Tabitha
No one really thinks Turntable is a good idea.
No one.
And anyone who says they think this stupid dating app is good, or great, or fun, obviously has no idea what they’re talking about.
I hate the fact that my friends all sold me on picking up a guy from this thing. I hate it. I hate the fact that I somehow agreed to try it out and that I somehow ended up getting paired up with a guy.
Now I’m sitting in the middle of a restaurant in the middle of town with a middle-aged man I know nothing about.
And I have no idea how I’m going to get myself out of the mess.
“So, tell me about your job,” he says, and inwardly, I groan. There’s nothing really wrong with Daniel. Not really. He’s tall and his dark brown hair is speckled with grey. He’s close to my age or a little older. He’s nice. He’s polite.
But he’s so boring.
The thing I hate most about dating after my divorce is that it’s not as fun as dating when I was a teenager. There’s no instant connection or spending a day at the ice rink or talking for hours on a blanket at the park. There’s none of that.
No, dating the second time around is much more dull, much more boring, because everyone is divorced and everyone is serious.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being serious. There’s not. Lots of people are serious about lots of different things, but when I go on dates, I’m trying to get away from reality: not relive it in vivid detail.
“I work from home,” I tell him, and I instantly see a flash of judgment in his eyes. This lets me know that I shouldn’t push him, that I shouldn’t talk too much about my own business. When I tell people I work from home, their reactions vary greatly. Some people think it’s wonderful and ask me questions about how I got started. Some people think I just sit around on my ass. Some people think I’m looking for a sugar daddy. Some people think I’m pathetic.
“Oh,” Daniel takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass back down gently. “That’s interesting. What do you do at home?”
I’m not going on a second date with this guy. Like, that’s just not going to happen. There’s no way. He obviously doesn’t know anything about freelancers, which is fine. Freelancing isn’t for everyone. He seems close-minded about the whole thing, though, and that itself is a deal-breaker for me.
Not that I want anything serious.
I don’t.
I just want something fun, something casual, but something that involves a mutual exchange of respect. I would like to know that what I do matters. I would like to know that who I am matters. There’s a part of me deep down that knows this will never happen. I can take dating as it is and I can change my expectations, but that’s it. This guy is never going to meet my impossible standards. He’s never going to be who I want him to be.
He’s never going to be Lex.
“I’m a social media manager,” I tell him smoothly, sipping my own wine.
“So, like, you play on Facebook?” He raises an eyebrow, as if he can’t quite believe I’m suggesting people would pay me to play on the Internet.
“No, not really,” I say. The waiter returns with our meals, and I thank him politely. Daniel just stares at me, waiting for me to keep talking.
What is there to say?
Suddenly, I’m completely bored. Suddenly, I’m just not hungry at all. Suddenly, I wonder why I’m wasting my time sitting in the middle of this restaurant with this man who knows nothing about me and who has no interest in actually getting to know me. The only thing this man sitting across from me wants is sex, and that’s one thing I won’t give him.
Not tonight.
I might be a divorced mother of two, and I might not be a saint, but I’m definitely not the kind of woman who spreads her legs on the first date. I wasn’t like that when I was a teenager and I’m sure as hell not like that now.
Daniel doesn’t touch his food. He’s still just looking at me like he’s curious as to what I’m going to say.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he says with a shrug, finally reaching for his fork. “But it sounds like what you do is more of a hobby. I was asking what you do for a living. You know, not in your spare time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing my purse and standing up. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What?” Daniel jumps to his feet, too, seemingly surprised. “What’s wrong? What do you mean?”
“I’m going home,” I tell him. “Thank you for dinner.” Then I turn and walk out of the restaurant. I know heads are turning, but let’s be honest: this is an Applebee’s. It’s not exactly an upscale place. It’s fine for a first date, but it’s not the type of place you bring someone when you want to make an impression.
Although, I’d be lying if I thought Daniel didn’t make an impression. He did. It was just the wrong kind. The impression Daniel left is that I am completely, utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t a new feeling for me. It’s nothing unique or strange or interesting. It’s just that for a little while, I allowed myself to hope that things would be different this time.
I allowed myself to hope that somehow, I would feel special with Daniel.
I allowed myself to hope that he would be like Lex.
That’s always the problem for me, really. I’ve been divorced from the guy for three years and still, he’s the only one who’s ever held my heart. I can lie through my teeth to Veronica, to my kids, and even to Lex, but when I’m alone, I get honest with myself, and I know he’s the one I really want.
