I look at my two friends, holding hands, staring at me with the same expectant look my grandmother gets when she’s waiting to hear the winning lottery numbers announced on television. I’ve known them long enough to understand that it’s not worth putting up a fight when they’re like this. They have this idea stuck in their brains, and there’s no way I can convince them to let it go.
I look up at the ceiling helplessly. Lord, give me strength. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Jasmine and Daniella jump up and down and emit screeches only dogs can hear.
When she finally calms down, Ella says, “Great. Now all you need to do is tell work you’ll need the entire week off.”
“Hey, wait a minute. You never said I’d have to take time off from work. I can’t do that.”
“Tell them there’s been a death in the family,” Jasmine says simply.
“But there’s a big show coming up next week—some fashion thing. I always have to be on call for other events I’m not assigned to, you know.”
“You’ll always have a big show coming up,” Ella says simply. “If you wait until you don’t have work to do in order to start dating, it’ll never happen.”
She’s right, but I shake my head. “Even so, my boss is in Paris until Monday. I can’t call her when she’s on vacation. Even if she works half the time she’s there.”
“Macy—” Jasmine starts to whine.
Ella puts her hand on Jazzy’s forearm to stop her. “Wait. Let’s give her the weekend. She needs time to prep. Like get a manicure, get some waxing done...”
I raise a hand to my face self-consciously. “Yeah, I guess my eyebrows could use a little cleaning up.”
“She doesn’t mean your face,” Jasmine says automatically.
“Come to my house tomorrow afternoon and I will show you all the joys of online dating,” Jasmine says breezily. “Oh, and bring a bottle of wine, too.”
“Why?” I ask. “You know I’m not a big drinker.”
Jasmine exchanges a knowing glance with Ella. “Because you’re going to need it.”
I spend the entire weekend trying to convince myself that I didn’t promise Ella and Jazz that I’d start dating. I wish I’d fallen into a sodium-induced coma from all the instant chicken noodle soup and it was all a dream. I’m so nervous to tell my boss that I need to take time off. I haven’t taken a single personal, vacation or sick day in nearly two years. I notice my teeth are clenching so hard I’m giving myself a jaw ache as I dial Reka’s number and tell her the excuse Jasmine came up with.
“The entire week?” Reka’s voice is filled with incredulity. “Are you sure?” she asks, desperation edging into her tone. She didn’t take the news of me taking a break from work well. But this is coming from someone who’s never taken a vacation day—not even her full lunch hour—the entire time I’ve known her.
“Yes,” I apologize. “There’s been an emergency.”
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Oh yes, I’m fine,” I assure her. “It’s just that,” I say it in the dramatic way I practiced in the mirror. “Someone I knew passed away.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry,” she says sincerely. “Were the two of you close?”
I look down at my crotch and remember Jazzy’s eulogy. “You could say that.”
“Family?”
“Oh, yes. To be honest, I haven’t seen her in years, but we were once inseparable.”
“That’s just terrible,” Rena sighs. “Take the week, Macy. You’ll miss the big fashion show, but I’ll find someone to cover. Be well,” she says kindly.
“I will,” I say before hanging up. I feel kind of bad for lying to her, but then I look at Jasmine’s building and I remind myself why I need to do this. If I don’t take steps towards getting myself out there, Jasmine and Ella were right, I’ll end up a single fifty-year-old who’s obsessed with her work.
But as I walk up the flight of stairs to Jazz’s brownstone, I start to feel sick. A sense of dread settles over me. Five years. It’s been five years since I’ve dated. I’ve been out of the game for so long I wonder if I still remember how to have good sex. Is it like riding a bike, something I’ll never forget how to do? I momentarily consider calling Reka back, telling her I’ll be at the office in an hour and live the rest of my life in a hot-and—heavy relationship with Frank the vibrator. But then I remind myself that I don’t want to be that career woman with the blinders on. I can do this. Dating is supposed to be fun. Normal people date. I shouldn’t be missing out. I deserve someone like Daniella’s husband, Mark, and Jasmine’s mystery girl, whoever she is.
I press the buzzer to Jasmine’s apartment and the door clicks open in response. As I enter the foyer, I smell the lingering scents of floor cleaner, dust and whatever is cooking down the hall. Jasmine’s about to show me the ins and outs of online dating and with each step up to the third floor, my nerves kick more and more into high gear. I remember in the days before the internet, my middle school experience and some of my high school days, where the most explicit it ever got was daring to put your crush’s initials in your carefully crafted away message on AIM. There was no texting—you had to call a guy’s landline and pray that his mother didn’t answer. Your heart raced, your stomach tied up in knots, your palms sweated uncontrollably—that was pre-internet love. I have absolutely no idea what I’m in for with this YoCupid deal. Maybe it’s not too late to take Jasmine up on her offer on the blind date. But then I shake my head.
By the time I’ve knocked on Jazz’s apartment door, I feel a wave of nausea settle over me. This is it. Once I cross this threshold, I’m no longer Macy Grant, the Loner. I’ll officially be Macy Grant, Putting Herself Out There. Thankfully, Jazz is guaranteed to have something to treat nausea.
The moment I open the door, the smell is potent. She must be cooking up a new batch of her famous juices. Many of her clients are rich and famous—wealthy people love their juice cleanses and their drugs.
“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life,” Jazz says with a toothy smile as I enter the apartment and hand her the bottle of wine she said I’d need.
“Tone it down, Hallmark card,” I say. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Jasmine chuckles as she rummages through a junk drawer and pulls out a corkscrew. “Now, before we get started, are you absolutely sure you don’t want to be set up with the guy I know? We can bypass all of this if you do.”
It’s very tempting, but as much as I love Jasmine, I’d be more likely to gargle bong water than to let her set me up with someone. Especially someone who belongs to the group known as Jazzy’s clients, which I’m sure is an incredibly mixed bag personality-wise.
“I appreciate the offer, but let’s try this first,” I say as diplomatically as I can.
Jasmine pops the cork and pours me a glass of red. I guzzle it down in two big gulps.
“Nervous much?” Jasmine asks.
“No, I’m fine,” I lie. We haven’t even started yet and I have an urge to snatch the bottle out of her hands and down the entire thing right now.
“It won’t be that bad,” Jasmine says as she places a hand on my shoulder. “Plus, you’re such a catch, I’m sure you’ll be fighting dudes off with a stick.”
The