Girlfriend time is fantastic therapy.
So is football. I’ve watched every Renegades game this season, just as I usually do. Harlan is on fire, and his team is having a great run. They’ve won five games and lost one. By all accounts, he’s killing it on the field, though he did leave the last game earlier in the fourth quarter than usual. That was a little odd, but the team was beating Baltimore by two touchdowns and won, so I suspect they wanted to give their stars a rest.
And maybe it’s time for me to see more of that star.
Maybe I’m ready.
“Dad?” I say, giving him my attention. “I’m trying to listen to my instincts too, and you know what they say?”
“What do they say?”
I go for broke. “That it’s time to date again.”
He slams his hands over his ears. “Tra la la la.”
I laugh—because it’s fun to wind him up—until he sets his palms in his lap, muttering, “I can handle this, I can handle this.”
“You’re such a dad,” I tease.
He bumps shoulders with me. “Can’t help it. But seriously. I’m happy for you. If you want to date again, go for it.”
This choice seems right. Four months ago, I was a mess. But I’ve straightened that up, and I’m in a good place—a place where I have zero plans to get serious again, and no intentions to give my heart away. Nada. But a good time? Bring it on.
“I will. I already have someone in mind.”
A few nights later, I host my besties for wine.
I lift my glass and issue a declaration. “I’m diving back into the dating pool,” I announce.
My four friends clink glasses with me. Relief and excitement swirls in my chest. I’m ready to try again, but also a tad nervous. “Dating is a shark tank, right?”
“Full of Moby Dicks,” Emerson says drily.
“And hammerheads,” Olive adds with a wink.
Skyler sets down her wine glass on my coffee table, and mimes banging a drum on the punchline. Then she jerks her gaze to me and goes all business, tucking her stray red strands of hair behind her ears. “Are we going for Tinder? A matchmaker? Bumble? Something else?”
“Because not everyone can meet a fabulous tour guide on a Hawaiian vacation,” I point out, since I can’t resist reminding her of her ridiculously good fortune.
“Lucky bitch,” Emerson hisses as she downs some red wine then taps the glass. “Snooty Wine Club time out! This tastes like shoe leather.”
“Well, that’s better than last week’s wine. It tasted like a veggie burger,” Jillian quips, lifting her seltzer water as she nudges our resident vegetarian.
Emerson’s jaw drops in mock outrage. “Take that back. Veggie burgers are the best.”
“Says you.”
“Exactly. I would know,” Emerson adds.
I take a drink of my glass, a different red than Emerson’s, then murmur appreciatively. “Mine tastes like cherries. I’m winning.”
Emerson laughs. “And you deserve to win. So, tell us more. What’s the plan?” she asks, rerouting the conversation back to dating.
Apropos, since cherries remind me of the man I’m finally ready for. I set down the glass and clear my throat. “I’m going to reach out to the guy who got away.”
Jillian gasps. We’re talking full on, jaw-drop style. This has clearly been a dream of hers for some time. “Oh my God, I’ve only been hoping you would for seven years. Thank you for putting me out of my waiting misery.”
“It really was all about you,” I tease. “And trust me, I wish we’d have had our Tuesday-night date several years ago. Would have made my life easier.”
But as soon as I say that, I have to wonder—would it? Would I have started Sassy Yoga if I’d stayed here and dated Harlan?
Something else wouldn’t have happened either. Something much more important. Someone. If we’d have become a thing, he wouldn’t have had his little girl. Maybe we weren’t meant to be then for many reasons, after all.
Except, I don’t believe in fate.
I believe in timing, and this timing seems right. To date. Just to date.
My friends seem to think so too, judging from their reactions.
Olive hoots. “Get it, girl!”
Emerson shimmies her shoulders. “He’s such a hottie.” She turns to Jillian. “And he’s single?”
“As far as I know,” Jillian says with a light shrug, “but it’s not like Jones and I spend all our time talking about Harlan’s dating situation.” She rubs her growing belly. “We’re a little busy.”
I roll my eyes. “Making people, sheesh. You act like it’s so hard.”
“Easy as pie,” she deadpans, then asks, “Is this going to be more like an official date?”
“Rather than the sort of impromptu ones we’ve had so far?” I ask with a laugh.
Emerson chimes in, smacking her palm on the table. “That’s how I’d put it. You’ve been impromptu dating him now and then, and he’s been impromptu giving you orgasms.”