to me. I don’t mean in a cheesy, over-the-top romantic way. It spoke to my funny bone, and that’s the biggest bone in my body.

I like to laugh. I like twisted, weird things. I like dares and wild days and nights. And I like men my family would never ever set me up with. That’s all they seem to want to do, though I understand why. If I were them, I’d probably worry about my ability to attract a decent man, too. It’s not exactly like I have a good track record.

Cough, cough, my ex-boyfriend Landon.

Be that as it may, I desperately need a perfect shield. Consider the emails they’ve sent in the last few days.

From: Aunt Jeanie

To: April

Can’t wait to see you at the reunion! And I absolutely, positively can’t wait to bring you to the town square to meet Linus. He’s a mortgage banker, and he likes to find the best possible interest rate deals and steals and to go boating on weekends on the wide, open waters. Doesn’t he sound perfect for you??? How about I set the two of you up on a morning coffee date? You can have cinnamon rolls at FlourChild!

Xoxo

Jeanie

Look, Linus might be perfectly decent. And who wouldn’t want a great deal on an interest rate? That has to rank high on the list of things I’d need when adulting. But dating isn’t the place for adulting, is it? Besides, if Aunt Jeanie’s best sales pitch involves interest rates, I fear Linus would be dreadfully dull.

My mother is convinced, though, that Calvin is just who I need. Two days ago, she dropped this little hint.

From: Mom

To: April

Only a few more days! Can you hear the cat clock in the hallway ticking all the way in Manhattan? It’s the sound of my excitement over seeing my little girl. I’m planning the most amazing scavenger hunt, and I need my scavenger hunt assistant. Plus, did you know Calvin likes scavenger hunts, too? You remember him. He runs the hardware store. The man knows his tools, if you know what I mean. What do you say about a little date? It’s so much better to meet someone through a match than through those crazy online sites the kids today are using, DON’T YOU THINK?

(THAT WAS SHOUTY CAPS. Was that proper use of shouty caps? Regardless, love and hugs!)

Your mom

Meanwhile, Jeanie’s daughter, my cousin Katie, who’s a few years older than me, messaged me on Facebook to tell me the guy who walks her poodles has a great behind. I love a good ass as much as the next girl, but I worry a tad when the rear end is the only feature highlighted on his calling card. Then there’s my sister. She texted me yesterday.




That’s why I’m not going solo. I’ll be poked and prodded and paraded around all week long. It’s not that I don’t want to date the guys from my hometown of Wistful. It’s just that I don’t want to date the guys from my hometown.