Every Other Saturday (27 page)

She shook her head again, feeling blank.

“You haven’t seen
Bull Durham
? Are you sure you’re American?”

“Have you seen
Leap Year
?” she demanded, naming the first Irish romantic comedy she could think of.

He nodded. “Amy Adams is a fine thing.”

“
P.S. I Love You
?
The Matchmaker
?”

“Yep and yep. I’ve seen
Waking Ned Devine
, too, if you’re wondering. None of them as good as
Bull Durham
.”

“Guess I’m missing out,” she said flatly.

Apparently Sean sensed that she was tired of the conversation, because he tried to change the subject. “Does Man Cave tell you where he gets inspiration for the names?”

“Sometimes.” In fact, it had been her idea to give crazy ex-girlfriend Emily the nickname Annie Wilkes, from
Misery
. She’d talked him out of Cruella de Vil for his cold-shouldered Halloween date, lobbying for the less harsh Sandra Dee instead. She’d suggested Meg Griffin for Date Ten, whom he couldn’t keep straight from Lisa Simpson, Date Five. “I’ve actually helped him choose one or two,” she added modestly.

“That is brilliant. Wait.” He leaned toward her. “Are you Diana? On the blog? I didn’t put it together ’til now.”

She nodded. “It’s my only claim to fame, I guess. Would you excuse me? I’m just going to the restroom before it starts.”

He stood, chivalrously stepping out of the row and putting a hand on her back as she passed. More points in his favor, if he would just stop talking about Dave. She would’ve thought an Irish rugby fan would be her one safe haven from an American sports blogger, but obviously she wasn’t that lucky.

She waited for the previews to start before returning, and then settled in to lose herself in the political thriller she’d selected. Dave from the Cave, pompous ass, would say this was a bad first-date move. He’d probably assume she was anticipating what Sean wanted to see, giving up her usual romantic comedy to impress her date. But the reality was, she was in no mood for calamitous romance tonight. What she wanted was a good, escapist scare: nothing to remind her of her own life or anyone in it.

Halfway through the movie, Sean put his arm around her again, drawing her closer this time. She snuggled against his scratchy sweater, taking in the smell of him, and reached for the popcorn. Later, he took her hand as they walked to her minivan, and she entwined her fingers with his. He pushed back her hair and gave her a sweet, thorough kiss before saying good night; Julia kissed him back, far less nervous than she’d expected to be. As she drove home on empty streets, she forced herself to think of Sean: his cocky smile, his self-effacing charm, and his warm lips pressed firmly against hers.

She refused to think of Dave. Not his blog or his dates or fucking
Bull Durham
; certainly not the man himself, running his thumb along her lip in the most erotic kiss of her life.

# # #

Early morning on Black Friday, Dave sat bleary-eyed at the computer with his third mug of coffee, looking for the best deal on Lyric’s big Hanukkah present—a Katie the Princess Ultimate Girl Power Dream Castle with Elevator and Magical Talking Wishing Well, six AAA batteries not included. Debbie had assigned him the task a few days before, despite his objections that a princess with real girl power shouldn’t need a prissy castle. Or a wishing well.

“Kind of un-feminist, isn’t it?” he’d said. “Isn’t the whole point of girl power to make your own dreams come true?”

“Dave, please. The best deals are Black Friday morning and she’ll still be with me then.”

“Not to mention you hate getting up early.”

“And I shop constantly for work, plus I’m buying all Lyric’s other gifts, and cooking the turkey. You’ll be up early and in front of your damn computer anyway. This is
literally
the least you can do.”

Dave was up at the crack of dawn anyway, having lain awake half the night and slept fitfully for the other half. On a pad by his keyboard, he had scrawled the price and shipping cost of the Dream Castle at half a dozen different sites. By the time he decided to order from one, they were sold out of the Castle. Rookie mistake. As soon as he found it again, he put in his credit card number at breakneck speed, having to re-type it twice when his tired fingers transposed the numbers.

He forwarded the confirmation email to Debbie so she wouldn’t hound him about it later, shut down and headed to the couch, sinking into the leather with a cushion over his face. Maybe he could nap. If not, the college football pre-game would start in a couple of hours, giving him an excuse to lie around all day. His aching back cracked with relief as he settled in.

Maybe it was his mattress.

Or indigestion.

He’d survived Thanksgiving dinner with Debbie and her family and Aaron, with surprisingly little discomfort. Expecting it to be awkward, he’d come armed with a new Lego set for Lyric and several plausible excuses for leaving early. But after twenty minutes, he’d established that everyone else was far more uncomfortable than he was. Debbie’s father, who had scarcely said fifteen nice words to Dave in as many years, talked to him almost nonstop about sports while studiously avoiding contact with Aaron. Debbie’s mother was manic, talking in the loud chirpy voice she used when nervous, saying “right, right, right,” to everything. Aaron spun in terrified circles, refilling drinks every two minutes for lack of anything else to do.

Debbie, meanwhile, had the look of a death-row inmate being forced to prepare her own last meal. She actually hugged Dave when he came in, clinging to him for longer than she had in many years, begging him in a frantic whisper to “please make things better.”

“Never thought my arrival would make things
less
awkward,” he’d said, and Debbie nearly burst into tears.

Dave had done what he could, and things were a little more relaxed by the end of the meal. He helped Lyric and Aaron put together the Lego set, and had been relieved to return to his townhouse, stuffed full of turkey and grateful that he was free to go.

Surreal as the situation might be, it wasn’t Aaron and Debbie who kept him awake.

Maybe he needed to cut back on the caffeine.

