When A Perfect First Date Turned Sour Over Steak

(A short story by Irene B.)

Remi wasn’t superstitious, but when she realized this was date number seven, she decided to give the universe one last shot. Seven was supposed to be lucky, right? So far, though, luck had been upside down and flat on its ass.

There was open-mouthed chewer Curtis, who launched a piece of moist cornbread straight from his gums and onto the edge of her bread plate. It dangled next to the very piece she’d been eager to try, but that was now ruined. Curtis had shared during a video chat that he’d had his tonsils out in his 30s, a revelation she had initially found odd but cute. Now, as she sat watching mangled food bounce around in the cavern where his tonsils used to be, she wished she could un-know it.

Then came Freckles. Freddie? Fred? Whatever. So charming online, and freckly in person, but something was… off. He’d lied about his living arrangement. Technically, he did own property, 50% of a home gifted to him and his twin brother after college. Lucky, she thought. But he still lived in that gift with the twin brother, which he neglected to mention until his third drink on their one and only dinner date. Two hours into hearing his rants about his parents still pressuring them to rent out the property for their future, Remi was instead fixated on his leg tapping and bouncing under their narrow two-seater table. Freckles finally addressed her not-so-obvious stares. He shared the reason, saying he was dealing with this annoying itch and that all the bouncing and wriggling distracted him from scratching. But now that she’d caused him to focus on it, he could no longer contain himself, and he went in with both hands. No bug bite, short of something from the Amazon Basin, could ever justify that kind of deep, inner thigh clawing. Remi’s stomach turned, watching the relief flood across his face. She randomly peeked at the other tables to see who might be watching them and wondering what the hell was going on. Devastated by the thought of any one of them believing she was also afflicted, or worse, the cause.

Remi blurred the other less memorable first dates in her mind. None of them made it to a second round. And with all of them, she was ready to end the face-to-face within 30 minutes of arriving. She was labeled the easy-going friend. The one who didn’t take herself too seriously, so why was meeting someone just one step above sane, damn near impossible? How were they so funny, normal, cute even, in chat, yet came with a U-Haul of crazy in person? Was it her? The disconnect stumped her each and every time.

So weighing up her options of giving up completely or being more strategic with these time-wasters, Remi decided she needed a plan—right as Jay showed up.

According to his Wink Link dating profile, Jay was tall (6’2″), well-traveled, oldest of four, no kids, and never married, and her favorite line in his bio: “Chocolate might get me Locked up” had her returning to his photos. Jay seemed new to the app, and she was his first ‘Wink’, Wink Link’s version of a ‘like’. His profile pic was a close-up, with a full smile. Then in their video call, he was happy to replicate her request of a current-body reveal by standing next to his fridge—the same 72-inch model her girl Faith had crammed, just barely, into her kitchen. On that one chat, the fridge had become her new height reference, and Jay passed that test. She didn’t care if he was 5’9 or 6’9, she just needed to know he was above unnecessary lies.

Still, Remi was done putting in all that effort for someone who might be winging it at best. This next hopeful had to be vetted better than the others, whatever that even meant, or at least dismissed quicker. Sacrificing another three hours on a Friday evening for possibly nothing had gotten old, fast. Her brain finally kicked in, scanning the room for a solution, and locked on her black crossbody slung across the top of her open second closet door, like it had been poised for this exact mission. And boom, the plan revealed itself: the crossbody-coffee date. Still cute enough to flirt, but now with enhanced functionality—and, ultimately, a far superior exit strategy.

Remi still planned to show up with just enough heat to throw Jay off his game but in a good way. Nothing over the top, just errand-level hot, dressed up as casual. Her stylish black leather crossbody would be her hands-free escape hack. It would hold all her usuals as well as more cash than needed, in case a speedy exit meant her covering the full bill and not short-changing their server. If she sniffed even the slightest hint of the date sucking, or if he showed himself to be a mouth-breather or an itchy-ball-scratcher, she was out. Gone. Immediately. For Remi, that meant going straight to the high-end mall near her date’s location of choice to make her planned returns. Though, knowing her, probably exchanges and more purchases instead. Either way, it for damn sure wouldn’t be another wasted afternoon or outfit.

Jay looked like his photos, all right. Damn. Handsome—with that sharp face, strong jawline, warm brown skin, clean shaped-up goatee and a smile that revealed a lone dimple.

Still, as she watched him, Remi continued with the crossbody-coffee-date protocol. First, she parked in front of the café twenty minutes early and waited in her car, facing the entrance. The part of her plan where she’d watch Jay arrive and confirm, in broad daylight, that he all-the-way matched his profile. If he was even five minutes late with no legitimate apology sent, then The Grove Mall would see her sooner. Jay arrived on time, dressed nicely, and mercifully free of any sock-with-sandal combo or high-water man-jeggings. Remi exited her car to meet him inside, remaining firm in her resolve that she’d turn on her heels in a second if his body odor or breath was kicking.

