Free Cheating on Myself by Erin Downing

afternoon wedding or something. For some reason, I’d been picturing a rock-band musician, not a classical musician. Even though he wasn’t my physical type, Jonathan suddenly didn’t seem quite as lame. Classical musicians were probably pretty sensitive, and obviously had a romantic side. It also took talent to play a tricky string instrument. Could I overlook the basement smell?
    “What about the tux?” Jonathan said, puzzling over both the question and the menu. “Have you had the scallops here?”
    “Yeah, the scallops are yummy. Were you wearing the tux for a gig this afternoon or something? Did you have a wedding to play? Or a cocktail party?”
    Jonathan shook his head. “No.”
    Huh. Had he worn the tux specifically for our date? I chose not to press on. I could overlook it. “Are you going to get the scallops?”
    “I’m not sure,” he said, drumming his fingers on the table. “You?”
    “I’m going to get the shrimp.” I pushed my menu away. I’d been to Nina’s enough times to know what I wanted without even looking at the menu.
    “That sounds good. I’m just going to order some soup and snag a few bites of yours, if that’s cool?” Jonathan pushed his menu away and flagged our waiter over. “Can I get a black napkin please?” When the waiter returned with a black napkin, he explained, “The white ones leave lint on my pants.”
    “Smart,” I said, trying hard not to laugh. The leaky basement smell was starting to get to me again. “So, um, Jonathan, what instrument do you play?”
    “Trumpet,” he said proudly. Okay, so it wasn’t a string quartet… he was in a jazz quartet. Also cool. I don’t know why I was jumping to so many conclusions. I vowed to stop making assumptions and give the guy a chance to tell me about himself. “But I’m learning electric guitar to expand the options. I’ve always wanted to be in a punk band.”
    I swallowed. Jonathan was not making this easy. I was trying, but there was nothing less appealing to me than a guy my age who was still trying to make it in the music scene. Maybe I was being a little dramatic, but at the moment I couldn’t think of anything much worse. My practical side wanted to remind him that if he hadn’t made it by thirty-five, he probably wasn’t going to be a rock star. Then again, my practical side needed to take a hike, since all my smart decisions and solid planning had left me suddenly single and in a life I didn’t even recognize as boring. “That would be cool,” I said, even though I didn’t think that.
    Our waiter came then, saving me from further conversation about being in a punk band. As we waited for our food to come, the conversation shifted to my work (he ranted for a while about Centrex being “The Man” and asked how I could possibly work somewhere that so selfishly promoted a consumer culture), our hobbies (from what I could tell, he played a lot of Wii), and eventually, our meals.
    “This is great shrimp,” he said, stuffing his mouth full of shrimp that he unapologetically plucked from my plate. “Do you want a bite of soup?”
    I almost started laughing. Who shares soup? But Jonathan was serious, and very earnest about his offer, too. “No thanks, I’m going to stick with the shrimp.” Based on the uninspiring conversation, it was abundantly obvious Jonathan and I were not a match. So when the meal ended and our check arrived, I figured it would make sense to split the bill and go our separate ways. I might have considered letting him offer to pay if I thought it had been a good date, but as it was, I got the sense this was a divide and say goodbye situation. There would never be a next time. I may have been new to dating, but I wasn’t that dim. I pulled out my wallet and slid the check over to my side of the table.
    “Oh, awesome, you’re going to pay this time?” He was grinning at me and had made no motion to extract his own wallet. “My dinner was pretty cheap, so I guess that makes