I never stopped wanting him.
And now I’m doing everything in my power to try to move on, to try to move forward with my life, like some sort of idiot. I had the best damn man in the universe and I blew it. I totally, completely, absolutely blew it, and now I’m alone.
I should probably get a cab or an Uber, but somehow, the idea of walking back alone is appealing. It’s not far: maybe only a twenty minute walk. I shouldn’t have allowed Daniel to pick me up on the first date. That was an amateur mistake. If I’d been smart about tonight, I would have simply met him at the restaurant. Then I’d have my car and an easy way to get home if the date went sour, but I was dumb.
And I was hopeful.
Soon my feet start to ache in the stupid heels I’m wearing. Only a little bit farther to walk. At least the night wasn’t a complete waste. I got to have some “me” time and the kids got to sleep over at their friend’s house.
Lily is eight years old and always wants to have other kids over. Her mom fussed at me for months before I finally conceded and let the kids crash at their buddy’s place. Now Janette and Kevin, Lily’s parents, have the kids over once or twice a month. There’s a silent understanding that I don’t pay them for babysitting, but always drop the kids off with a couple of boxes of pizza, just as a thank-you.
I think they’re a little worried about me doing the whole single-mother-with-a-deployed-ex thing. It’s understandable, though. It’s a hard position to be in. Still, being Lex’s ex isn’t a hardship. He’s just as kind and gentle as he was when we were married. He’s still just as sweet. He’s good. He’s a good person.
And I wish more than anything else we’d found a way to make it work.
Finally, I reach the tiny apartment building and climb the exterior stairs. It’s a small building with only four apartments: two on each floor. It’s positioned downtown and pretty close to all of the shopping and restaurants. Lex got an incredible deal on this place, especially considering its location, but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.
I’m just thinking about what an idiot I am.
I can’t believe how stupid I was tonight.
It’s only a date.
It was only one lousy, stupid date, but I feel like such a fool.
If Lex had seen the guy, he would have picked him apart. That brings the smallest of smirks to my face. Lex would have chuckled and offered to take him out back with the rest of the garbage. Then Daniel would have said something stupid and Lex would have smoothly diffused the situation, because that’s how Lex is: smooth.
He’s smooth as silk and even though it’s totally weird, there’s a reason I’m going to his apartment tonight and not back to my house.
It’s my strange, dirty little secret.
On the nights when my children go to Lily’s, I don’t stay alone in the house. Instead, I go to the apartment where Lex lives when he’s not deployed, and I stay there. He gave me a set of keys long ago so I could watch over his place when he was gone, but he doesn’t know I sleep here sometimes. No one knows. It’s too weird.
The idea that I still feel this need to be close to my ex-husband isn’t normal, but Lex has always been my rock. Ever since we were just two stupid kids in love, he’s been my guide, my compass. Ever since we were learning about love and the world, he’s been the one I could count on. And even when our relationship shattered and broke, even when our worlds fell apart, we never stopped loving each other.
We never stopped caring.
I open the door and lock it behind myself, dropping my purse on the couch. I kick off my shoes and head back to the bathroom. I’m taking a long, hot bath, and then I’m going to sleep. Sleep is what I need. Who cares that I’m pushing 30 and I’m alone on a Friday night? That’s not that unusual. Lots of people enjoy turning in early.
Those people also happen to be of retirement age, but we all make our own choices. Right now, I’m making the choice to take a damn bubble bath.
I start the tub, then grab my phone and shoot Janette a quick text to make sure the kids are doing all right. Daniel has already sent me four messages through the dating app, I see, and suddenly, I’m glad I have my Turntable notifications turned off. I don’t know if I could have kept walking away if my phone was buzzing every two seconds. I probably would have walked back into Applebee’s and thrown the phone at him, and then where would I be?
Probably at Target, because I’d need a new phone.
Janette messages me back right away to let me know everyone is having fun. The kids are already in bed for the night. They loved the pizza, and Janette let them eat it while they watched a movie. I thank her again for taking them overnight, and then I climb in the tub.
It’s easy to let the stress of the week wash over me when I’m here. I close my eyes and sink deeper into the bubbles. When I’m here, in this place, I’m just me. I’m not the mom or the ex-wife or the bitch parent at school. I’m not the failure. I’m not the “hobbyist” who thinks she has a real job.
I’m none of those things.
I’m just me.
And for a little while, it’s really nice to just be me.