Free When You're Expecting Something Else by Whisper Lowe Page B

into a double espresso, and then passes me half his lemon pound cake, though I’ve insisted I’m fine without it. His phone chirps with a   text message interrupting us before we get started. I study his profile, watching him concentrate as his long, narrow fingers tap out a reply, his brow furrowed with one lone wrinkle, his dark eyes cast down.
     
    He looks up and directly into my eyes when he speaks. “How is it a gorgeous woman like you has escaped the marriage trap?” he asks, ambushing me with a cold, rogue wave, his first question.
     
    “Marriage trap? I really don’t see marriage as a trap. Do you really? I really want to get married and have children.” I stumble over my words trying to readjust my reaction. What did he write in his profile? Whatever it was, I know I dragged and dropped every man who’d said he didn’t want children. How did I miss it?
     
    “Of course, marriage is a trap. At least for every man,” he says, laughingly. “Little snot-nosed brats running around with droopy diapers and sticky fingers. No woman with your intelligence and beauty can want that. You don’t really, do you?”
     
    He doesn’t even know me! My initial first good impression of him vanishes instantly, fogged by this slippery, egocentric slither of words. My stallion morphs into a snake right before my eyes. Before I can respond, he takes my two hands in his, making my skin crawl. My unspoken emotions scream, Icky, icky!
     
    “You’re a beautiful woman, Connie Harrison, smart and attractive, and a nurse. You’re perfect for me, kind and pretty and nurturing.” His voice softens and his eyes roam to my breasts. “Will you take care of me when I get sick? Will you give me a bed bath, bathing my every body part, cleansing me with your warm, sudsy touch?” He flicks his tongue like a snake sniffing its prey. I am repulsed, almost nauseous with shame for having ever thought him attractive, the slimy creep!
     
    I grab my hands away and try not to spill coffee onto my lap when I abruptly stand up. “No. I’m sorry, Sal, but for me it’s not a match. I wish you good luck on datesforall , but it’s not me you’re looking for.” My words are shaky, but there I’ve said it, and I’m free to go. Thank God that Anne has coached me on what to say when a meeting date doesn’t work out. I extricate myself from this horrible man, at the same time pulling my cell phone out of my pocketbook. My fingers slightly tremble as I search for Anne’s number. I want him to know that I’m armed with support if he tries to detain me.
     
    Anne answers immediately and I launch into breathless speech. As I tell her about Sal and how creepy he is, I glance back at the table where I’d left him. His roving eyes have wasted no time, settling already on an attractive woman seated alone at the next table.
     
    “I love guys like that! What’s his handle?” Anne cries, surprising me into silence.
     
    “What! What are you saying? You don’t want love and marriage and children?” I stutter, stunned. It takes me a few minutes to regroup my thoughts.
     
    Anne rambles on. “No, not me. I like to play around. I want the simple life, not a lot to worry about and all. He’s probably great in bed. That’s good enough for me,” she says.
     
    “What planet am I on?” I mumble into the phone. Maybe it’s the shock of her enthusiasm, or the disappointment from my first date, but I start laughing and can hardly stop. Suddenly, the whole experience feels surreal to me, and I feel a strange sense of déjà vu. Anne thinks I’m sobbing
     
    “I’m sorry, Connie! I hope I haven’t offended you. I’m sorry, really. I should have been supportive of your feelings. Forgive me?” She is suddenly serious and contrite.
     
    “I’m just regrouping my thoughts,” I choke out between spasms of laughter.
     
    Finally I stop laughing. We talk a little more, and then make plans to meet for happy hour at a local wine bar for another