The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(7)

Seven thirty on a Wednesday morning was the opposite of prime time.

He seemed immune to the temperature of his beverage, chugging away like it was tap water. He didn't even blow on it. No blow. Just gulp, gulp, gulp, gone. Then he slammed down the empty like a frat boy playing beer pong.

After the second cup, I started smiling and nodding my way through the conversation. He wasn't saying anything interesting. It was traffic, weather, and sports; basically, local talk radio. But I started wondering why he hadn't ordered a larger cup. This shop offered coffee by the pail, rendering four mediums illogical and wasteful in cups alone.

Unless he was killing time by scorching his mouth.

Or repeatedly leaving the table under the premise of ordering another cup while hoping I'd cut this nothingburger short.

I was still nursing an Earl Grey latte. I preferred my tea iced and accompanied by an abundance of summertime, and this was neither. I wasn't sure why I ordered it though it was possible I wanted to come off as a touch high-maintenance today. A bit refined, like a woman who knew her teas as well as she knew her wines, her designer shoes, and herself.

I didn't have a sound explanation for it but I knew I wanted someone to look at me and my Earl Grey latte, and say, "Don't you see? She's different. You don't fuck with a woman who orders an Earl Grey latte. She knows something about the world. She's sophisticated. Snap this one up because she's in short supply."

Today, I wanted to be that sophisticated woman. The one in short supply. I wanted the hamster wheel of online dating to slow down long enough for someone to see me as more than my age, location, and interests. I wanted to be someone worth getting to know. And then, I wanted to be someone worth treasuring.

I didn't allow myself this feeling often. But I still wanted someone to look at me like I was a brand-new kind of amazing. I'd thought this guy could do that for me. That I could be his brand-new amazing.

There seemed to be chemistry when we'd messaged, but none of that was present this morning. He didn't seem like the same guy who'd sent fun, flirty messages.

"I'm gonna grab another," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"

I glanced down at my latte and shook my head, desperately trying to suppress the laugh threatening to burst free from my lips. Five cups. Five full cups of coffee. It was ridiculous. "No," I replied. "I'm fine. Thank you."

He shot me a quick smile and then strutted toward the counter. Objectively, the guy was attractive. Well-cut business suit, pleasant smile, decent hair. His fingernails were clean. All good things. But he was pounding coffee and yammering about road construction and he'd only managed a few cursory questions about me while we'd waited to order.

If my mother was here, she would've told me to play nice. Give the guy a chance. Try. "Throw him a bone," she'd crow. "Don't let him die on the vine."

And that was because she believed I was too tough on men. Yep, that was her new argument. After all my years of settling and not trying and accepting the plastic straw treatment, I now expected a little too much, a little too often. She had it in her head that I was working out my petulance by shopping for the perfect man, the one who checked all the boxes, and I wouldn't tolerate anyone found wanting. As of our last convening on my love life, she was pushing hard on fixer-uppers and letting someone grow on me.

I was tougher and my expectations were higher than they used to be. But as my mother had pointed out, I'd accepted less in the past and that was exactly what I'd received. I wasn't going down that path again and I didn't care if that meant I had to sit through one hundred shitty coffee dates in the process. I was going to find a good, honest, real man who required neither remodeling nor moss.

And people didn't change. I'd learned that lesson after dedicating far too many years of hard labor to the cause.

"The traffic on 95 in Needham is unreal," he continued when he returned. "They've been working on that project for damn near seven years. My sister got married, had a kid, and got divorced, all while those exits have been torn up. Unreal."

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. I wasn't positive, but I thought that construction wrapped up last year. I wasn't going to argue with him. Not when I could obsess over his coffee consumption. "It's quite a mess."

"The worst," he said, lifting the cup to his lips. "I plan my day around avoiding that area. It's a bitch." Before I could reply, he tapped the cup on the table and leaned toward me. "I don't know what your schedule looks like but I don't have to be anywhere until ten."

I shifted back on my seat to avoid the plume of his coffee breath. "Oh, well, I—"

He tapped the cup again. "My apartment's around the corner."

"That's—that's great for you," I said, confused. "I like this neighborhood. I worked on a project near—"

Another sharp tap of the cup. "You wanna come up?"

I blinked. "Excuse you?"

He tipped his head toward the window. "Do. You. Want. To. Come. Up."

I narrowed my eyes at his tone. What a snippy, snappy sonofabitch. "I have a busy morning," I replied with a bitter smile, the kind I reserved for my friends who claimed they often forgot to eat. Pssh. Lies and urban legends. "I should be going."