Me, You and our First Laugh.

Elodie

I adjust stiffly on my seat, my eyes focused squarely on the magazine in my hands. My eyes are unable to catch any words though. The words seem to have paired themselves up and were dancing to the tune of my palpable embarrassment. At least even mere words have partners that did not leave them hanging. I can swear that the waitresses, with their high buns and fake smiles, are already giving me the stink eye. As if on cue, I hear a burst of soft giggles from the waitress’ station and I stiffen. They are laughing at me. Surely they are. After all, did I not tell the two waitresses who came earlier to take my order on two different occasions that I was waiting for somebody? And probably they somehow got wind of the fact that this is actually not just any other date, but a blind date. And so they are gossiping about it among themselves and laughing at me, the desperate lady who is most definitely being stood up by a blind date. I don’t blame them. I mean, it is such a pathetic picture that I too would laugh at me if I wasn’t busy being embarrassed. 

I stifle a groan and take two deep breaths. I am so pissed that any moment now I might start hyperventilating. Why on earth did I come here? Heck! Why did I even agree to this in the first place? Lord knows I’m going to murder Matt when I get home! Matt is my overbearing younger brother who, because he has been in a steady relationship with his High School sweetheart for almost ten years now, thinks it is his divine assignment on earth to place ‘relationshipless’ people like me in good relationships. When he first brought up the idea of going on a blind date with a senior colleague of his from his workplace, I had vehemently refused. But he had kept pestering me with talks of how the guy was real gentleman and stories of successful dates he had set up which blossomed into beautiful relationships. Maybe it was the gentleman talk that got me or sheer curiosity on my part but somehow along the line, I finally (and stupidly) agreed. And well, here I am seated alone in the midst of wining and dining pairs and full to the brim with embarrassment. So much for being a gentleman! I hiss softly to myself. How could Matt even think he is a gentleman? Whatever gave him that idea? I mean doesn’t the first cardinal rule of being a gentleman state that a gentleman never leaves a lady hanging, much less stand her up? 

The date was slated for 4pm. I arrived here exactly that time, waited another five minutes in my car before I stepped in so I don’t looks desperate. The joke's on me now, though, because I am very sure I have been seated here for over two hours. I consult my watch. 4.55pm. Okay, maybe not two hours but almost an hour and that’s just very rude and annoying enough. The only reason I have not ordered something and gone is because I really do not want to stamp in the image of the desperate lady who was stood up. Besides, just in case he did come later, I do not want him to have the impression that I am a greedy uncouth person who could barely wait for her date to arrive before she started devouring food. But you know what? To hell with all of that! Let anyone think whatsoever they want to. It is my time being wasted here. Time that I could use to do a whole lot of other important things. Okay, maybe not a whole lot. Just catching up with the reruns of My Eternal Love. But still, that show remains one of my favorites and that makes it very important to me. Now, now, don’t get a wrong impression of me. I am not some sad single lady who takes pleasure in watching romantic comedy drama series to make up for her loveless life. No, I am not. But in all truthfulness, after all of Matt’s schematics have come and gone, those drama series are all I have left to comfort me. At least, apart from Juniper, my dog, and Caitlin, my best friend, who is presently on her honeymoon with a guy she met only six months ago and fell madly in love with. (hmph!) Did I mention that she met the said guy through another of Matt’s little schematics? I know, right? Why then is mine always different? If Matt were here, right now he would be crooning into my ears.

“Patience, Lodie, patience. And for Christ sake, have faith!”

Pfft! I’ve had enough damn patience to last a millennium. I set down my magazine on the table with a decisive thud. I’m just going to order something to eat so I don’t lose on both fronts. Just then, my phone rings.

Brady

I swirl the red wine in my glass for the umpteenth time, gazing deeply at the swirly circles and arcs of dark red. For some reasons, it seems so enchanting – the mesmerizing way in which the wine rolled round and round the glass. It reminds me of Calabar dancers from Africa and the way they rolled their waists effortlessly as they gyrated to the beats from Leopard-skin drums during their carnival. Why haven’t I ever noticed this? I must have done this action countless times before now but it had never come off half as appealing as it is now. “It’s simple” a small voice whispers into my ears 

“You’ve never had to wait this long in a restaurant for anybody. Not family, clients or business partners, and definitely not dates” 

I hear you, Small Voice, I hear you. 

“I mean, who does that?” the Voice presses persistently “Who leaves one hanging for almost an hour?” 

