Chapter Four
Serena
“Why did I let you drag me out tonight of all nights?”
My sister Ashley laughs. “Because I promised you a free meal.”
“But it’s Valentine’s Day, and we’re surrounded by happy, lovey dovey couples. Everyone probably thinks we’re lesbians.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except you’re my sister, not my lover.”
“Do you have a lover?”
“No.”
“You should take one...or three,” she laughs.
Ashley is a free spirit, or at least that’s how everyone starts off when they describe her. She is a painter, and her art projects are always just a little over my head, but she is my sister and I love her, so here I am.
Ashley is babbling on about the commercialization of love by way of Valentine's Day, a rant I’ve heard every year since she was a freshman in high school and I was a freshman in college.
“I mean, why do we need a day to be told we have to tell the person we love that we love them? Shouldn't you be showing that every day? I don’t want to be taken out and romanced one day a year; I want it every day,” she rants.
I nod in agreement and sip my wine as she continues. “Look at this guy,” she says with a tilt of her head. I follow her eyes and see a couple, probably around my age, and the man has just moved from his chair to one knee. The woman’s hand moves to cover her mouth and even from across the room we can see her eyes glisten with tears. Ashley scoffs.
“This is what I'm talking about. What’s romantic about getting proposed to in a restaurant with dozens of strangers watching right after you ate the salmon? I guarantee he thinks this is some grand romantic gesture because that’s what Hallmark told him. But it’s not. It might even be worse than proposing to a girl at a sporting event. Get real, dude, and come up with a more inventive way to ask your girl to marry you.”
“What do you know about romance, Ash? You are a love ‘em and leave ‘em girl,” I say. My sister loves hard and fast, and it flames out just as quickly. She’s had more boyfriends in the last year than I’ve had in my entire thirty-three years.
“Says the spinster,” Ashley snarks back.
“I’m not a spinster.”
“When was your last date?”
“Eight months ago,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry, come again?”
“Eight months ago.”
“And, your last boyfriend?”
“Fourteen months ago. But that doesn't make me a spinster. I’m selective. I don't want to just date random guys — I want to feel a connection.”
“So, what do you want then?”
“I don’t know. Someone who makes me laugh, who supports me with my dreams.”
“And, what does he look like?”
“Looks aren't everything.”
“They aren't, but you have to be physically attracted to him, nonetheless.”
“I don’t think what he looks like is important, though. He should be kind, and have a job, and love me.”
“So really, he could be anyone.”
I shrug. “When it’s right, you just know. And, I’ll know when it’s right.”
“Okay, but while you wait for him to show up, maybe you could just get laid. You work too much, Serena, and you never go anywhere to meet people, so how is Mr. Right going to find you? Besides, Mr. Right Now could end up being Mr. Right if you went out and met him.”
“I have the online dating profile you insisted I make.”
“And, how many dates have you been on?”
“None.”
“Let’s make a deal then. You go out on one date in the next week with someone from the dating site, and I will not bug you for a week about meeting someone.”
“I don't know...”
“I know you are my big sister, but seriously, Serena, if you don’t put yourself out there, you won’t ever meet the one. If you’re not at work, you have your nose in a book. If you don’t have your nose in a book, you’re trying to turn nine-year-olds into astrophysicists. And while that is perfectly admirable, it’s all you do: work. You gotta get out and enjoy life for yourself.”
A sigh escapes me. I knows she’s right, even though I don’t want to admit it aloud. “I will try to find one decent guy to go out on a date with this week, okay?”
“Okay. Now, do you see this?” she points subtly at a couple who is being seated nearby. She is carrying a single red rose and looking at her date with what can only be described as heart eyes.
“A red rose on Valentine’s day. Does it get any more generic than that?” Ashley continues. “If a guy ever shows up for a date with me with a single red rose, I swear I’ll swat him in the face with it. The least he could do is find out her favorite flower and bring her that.”
“What if her favorite flower is a rose?” I ask her.
“No one’s favorite flower is a rose.”
I tune out while Ashley continues her rant about flowers. As I look around at the other couples, I realize that despite the corniness of it, I want what these women have. Perhaps not the stereotypically Valentine’s Day gifts, I’d appreciate something a bit more imaginative — but the companionship, I realize, I crave. I'm lonely and I want someone to share my life with.