Page 8 of Love’s a Script (Hearts Collide #1)
Chapter Eight
A worthwhile evening was guaranteed when Ruben found himself at the Bull Trout Pub on trivia night. The space, dimly lit by wall sconces and multicolored Christmas lights, was compact but possessed an aged charm.
People milled about waiting for the next round to begin. They refreshed their drinks or ducked outside for a smoke. Ruben had remained at his team’s table to safeguard belongings.
“As a reminder,” said the night’s host over the sound system, “the use of electronics is prohibited. Any violation will result in a place on the wall of shame and a permanent ban from future games.”
Ruben spotted his cousin on her way back from the bar with a grin on her face. He was confused until he saw the basket of French fries she was carrying.
“How the hell did you manage this?” Ruben asked, reaching for some fries and finding them still gloriously hot. It was a whole ordeal trying to request anything besides drinks on trivia night.
“I flirted with the new bartender. Got her number too,” Junie said, waving the cocktail napkin with the information before tucking it away into her tote.
“Bring that luck with you to the next round,” he said. Their team had blanked on the answer to the final question before the break that asked for the name of the singer-songwriter with credits on Aretha Franklin, the Ronettes, and a theme song for a 2000s TV comedy-drama.
“Oh, before I forget, how’s matchmaking going?” Junie asked as she created a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise. “You told me you were going on a date, and I’ve heard nothing since.”
“Because I’ve only been on the one.”
“Seriously?” she asked, unimpressed.
“Hold on now. It’s only been a week. And I have other responsibilities and hobbies.” He gestured to the bar surrounding them.
“All right, was that singular date a success?”
“No, not really.” Ruben’s date with Gemma didn’t just fall apart, his do-over date with her would not be happening because she’d decided to pursue someone else.
Please know it has nothing to do with you , read the email from Mary with the update. I apologize for any disappointment. I’ll be in contact soon with info on your next match.
Ruben wouldn’t admit this out loud, but he was relieved at this conclusion. He’d not felt any irresistible pull to pursue things with Gemma but had been willing to try again because of his commitment to the process as well as the possibility that his aversion to her perfume had biased his feelings.
“Tell me more,” his cousin said. “I want to know the nitty-gritty of matchmaking.”
“Well, there’s a post-date assessment that I do. Which is basically a questionnaire about different aspects of the match and date.”
“Homework,” Junie said, shuddering.
“It’s not so bad.” Ruben had expected to hate it more, to find it unnatural.
But it felt in line with the reflecting he was doing for the feature anyway.
“I actually think it might be a good way to remain grounded and objective,” he said.
“It would be easy to get wrapped up in the romanticism of meeting your supposed perfect match and mistaking that for a real connection.”
“Sounds like you’re an advocate now.”
“Nah, I still have doubts and questions. Like how does a formalized evaluation affect how I behave going forward? Am I subconsciously and retroactively performing the part of a good date knowing what my match will be asked during her post-date assessment? Is that authentic? Am I being myself when I’m that aware?
And say I want to remove this checklist from my head, how?—”
“Whoa, okay, okay,” Junie said loudly.
“What?” he said. “You asked for the nitty-gritty.”
“Next time just the CliffsNotes.”
* * *
After a long day at work, Mary enjoyed cocooning on her couch with dinner and an action movie that had questionable acting and ambitious, but not wholly successful, practical effects.
On that night, she happened upon one such film on cable.
The muscular hero had just run inside a steel manufacturing plant with a group of henchmen on his tail when a knock sounded at Mary’s apartment door.
She got up to answer it and found her neighbor in a robe with a face of glittery makeup, holding a damp blouse. “I need a super-fast dry on this top,” Willa said.
“Yeah, for sure,” said Mary, hating how automatically the response sprang, how she moved aside to let her neighbor saunter in, and how she took a seat on the arm of her sofa and politely listened to Willa talk about the birthday dinner she was running late for.
Willa had sprained her ankle just before the holidays last year, and Mary, sympathetic to the plight, had offered her in-unit washer and dryer so Willa didn’t have to make the trek to the laundromat. But months and a totally healed foot later, Mary’s neighbor was still doing laundry in her home.
Watching Willa now, you’d think she lived there.
She maneuvered the knobs and buttons on the machine, feasibly modeled after a spaceship control panel, with ease.
With the rumbling start of the dryer, Mary grew irritated with herself and was suddenly emboldened.
She waited for a lull in her neighbor’s prattle then said, “I’ve been thinking about this laundry arrangement. ”
“Oh,” said Willa, curiosity tilting her head.
Mary opened her mouth to continue, but a ringing phone cut her words short.
“I’m sorry,” Willa said before answering the call in a breathy voice pitched octaves higher than necessary. “I know, I know. I’m leaving soon,” she said to the person on the other line. “Wait! When did she say that?”
The unfolding conversation should’ve stoked Mary’s annoyance but instead drew up memories of a time when she too had a vibrant social life.
When was the last time she’d gone out? Attended a non-work-related event?
Maybe she could throw a dinner party, break up the last months of winter, and try a few bookmarked recipes.
She quickly thought of people she could invite but stopped upon closer reflection of that mental list.
Being generally amiable, Mary had accumulated a great number of friends.
But it was perhaps more accurate to call many of them acquaintances.
Some of her deeper friendships were over a decade old, forged during a time when an impromptu weekend trip to Lake Louise was possible.
However, in recent years, those same friendships were now maintained through hearting selfies and the occasional coffee meet-up.
And of all of the people from work, Mary would invite Eden, maybe Francine, to a theoretical dinner party, but she wasn’t sure either would jump at the opportunity to socialize outside of office hours.
The express cycle ended with a twinkling jingle, pulling Mary from her thoughts and Willa from her call.
“That’s better,” her neighbor said, inspecting the transformed garment. She thanked Mary, and they walked to the front door together. Before Willa crossed the threshold, she paused and said, “Oh, you were saying something before.”
Mary, now too wistful for any tense conversation, waved her off. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’ll talk another time. Enjoy the party.”