The café was small but vibrant. At 12:45pm, it was bustling like a popular hangout, with an upscale feel. No exposed brick, mismatched chairs, or a chalkboard menu in sight. Though an exaggerated, multi-spout coffee machine hissed behind the counter, it still acted as a daytime club. No doubt the high-end fixtures made the patrons at least feel better about spending $17 on eggs. Jay had picked the place. It was new to her and he made it clear it was his treat.

They sipped on coffees first. Jay smiled pleasantly, nodded, complimented her, and seemed approving of her look and outfit choice, but barely said more than a few words after that. Not a bad mood exactly, just… quiet.

Remi tossed him some conversational softballs, but he tossed back blunt, one or two-word responses. She started wondering where video-chat Jay had gone and if she should just leave as they hadn’t ordered food yet.

Then the server came by to take their lunch orders. Remi hesitated. Calculating if this silence was going to be the rest of the date, she could bail now and maybe beat the next parking fee tier, and still be under the free one-hour limit. But damn, she was hungry.

“You go ahead, I’m still deciding,” Remi offered to Jay.

“The signature gourmet burger, medium-rare, everything but the onions, and the seasoned fries, please,” Jay said with surprising enthusiasm. Remi thought his meal choice had perked him up a bit.

“And Sir, did you want a drink with that?”

“Nah, I’m good with just water for now… thanks.” The server turned back to Remi.

“And I’ll have the baby beet salad.”

“Good call, it’s one of our best items and one of my favorites,” beamed the server.

“Oh good, and…” Remi read the menu closer, “Can I substitute the blue cheese for goat cheese, and I’ll add the steak to it, medium please, and a side of regular fries. And same, water is fine for me.”

Jay blinked. “Steak? Really?” Their server collected their menus, nodding as she left.

Remi raised an eyebrow. “Why? You don’t like steak?”

“No, no, I love it. Great choice… good sign.”

A switch flipped. Suddenly, Jay was Chatty-Jay from their online meetups. He laughed, leaned forward, prodded her about getting a glass of wine if she really wanted one, and even joked about ordering a dessert or two. He was more animated now and had literally come alive. Looking over his shoulder and commenting on other patrons trying to squeeze into the café hoping to find a spot at the counter. The busty woman who’d walked in alone and sat nearby caught his eye, but to his credit, he only glanced at her once.

Remi tilted her head. “Was something wrong before? You’ve suddenly become chatty. What happened? And I’m not complaining.” She meant it, thinking his nerves had finally worn off.

Jay smiled, bashful. “Your order relaxed me.”

Remi looked puzzled. “You were nervous about my… salad?”

“I just… I thought maybe you were one of those women.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “One of what, women?”

“You know… like, I-only-eat-salad type.” He uttered in a mocking tone, rolling his eyes.

“It’s a beet salad with steak and a side of fries. That’s a full meal. Plus, I’m starving.” They both laughed.

“Exactly,” he said. “Bigger lunch. That’s a good sign. A woman who eats.”

“Okay. So, you’re looking for… what? Someone to not split fries with? That’s a deal-breaker for you in a relationship, I see.” Remi chuckled along with Jay. The renewed connection between them felt cozy and genuine.

“Well,” Jay shrugged, “It’s a really nice place. And they do serve coffee and bagels. But it’s nice to know that this isn’t gonna be that.” Jay’s slow, assured nod left Remi even more confused, and he picked up on it and continued speaking.

“You know. If it’s really gonna be a bagel and coffee kind of date, then maybe I’d get a little kiss at the end. But steak? If I’m paying for steak, I’m in for a hell of a lot more.”

Remi blinked at his sickening grinning. A scowl fell over her face, and a thousand curse words boiled to the surface of her tongue, ready to burst out of her mouth. This should have been a nice get-to-know-each-other-more date. Her approach was to not push him too far and ask for intricate details on his five-year goals or where he saw himself in ten years. But to know his likes, some funny turn-offs, and learn a little more about some things he’d shared briefly on their calls. Then confirm plans for the next date and she’d pick the place or activity this time. Unlike him, who’d been waiting for her to order to determine the outcome, and his reward, for his half-assed effort at picking a venue and covering the tab. This fool thought him paying for steak meant he was gonna get what exactly?! Was owed or entitled to a lunchtime layover back at her place after a max 2-hour lunch?! Curtis, Freckles, and now Jay. Remi mulled over her trifecta of dating fuckery. 

Over Jay’s shoulder, a large blue paper bag caught Remi’s eye, drifting past the bar counter with its curly-haired owner bumping into the crowd. As best she could, Remi pulled herself out of her disgust at Jay and back into her game plan. She looked through him, then stood, adjusted her crossbody, and without retrieving any cash from her purse, began walking. She could hear Jay calling her name over the many table conversations, but she just moved faster with each iteration, and without snatching a steak knife and doubling back to introduce it to him. Two things for sure: dating was officially on pause, on hold, dead. She wasn’t about to play nice or dumb with Jump-the-Gun-Jackass Jay or pay for any part of that meal. Lucky number seven wasn’t about to get lucky with her.

Practicing out loud

Sharing some of my writing, these fiction bits as part of my creative reps, flaws and all. Keep going with your “thing,” too. Small consistent steps, even imperfect ones, make big moves forward.