Perfect for Each Other

Spencer insisted. He can be very persuasive. His friend Blake flew into town for an interview yesterday. He was flying home at six. When he approached me, I panicked a little. I thought Spencer was about to ask me out himself.  He’s my boss and that simply wouldn’t do. Still, I was aware that he liked me. A woman always knows these things. I was both relieved and disappointed when he didn’t ask.

Instead he told me Blake was a great guy, that we were perfect for each other, which almost killed it then and there. I can’t recall a single date that ever turned out well when a well-meaning friend used those words, perfect for each other.

I turned 35 yesterday, which, coincidentally, marked the third anniversary of my last date. I haven’t even been offered a hook up since then, other than the guy I turned down at my sister’s wedding last year. Spencer laid it on a little about how much Blake wanted to meet me. It was time to break my streak. Loneliness was depleting my energy. Thirty-six months was long enough to go without a date. Actually, I wasn’t sure this was a date, but I decided if Blake paid for lunch it would count. 

I had my doubts after speaking with him, though. He sounded businesslike, asking me to meet him downtown at The Palm. Since he’s currently out of work, I thought his choice a bit odd. If we met at the restaurant and I paid for lunch, (I could afford it) could I still call it a date? I think most of my friends would say yes. To suggest otherwise might undermine our notions of equality.   

Blake turned out to be older than I thought. I assumed he would be about Spencer’s age, but he was at least 10 years older. Still, he was wearing a dark suit and tie with an Eldredge knot, something I’d seen once before at a fashion show. (Just to fly Southwest?) He looked every bit the adult. Not like most men my age who seem to believe that even 20 years later, the high school sophomore look, ripped shirt, shorts and a ball cap worn backwards, still says cool; suitable attire for every occasion.  

The hostess seated us directly under a caricature of our city’s much loved former mayor. I ordered a glass of sparkling water with lemon, no ice and a kale salad with shrimp. He smiled and ordered Blanton’s neat and a porterhouse steak from the dinner menu. Was he working without the standard playbook?   

He spoke like an adult, which I appreciated. He didn’t try to impress me. No comments about his huge investments in the futures market, not a single reference to a Dallas Cowboys safety. No name dropping about having Jay Leno, or Senator McCain in his contacts database.

What really impressed me was the way he actually asked questions and listened to my answers, “Do you ever look over the horizon, say 15 years from now, and worry that nothing will have changed for you?” His tone was serious, but his eyes couldn’t quite conceal his lighthearted intent. That’s when I experienced a moment of Presque Vu; not quite grasping what was happening but sensing it just the same. I couldn’t breathe. We are perfect for each other.

He ordered another bourbon.

I smiled. “Make it two.”