Fat Chance (13 page)

"Well," she replies. "I'm not exactly proud, but I know you couldn't have made it with a flat tire, so we'll excuse the whole standing-me-up thing. Just this once."

I roll my eyes; Renee is being motherly again. She was always the little mommy out of all of us, easily keeping Chelsea and me in line when we were younger.

"But, if you had to miss out, at least you had a good reason, right? You know what we should do?"

I don't answer, because I know what she's going to say. Instead, I sip my coffee, burn my tongue a little, and open a crossword puzzle book. Usually, I'm terrible with these things, but lately I've been having fun trying them out. It's funny what confidence has brought to my life; now I actually believe that I can eventually figure out some of these answers.

"We should get Chelsea on here!" Renee exclaims, hardly noticing that I am no longer talking. I hadn't really had a boyfriend before, not that I have one now --
yet
-- but, of course, when the sister who doesn't date suddenly announces that she has a date, I guess it's big news.

The line clicks, and I smile to myself; it's like I'm not even part of the phone call anymore. There's another click, and it's ringing; Renee has added Chelsea to the call.

"Hello?" she says, her voice in a rush. I'm still waiting quietly, making enough noise for Renee to know I'm there, but not really speaking.

"Chelsea," Renee squeaks. "You have time to talk?" I'm not sure how anyone can deny her the time, when she's obviously bursting to tell something like this. I can imagine her clearly, pacing back and forth in the living room of the house she shares with Chelsea, and Chelsea perking up at the desk in her office.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Cass has date."

I roll my eyes again. Sheesh, she acts like I've never been on a date before.

"Holy crap! For real?" Chelsea's squealing too now, and honestly, I'm kind of embarrassed. If it's this big a deal, I obviously need to go out more.

"Yes, for real," I mutter, trying to think of a seven-letter word for exasperate. I fill in the blocks of the puzzle as I'm re-telling the story of my morning.

"I went to therapy this morning, and I was supposed to meet Renee at the yoga studio for class after. I guess I picked up a nail somewhere though, because by the time I walked back to the car, my back tire was flat," I explain. "So I was going to call roadside service to change the tire, but this guy came up and offered to help. And, um, then he asked me to dinner."

"I'm convinced that she's not telling the whole story," Renee butts in.

"That's because I knew I'd have to tell it all again anyway, silly," I laugh. "I figured I'd save the good stuff for the three-way call, instead of having to tell it all over and over."

"Thank you. Now spill!" Chelsea exclaims.

"Well, I guess when he was walking up, he hit his key fob thing, and he was parked right next to me so it scared me. I ended up cutting my hand on the nail that was in my tire. Giant nail, by the way. Anyhow, he sees me standing there, and he's a cop, so he comes over --"

"Yum, daddy," Chelsea interrupts. She's got a thing for cops, so I was expecting it, but it still makes me laugh. I listen to her go on for a while about how cops are hot, just sitting there, drinking my coffee. Over the line, Renee is laughing.

"So anyway," I go on, "he comes over --"

"Was he in uniform?"

"Chelsea," I say, struggling not to laugh as I kill her fetish fantasy. "He was wearing jeans. Regular jeans. And a blue polo shirt. Can we go on now?"

"Okay," Chelsea says, acting like a chastised little girl. Renee laughs again, but doesn't interrupt.

"Ahem. So, he comes over. He sees my hand and insists on bandaging me up, then he helps with the tire." I don't tell them the whole gas mask thing. Better to keep that little bit of the story to myself.

"And then?" Chelsea sounds like she's about to explode with excitement. "He asks you to dinner, and you accept, of course, because you have to. So, where are you going?"

"I don't know yet, he's supposed to call me later tonight after he checks with his work schedule. I guess we kind of had a little partial date already," I say.

"Oh my God, what?" This is Renee, suddenly coming to life on the line again.

"Well, he got the flat off, and he put the spare on. I was just gonna have him throw the flat in the trunk, and have it fixed later. But he said his brother owns a tire shop, and that he could get his brother to fix it for me. He offered to drive, so I rode with him."

"Oh I'd ride with him. You know, if he wasn't yours," Chelsea says, and I choke on the coffee I've just slurped. "You think he has a friend?"

"Chelsea, behave!" Renee laughs.

Maybe this is why I don't date often. There's the whole telling-the-family part, and I'm just not really into having this conversation many more times. Maybe the next time I tell them I'm dating, it'll be on a wedding invitation. I'm sure Rick would love it.

"Of course, he has a friend, he's hilarious," I say. "Not sure if he has cop friends, but I guess if I can get the first few dates under my belt, eventually I'll hear about them."

"Mmm, set me up," Chelsea breathes, and I sigh.

"We'll see," I tell her. "But I do have to tell you guys something else."

"Uh, yeah. Like, maybe his name?" Renee teases. Oops, guess I totally forgot that part of the story.

"It's Drew. But he's a patient. At, um, Dr. Caswell's office."

"Ok, so the therapist is hot, with hot guys for clients. Mmhmm, and his number is?"

