Le Renard

Jessica sat at her kitchen table in silence, the green glow from the microwave clock casting a sickly hue over the beige walls. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket, face poking out as her index finger swiped lazily through Tinder. The singular song she’d asked Alexa to play had long since fallen silent, and her vanilla-scented candle had burnt out.

She’d grown picky in the past years. Only a right-swipe for the men that she believed she’d actually want to spend her life with. A "no" to Randall, who wanted a partner who’d run with him in the mornings. Jessica didn’t do running, or mornings. "No" to Patrick, who claimed to be ‘the ultimate MILF hunter’ in the bio beneath his cheeky profile picture. Once upon a time she’d been able to convince herself that men like this could be tamed by the right woman. Now, at 34 years old, she was too tired to play games with men who refused to grow up. She’d spent way too much money on therapy in the last three years to swipe right on anyone less than the ideal husband.

Her judicious swiping had left her matches few and far between, so elation flooded her chest and tingled her fingers as the “It’s a Match!” animation flashed across the screen. “You and Evan have liked each other.”

Evan. She hadn’t dated an ‘Evan’ before - that was a good start. She’d talked to a man not long ago, Percy, who seemed perfect in every way, except that he just happened to have the same name as her high school boyfriend. She’d brushed it off, already thinking of appropriate nicknames she could use instead. There weren’t too many options that derived from his name, but she’d developed a playful banter where she’d called him ‘Crush’, both because she had a crush on him, and because of his addiction to orange soda. He’d played along and she’d worked it into conversation flawlessly, looking forward to using it in person when they finally met.

When he showed up at the restaurant, he’d sneered at her. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Her heart had sunk, and she’d scrambled for words to justify the golden sandals, cream top, and leather leggings she’d put together for dinner. “Edgy, but elegant” was what her sister had said, but apparently it wasn’t any good for Percy.

She’d recommended her favorite restaurant for dinner - Le Renard. She had always thought it was perfect for any date. Not too fancy, delicious food, good prices, and excellent service. She even had a regular server there. Brendan was an older man, but surprisingly nimble. He’d only blinked and smiled when Percy had sent his meal back twice, tried to educate Brendan on how to appropriately pour wine, and asked ‘how he was supposed to expense this’ at the end of the meal. She’d been repulsed, and had made a quick exit after the bill was paid (entirely by her). First therapy session after that had been a fun one. “There must have been signs, Jessica. Let’s talk about techniques you could use to identify red flags before you meet a man in person.”

But Evan - Evan would be different. His smile was kind.

He had dark, curly hair and skin golden from a summer spent outdoors building houses for Habitat for Humanity. His blue eyes shone from his profile picture and crooked teeth complimented his single dimple. This was the type of man she envisioned for every likable character in her fantasy novels. He wasn’t the final love interest, the “most beautiful man she ever met,” but he was the man that Jessica always wished the main character paid more attention to. The safe man, the man who held a love for her beyond passionate and romantic. If Jessica had learned anything in the last few years, it was that the likable character was a better choice than the broody, overbearing boyfriend who puppeteer-ed you through life. 

And Jessica, frankly, was surprised he’d matched with her at all.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive. She was, in the most non-offensive, blend-in-able way possible. She spoke, but not loudly. She had hobbies and interests, but they were calming and perhaps a bit mundane. Her favorite food was goldfish crackers.

She was a fucking internal accountant, for God’s sake.

Scrolling through Evan’s pictures revealed adventure after adventure - bungee jumping in Cambodia, scuba diving in Australia, even hiking to Everest base camp (though, according to his bio, he plans to summit when he has the funds to do so). He was a photographer for National Geographic.

What did this man want to do with her?

Almost immediately, a message popped up on her screen. “I’m pretty sure you could talk to me about anything, and I’d be hypnotized by those eyes.”

She laughed a little bit. Whatever he was smoking, she’d have wanted some of it if she had even a remote interest in drugs. She reached for a mysterious, sexy quip, but honesty prevailed. “All I talk about on first dates is the history of knitting.”

Bubbles popped up - he was typing. She held her breath until they stopped, and held it again when they started back up. His response came what felt like an eternity later - three little words that melted her heart. “Knit or crochet?”

She launched into an evaluation of the merits of one versus the other, sending pictures of her latest projects in both mediums. With every message, he asked her questions. Interesting questions - like “how do you know when you have to adjust a pattern for sizing?”, and “Have there been any knit items you’ve seen on TV that you made yourself?”

He seemed interested. Truly interested, in a way you couldn’t just fake. When she asked him why he wanted to know so much, joking that he sounded like he was considering opening an Etsy store, his response was quick.

“I love people who are passionate. See? You’re not even in front of me, and I can’t stop staring at your picture, imagining you telling me all this in person.”

She felt herself blushing even as she typed. “I’d love to do this in person. Maybe dinner tomorrow?”

The bubbles began to appear and disappear again while the beat of her heart rushed across her ears.

“I can’t - I’m actually out of the country and won’t be back till next week. But does Saturday work? Dinner’s on me, to make up for the delay.”

“Hmm… alright, but only if you let me pay for the movie after.”

The conversation progressed naturally, flowing back and forth between the two like a game of cats cradle. Intricate, mindful, and carefully crafted to vive the other opportunity to interject.

