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October 12

New York City

“T hree days and no call. The first date curse continues.”

Clara sat at the artfully distressed farmhouse table in her neighbor Tasha’s open kitchen. There were only two apartments on each floor of their five-story building, and Tasha and Dave’s was twice the size of hers. Tasha was a pediatrician, and her husband was a scout for the Mets. Their daughter, Layla, was in the sixth grade.

“How long has it been?” Tasha sipped her tea.

Clara sighed. “A week. The gallery event he mentioned has come and gone, so I guess that’s that.”

Tasha was a highly analytical thinker, and Clara always appreciated her insights, as insensitive as they sometimes were. “It’s unlikely that outside forces affected every second date. I mean, if it had been one guy or even two or three, we could consider work, travel, illness—that sort of thing. But nine? The common denominator is you.”

“I’m aware.” Clara snatched a cookie from the plate.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re not discussing marriage, babies, or exes on these dates.”

“Correct. The first two are off-limits first date topics, and I don’t have an ex.”

“Maybe I should follow you next time? I could sit at a nearby table and eavesdrop. You know how they do it in the movies? I’ll pretend to read a newspaper.”

A chill ran down Clara’s spine. Hit with sudden suspicion, she stood. “I’ve got to dash. I need to get ready for a meeting with my advisor.”

Tasha walked her to the door. “Okay, babe, keep me posted on the next date. I’ll get my trench coat ready.”

“Ha ha,” Clara deadpanned. “I’ll see you later.”