She had a date. Big deal. He’d had thirteen of them since this had all begun, not counting the night he’d been stood up. He was going to have four more if everything went to plan. Why should it matter that Julia had one date on Thanksgiving? Maybe it wasn’t even the first. Had he bothered to ask, all these weeks?

But why hadn’t she told him?

And why had he said
on air
that she wasn’t dating material? Because he was an ass. Because he’d been cornered by the guys. Because he hadn’t expected her to hear it. Because technically, it was true.

They’d discussed it.

And he’d thought about it.

A lot.

He turned on his side to face the back of the couch, pressing the pillow against his cheek to block out the light. She wasn’t Jewish. His mother would give him the silent treatment. His father might disown him entirely. She had twice as many kids as he did. Mia and Lyric were so much alike, he could wrap his head around Mia. Brandon, though…where did you start with that? But he was a great kid. He liked baseball. But she had a horrible relationship with her ex; and her sister, and the store…a mess. He didn’t need that kind of drama.

Dave had made this clear to himself, and to Julia, weeks ago. Before he’d seen her naked body streaked with green paint and tasted her for what seemed like days.

Shit. He stood abruptly, throwing the cushion against the wall, and went to find his phone. It was almost nine. He could text.

“Hey, Princess Di—how was the date?”

Dave paced for thirteen minutes before she responded. “Great, thx. How was your evening?”

“Usual Thanksgiving with ex-wife dating best friend.”

“Bet you rocked it.”

“I kinda did. :)”

She didn’t answer. After a few minutes he added, cringing, “So, who is this guy you’re dating?”

“Who says it’s a guy???”

“You are killing me, Diana. Just put all kinds of naughty imagery in my head.”

“:)”

“You’re not going to tell me? I tell you everything. Now I feel vulnerable.”

She didn’t answer for several minutes. Dave began to wonder whether she’d made up the date to make him jealous—not that he was jealous—and that was exactly the kind of drama he didn’t need in his life. Then he began to wonder whether her date had slept over and was still at her house. Did the sleep-deprived urge to drive to her house and yank the dude’s sorry ass out of bed for questioning count as jealousy? He didn’t think so.

He had just put the phone down and starting making himself scrambled eggs when the text notification dinged.

“Sorry. Store is actually busy this a.m.—go figure. His name is Sean. We work together.”

“At the store?” At least he knew she wasn’t still lounging around with the guy at home.

“Caroline’s.”

“Did he treat you well?” Dave stirred the eggs and slid them onto a plate, waiting.

“LOL. The whole 5 hours.”

She was at the store and it was Black Friday. He should leave her alone.

“You like him?”

“Work busy. Talk later?”

“Sure. Need help?”

“:)”

No sooner had he tossed the phone on the counter than it buzzed with an incoming call. His weird little hope that Julia was going to ask him to come in and help at the store was extinguished by the unfamiliar number on the screen. With all the recent calls from the press and sponsors, Dave was used to strange numbers popping up on his phone at odd times. He answered.

“Hi, Dave? Dave Bernstein?”

“You got him.”

“Um, well, I know I shouldn’t be calling you like this, but I have a friend who works at the radio station and she gave me your number.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously. He wasn’t popular enough to have a stalker, was he?

“I didn’t want to contact you again through J-Date, because I felt like this should happen in person. Over the phone at least. But in person would be good, too. I mean, oh crap. I’m rambling.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me who you are?” he said.

“Right. I’m Sandy. In your blog, you called me ‘Natasha.’”

“Did we—? Wait. You’re the one who stood me up, right?”

“Yes, and I’m…well. I know ‘sorry’ probably doesn’t cover it.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Water under the bridge.”

“So, I know it’s against your policy, and your calendar must be full, but I wondered if we might meet for coffee. I just wanted to apologize and maybe ask for another chance.”

It was the second time in four months a woman had wanted to meet him for coffee to apologize about something. He had watched Julia storm out of the Waffle House in August, and his life had been more complicated ever since.

“Look, I appreciate the thought, and I accept your apology.”

“Dave, I wish you would give me a chance to make it up to you. I’m sure your Saturday nights are all full, but I feel terrible about what happened and I’d just like to take you out for a makeup date. My treat. And you can blog all about it if you want.”

“Thanks, Sandy. But my Saturdays are booked with dates, except for a Hanukkah celebration at my kid’s school. And since I’m helping out with that, it’s taking up a lot of my other free time.”

“I understand. You probably don’t want to bring a date to a school function, with your daughter and everything.”

“Not because of my daughter—the kids will be in a different part of the building. But I’m helping with the event and it will be lots of schmoozing with other parents. It won’t be a fun first date.”

“Perfect,” she said. “My penance for standing you up. You can give me all the dirty jobs. I’ll flip latkes if needed.”

He hesitated. “It’s a pretty formal thing. I don’t want you to feel pressure.” Truthfully, he didn’t want to feel that kind of pressure himself. A first date in a tux, with his ex-wife and Aaron there? Plus Julia and whoever she might bring. His fist clenched at his side.

“Please,” Sandy was saying. “I have an adorable cocktail dress, I can walk in heels for days, and I promise not to embarrass you. I’ve never stood anyone up before and I want to explain in person, make it right.”

He was torn. She’d stood him up and never bothered to call, and he was still annoyed. But she sounded nice. And sorry. And he didn’t have a date to the Hanukkah Carnival. And Julia went out last night with some guy named Sean.

Dave sighed. “You’d have to meet me there, after the kids split off from the adults.”

“Perfect.”

“The food is probably going to be terrible.”

“Terrible food is my
favorite
.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll email you directions.”

“You won’t regret it. I promise.”

Dave hung up the phone, utterly bewildered.