Jessica remained fearful for days that Evan would lose interest. She’d encourage him to talk about his adventures, his interest, the best pictures he’d ever taken. He would, a little bit, but mostly he diverted the conversation back to her. “I’m passionate about my work,” he said, “and I love everything about my life. But at the end of the day, I’m missing the most important part - someone to share it with. Someone I can call ‘home’, no matter where I am in the world.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Jessica was in love.

She dressed carefully for dinner, trying to elevate her understated fashion sense to something more exciting. She added pops of color to her black dress by way of a scarf, earrings, and shoes - even a neon pink lipstick that her sister had made her buy, insisting that the color complimented her pale skin beautifully.

She arrived half an hour early to the restaurant and ordered a drink at the bar. She sipped it, finishing it just as the date was about to start, and ordered a second one. She requested the table she’d made a reservation for, and sat.

But Evan didn’t come.

She choked down the gummy feeling that threatened to close her throat, refusing to allow it to shape her voice as she told her regular waiter, Brendan, that her date would be here soon. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. Then twenty five.

The waiter sat in the seat across from her. “Jessica,” he said gently, “we do this every month. You’re a beautiful girl. I don’t know why your dates aren't showing up. But I think you need to just focus on yourself for a little while. Talk to someone. Have some girl time. You know - live your life, and let people come to you.” He was gentle, almost fatherly, as he dropped his voice low and leaned in towards her. "I know I've recommended you my therapist before. I don't know if you've ever gone, but I could give you his name again if you need."

She choked down a sob, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth. “He’s jet-lagged, Brennan. He’s probably just late. He’ll be here.”

Brennan sat down with her. She hated when he did this - not because it wasn’t kind, or because it wasn’t exactly what she needed. She hated it because every time this man sat across from her, in the same chair, in the same uniform, in the same restaurant, every bad date began to blend into one enduring hell that she willingly entered.

Just as she did every month, she cried.

“I just thought,” she said with a gasping breath, tears streaming down her face, “that this one was different. Maybe I should just message him, ask where he is.”

His face contorted into something other than the mask of compassion he always wore with her. Exhaustion. Pity. “I don’t know, Jess. Seriously. It’s the same song and dance every time. Maybe you need to change something up.”

She put her phone back down. “When they do show up, they’re horrible. Unfathomably horrible, Brendan. How can I reliably pick such terrible men?”

He sat in silence for a moment, the pity overrunning every one of his features. “I don’t know, kid. There’s something in your life that’s not right. You just need to figure out what it is.”

He stood, shaking his head and looking away from her, as if made uncomfortable by watching her tears. “Do you think you’re going to stay for a while this time? We can move you to the bar, or you’re welcome to keep your table.”

She nodded, ordered another cosmo, and did as she always did. Took her phone out, texted her therapist to move her appointment up to Monday, and called her sister to meet her at the bar. She’d rather drink here than go home alone. At the end of the night, she’d leave Brendan a sizable tip and try to forget the number of times he’d watched, seemingly shamed by her pitiful display. Maybe she’d go home with someone, but probably not. A much more likely scenario was that her sister would come home with her and hold her hand as she cried herself to sleep. She’d wake up to clothes strewn about the room, accessories littering the counter of her apartment, and that damn pink lipstick covering tissues that she used to blot her lips.

___________________________________________

Dr. Richard Talbot received Jess’s text and put her appointment in his calendar. “Maybe we should book a few sessions this week?" he typed. "The most important part of therapy is consistency - learning new techniques you can apply to your life, to avoid making the same mistakes over and over.”

His phone pinged as Jess ‘liked’ the message, and he texted her again. “Same time as usual, let’s say Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday?” She liked that message as well, and he set the dates and set up the reminder texts. While he was at it, he set up the automatic payments to Brendan as well. 10% for every appointment he got a patient to make. Jess had become a real cash cow for them both.

His phone pinged again, this time with the melodic tone that accompanied a Tinder notification. Another message from Jess. “Please tell me that you overslept, and you’re on your way?”

He sighed. He was so hoping that this time she wouldn’t resort to these simpering “where are you” messages. It was a full hour since the agreed meet time.

His spectacles slipped down his nose as he navigated Tinder with his index finger, murmuring to himself. “Forgot to wrap things up.” He typed out a quick “lol”, before blocking her and deleting his account.

Another text message came in from Jessica just a moment later, to his regular number. “Maybe Friday too?”

The first time he’d played this little game with her, he’d been Christopher. The next time he was Bryan, and then Alexander, and Josh, and then Percy - somewhere in there were Ricardo and Jean and Justin. It’d been fun, at first. Convince her to filter her men so carefully that only his made up men could meet her expectation. Become those men. Maybe find an actor to really mess with her if he was feeling daring. As long as he found a few pictures of a handsome man, and built an interesting bio, and told her that she was the most phenomenal woman he’d ever seen, he knew that little Jessica would always fall simpering right back into his lap.

Yes, it’d been fun at first…. But he was starting to feel a little guilty. Even Brendan’s text had sounded a little guilty this time. It was just… too easy. She was just too lonely to make it fun.

Poor Jessica. She really did have the worst luck with men. It wasn’t fair - she just wanted somebody who understood her. But who could possibly understand you better than your therapist?