I Met a Fox
In theory, a brewery is the perfect choice for a first date. The bartender tells you he's glad you came in. You grab two board games from the shelf near the bathroom to break the ice when Eve arrives. After that it's just sit, sip, and listen. It doesn't matter if she's late—ten, twenty minutes. There are no reservations to break or previews to miss. And if she never shows up, you can pretend you're just there to taste their new Milk Stout.
When I return home, I shout to Lance, "I think she had a good time," over the broken alarm of Prince's barks. A year and a half of daily reminders and the dog remains unconvinced that I pay rent, too. "I think she liked me."
Lance nods from the couch and leaves his headphones in.
"Yeah, it was nice," I say. Then, "What are you watching?" Then, "Never mind."
For almost an hour, I'd avoided eye contact with the other patrons, flipping through the instructions to Life and Guess Who, forcing myself to invent excuses for Eve. Her phone died. Her grandma died. Her parents' house was broken into. It distracted my ego from the probable reason: namely, that she no longer cared to meet me.
Chances are, at some point since confirming our date with a "Sounds good!"—while... Read More