I sigh softly. Small Voice was at it again, and once it gets agitated like this, there was no stopping it. I dredge up excuses that I have been forcing myself to believe. Maybe she got stuck in traffic, or – or she got so busy and she’s running really late. 

“Well then, she should have at least called. Courtesy demands that, right?” It shot back. “Hmph! Not even Jasmine would do this” 

Ouch! I wince. Low blow, Small Voice, low blow. 

Jasmine was my ex-fiancée who dumped me barely three days to our wedding for a richer guy who toured round exotic places. Yeah, I know how it sounds so I won't bother you with the details. But on the day she called off the relationship, we had one of those our very romantic dates planned out. As usual I was to pick her up, but she declined saying she needed to go elsewhere quickly after work, so she would meet me at our rendezvous. Thinking she actually wanted to get me a surprise gift, just like I did, I did not bother insisting. Daft much? 

So like you must have guessed, she never showed up. I called and called, left voicemails, texted but I got no reply. About thirty minutes later, when I was beginning to fear something bad had happened, her long text dropped in saying she was really sorry but she couldn’t continue with the relationship, that I was a good man and she had not meant to hurt me but things went too fast, and she really loves someone else bla bla bla. She had most likely been snuggled up with her exotic lover, flying to some exotic land when she sent the text. That was three years ago, and believe me, I am over her. But my subconscious, Mr. Small Voice here, it seems is not. Because it doesn’t fail to bring up her name unexpectedly every once in a while. And anytime it does that, for some unfathomable reason, I actually feel a quick sharp pain like I have just been socked hard in the gut. It is a familiar pain though. It is the same pain I had carried around like a banner – more like shield though – for the past two years, blocking out any and everyone around me. This year, well, let’s just say I had a major head-butting from concerned individuals that reset my brain configurations and made me welcome people in again slowly. So slowly that it took Matt three months to get me to agree to let him fix me up for this blind date.

Matt is a member of the team I head at work, and really, he is a good kid. He’s fun to be with and a hard worker. Only that he seems to think he was born with some sort of cosmic matchmaking powers which he uses, in his benevolence, to help the singles within his large circle. I hear he and his girlfriend have been together since sophomore year in High School, and to him that is proof enough of his powers. I want to tell him that the length of years in relationships does not necessarily equal to “Happily ever after” but I don’t think he will understand. So instead, to prove to everyone that I am indeed moving on with my life, I finally said yes to his blind date proposal. When I told mum that I had a date, she practically sat me down over the phone and drilled me with a long list of ‘do's’ and ‘don’ts’. One of such rules was that I should be patient as it was quite fashionable for ladies to be late so they don’t look desperate. Sigh! Whoever made that rule has done the whole world a great deal of injustice. Because it is the only thing that is preventing me from leaving. That and the promise I made to my friends to not just make an effort but an unchallengeable effort.

I glance up and scan round the room. New faces have replaced a lot of the people who had come in earlier. In the haze of the repressed light and quiet hustle bustle of the waitresses, I recognize about four of them still remaining: the elderly woman that had come in a few minutes after I had, the corporately dressed woman with a fashionable bob who promptly buried her face in a business magazine seconds after she arrived, and the young couple who are now holding hands on the table and gazing at each other like they can see each other’s soul. I smile wryly and avert my gaze. I have more important problems at hand. I have been too out of practice from this whole dating thing that I don’t know what to do. Do I wait a bit more or do I call her? What if she had totally forgotten about the date? It’ll be so embarrassing to call her then. Can I risk calling and facing all of that? Or do I just quietly leave and pretend like I too didn’t think the date was worth remembering? Would it sound very desperate of me to call her? What if something had actually happened? It would be insensitive and presumptuous if I didn’t call, right? What if I called Matt? After all, he made all of the plans, including time and venue. But I can’t run back to Matt like a motherless chicken especially when he already gave me her number. 

“Oh, for Christ sake, make up your mind, Brad!” I mutter to myself, running a hand over my face. 

I scan the room again. Nobody on purple and definitely no woman on purple. That’s the color we are supposed to wear, by the way, so we can identify each other easily. I know, it is not such a wise plan because any other person can coincidentally happen to be on the same color, but hey, it is not my plan, it’s Matt’s. 

“Fine! I’ll just call her”

Elodie

Immediately I see that it is an unknown number, I switch automatically to business mode. When you work in an organization with a large client base like I do, then you know that unknown numbers can either make or mar you based on something as simple as tone of voice.