Ignoring Renee's question in a desperate effort to make my sisters pay attention, I plow on. "I don't know what he's there for, of course, and he doesn't know what I'm there for. But, should I be dating? Especially this guy? I mean, both of us in therapy can't be a good sign. Right? Two people that are a little screwed up, and probably a lot vulnerable?"

"Maybe you don't have to look at it like that though," Chelsea says, and I'm surprised. I sort of expected her to agree with me.

"Okay, what's your take?" I ask.

"Well, he's a cop, right? And you don't know what kind of cop, but that is a high stress job. Even pulling someone over for speeding can be a deadly event, and you never know what the guy in the car is going to do. And that's just for your basic street cop. If he's some kind of special victims detective or if he works really serious crimes or something, that's even worse. I'm not really surprised at all, and sometimes, depending on what they've been through on the job, those guys are ordered into therapy. Then they have to go, whether they want to go or not."

"Hmm. I hadn't really thought of that," I murmur. "So you think I should give him a shot?"

"I agree with Chelsea," Renee says. "You'll never know what can happen unless you go for it. Don't you want someone in your life?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. "Doesn't everyone?" I do, but I never really thought it was possible, I guess. I was always so caught up in my body issues and my weight, I never really thought a guy would want me, so I just wasn't really open to men. I have to wonder if that's why Jackson never seemed interested in me. Was it really my figure that turned him off, or was it my attitude about myself?

Don't forget his scrawny, chocolate-devouring, holier-than-thou girlfriend,
I remind myself. No, it isn't me; I'm rather sure the issue lies with him. Which lifts me away from the attraction I've felt for him, and suddenly, he doesn't seem so cute anymore.

"And here's this sweet guy who asks you out, when you're all helpless and car dirty and bleeding. You can't cancel the date, Cass, at least give him one shot. You can't go through your life too scared to try. If you know what you want, and you think he might be it, then go for it," Renee, as always, is the voice of reason, the voice of courage.

"I think I know what I want," I say, wondering if I really do. I've finished my coffee, and now I give up on the crossword puzzle, turning inward some, taking stock.

"Well," Chelsea chimes in. "Every woman wants a few basic things. Respect, honesty, loyalty, tenderness. We all want a gentle hand, at least sometimes, and at the same time, someone who is strong enough to make his girl feel safe. Right?"

"Exactly," says Renee. "Not to mention physical attraction, and interpersonal chemistry. You want to have a sense of pride in the person you're with, maybe a sense of responsibility to look out for them. Personally, I like to feel needed, and I like having someone around that I feel I can always depend on."

"But isn't that kind of drawing close to, like, co-dependence? I'm afraid of that, because I feel, sort of, not really weak emotionally, but --"

Chelsea jumps in and saves me here, with the words I can't seem to say. "It's easy to feel like you could slip into needing someone, right? Like feeling like you couldn't go on without someone?"

"I kind of want that," Renee says. "I want someone who counts on me, you know? I want that sixty-year marriage, where one of us is finally too much for the world and can't hold on anymore, and dies, and then the other sort of lives in that for a while. You know, those old couples who have been married forever, and the husband dies, and then the wife is a little lost for a while?"

"You want to be lost?" I ask, dryly.

"I want to know that my marriage was solid, that I really loved and needed my husband. If you don't need your spouse, why have one?"

"Wow, I hadn't thought of it like that," Chelsea says. Honestly, I hadn't either; now I think I have a whole new look on how helpless and bitter my father was, after my mother died.

"I don't know though, Renee." Now I'm restless; I'm up making another cup of coffee, though I know it's the last thing I need right now. "Is that level of need healthy, really? Emotionally?"

"I think it is," she answers. "But only if both people have it. The only time it doesn't work, is when one person needs the other, but it's one-sided. The person who doesn't feel that level of need has a sort of, maybe a sense of freedom, detachment. And that's where they can go off and have affairs and things. I want someone who needs me, someone who is dependable enough for me to need him. It's like, why be together in the first place, if you're going to lead separate lives?"

My head is full of this new perspective. I've spent all my life determined never to need anyone, not in a spousal capacity. I don't want to fall apart the way that my father did, and maybe let down other people who might need me.

"What if your husband dies early?" I ask. "Like my mother did? How do you survive, if you let yourself need him like that?"

"I just do," she says. "I grieve, and I cry, and I turn to the people that I have left. I lean on them, but eventually I heal. I can't live in sadness forever, and I realize my husband wouldn't want me to waste my life in misery. At some point, I move on, in his honor."

"In his honor?"

"Yes. If I were the one to die early, I'd like to think that I'd loved my husband well. Well enough, say, that he would still believe fully in love, and how magical it can be. I'd like to think that when he feels ready to move on, I'm selfless enough not to be haunting him still. After all," she says, "grief is too heavy to carry for long, and I wouldn't want someone I loved to waste away in that."

"So what you're saying is that I should go out with Drew," I say.

"Yes. Go, and have fun. Don't be so afraid to need someone. No one can meet your expectations if you never let anyone try."

"But I don't have to need him yet, right?"

"No, silly. I'm just saying don't be so afraid of it. There's a whole other argument that says it's a good thing. You just need balance."