“Elodie Craig, Highspring Consulting.” I say formally into the speaker. 

“Hi! Elodie, um…this is um, Brad. That is err… Brady James” 

Brady James? That name sounds familiar but I can’t quite place it. Was it that guy who came with the new investment pitch last month? No, that was Collins James. 

“Brady James from where please?” 

“From uh, Litho Designs” 

Litho Designs? That’s where Matt works. Wait, is this Matt playing one of his silly pranks on me? Because I’m totally not in the mood, not after this stupid blind date thing. I want to just yell at him right now but I calm myself down. Two can play this game. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know any Brady James from Litho Designs” 

I say with an added touch of formality. There is a pause. Ha! Gotcha! Now let us see how far your game can go, lil’ brother. 

“Um, we were supposed to go on a, uh, blind date tonight.” 

This guy still thinks I’m up for his games, if only he knew how pissed I am at – Wait! Did he just say we were supposed to go on a blind date? Brady James… Brady! Brad! Of course from Litho Designs! Matt’s supposed gentleman colleague who’s left me hanging for almost an hour. A gazillion emotions rush through me at once. In split seconds, I feel relieved, then excited, then nervous and scared, and above it all, angry at being left hanging. It’s such a whirlpool that for some seconds I don’t know what or how to respond. 

“Oh, hi Brad” I choose the cool, polite option, hoping he would not hear the quivering I feel in my voice. 

“Yeah, so, uh, it sounds like you are engaged. We could reschedule if you want.” Reschedule?? After sitting here in embarrassment for almost an hour. Is he a joker, or what? Can’t he even admit to his own lateness and sloppiness? I should probably snap at him but I don’t want him to know I have been waiting here for so long. I would seem overeager and desperate. But still he has to own up to his fault. 

“I believe Matt scheduled this date for 4pm, right? And you are just calling me now? Almost an hour after?” I say coolly. 

“Well, I did not get any call from you either” 

Oh! He’s being a wisecrack now, isn’t he? “I definitely would if Matt had deemed it fit to give me your number because I understand the importance of time and schedules” 

“Oh, do you? Because I would think someone who did would make an effort to at least show up for a planned date!” 

“What? What are you even saying? You should be saying that to yourself, you know. Because I’ve been here seated in this damn restaurant waiting for your late sorry ass!” 

Brady

The moment I hear her clipped official tone I start to regret calling her. I mean, office hours are long over and she still sounded so brusque. It made me feel like I only wasted my time. With little left of my confidence, I forged ahead, only to discover that not only does she not remember me, but the date as well. Not wanting to create a virtual scene, I subtly offered an option rescheduling but instead of her to accept the gracious offer and apologize, probably, she questioned why I did not call earlier. Hello? Was this supposed to be phone date? You had one job, and that was to simply show up for the date – or cancel if you didn’t want to. Besides, whatever stopped her from calling first? But no, she wouldn’t see reason. Instead she went ahead to play the I-understand-the-value-of-time-more-than-you card. I mean, what the hell? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour and you haven’t even bothered to show up yet, at least so I thought before I heard her low outburst. 

“Wait, you are here?” 

“If here means the restaurant we are supposed to meet, then yes, I’m here. Been here since 4:05” she says in a calmer tone. 

My head jerks up and begins to scan the room again. “Well, I’m sorry about that. I’m also here. Came in even quite earlier than 4”

Elodie

He’s been here?? No, he is here?? I dare to raise my head higher to look through the room. 

“I’m on a purple shirt, like we planned” he says 

“Oh, sorry, I couldn’t change after work so I pinned on a purple brooch” I reply apologetically. 

I tilt my head a little to the right and I think I spot him. The handsome looking man on a purple shirt which I spotted talking to two other guys on my way in. I did not think it’d him then because he already had company. I see him turning to my direction and a slow smile begin to form on my lips.

Brady

Purple brooch… Purple brooch… I think I spotted a purple brooch somewhere. Oh, right! I saw one peeping out from beneath the business magazine of the corporately dressed woman. Could it…? Could she…? Only one way to find out now. I turn only to be ambushed by her amused sweet smile. I smile back. Our eyes lock and somehow we communicate the bizarreness and comedy of the whole saga, and we burst into soft laughter. Just the two of us, seats apart, in the ocean of voices, laughing at our own private joke. We’ve only just met and we already have our own private joke. Wow! Maybe Matt really has cosmic matchmaking powers.