Page 56 of Pity Present
“So, you really aren’t here looking for yourself,” she accuses.
“Correct. I’m on assignment.”
“Are you the coffee shop manager or something?” she wants to know. “I mean, what are you so good at that Gillian would hire you away from wherever you were working in LA?”
The thing about lying is that once you start, there really is no end to it. But even so, that’s the sinking ship I’m currently on. “Gillian is a friend of my family’s,” I tell her. “She partially hired me because my mom wanted me to come home, but also, because I’m really good at my job.”
“Making coffee …”
“I also come up with ways for the businesses I work at to make extra money.”
This seems to make more sense to her, because she says, “That’s what I do with hotel gift shops. I come in and find ways for them to serve their clientele while still lining their pockets.”
I reach for my coffee cup which is now cold. Undeterred, I take a giant swig before embellishing my story even further. “Everything has gotten so expensive, even a cup of coffee.” I raise mymug for effect. “People can’t even afford their daily latte anymore. And being that dating is so expensive, I figure that instead of dropping a hundred bucks on dinner, we could encourage people to get to know one another over coffee.”
Molly ignores my genius and asks, “What’s the name of Gillian’s shop?”
Stumbling to make up a name on the fly, I tell her, “P… P … Perky Cups.”
“Are you serious?” The look she gives me is enough to wither a cactus. “That sounds like the name of a store that specializes in bras for grandmothers.”
She’s not wrong, but I can’t change the name now. Plodding forth, I say, “So, now that you know why I’m here, will you please do me a favor and not tell anyone?”
“You realize you’re throwing off the numbers by not being interested in meeting someone for yourself,” she says. “There are thirty women and thirty men for a reason.” When I don’t respond soon enough, she adds, “That’s potentially thirty couples, Blake.”
She and Olivia are clearly of like mind. “Maybe so, but at least I’m not purposely trying to mislead anyone.”
“That’s a lie,” she hisses. “Every woman you talk to thinks there’s a chance for her. You’re taking time away from her potentially meeting the one.”
I absolutely see her point but what are the chances of thirty couples pairing off by the end of this thing? Not high at all, if you ask me. “I’m not letting it go anywhere, though,” I maintain.
Molly suddenly stands up in a huff. She sways slightly on her feet, probably due to the excessive blood loss, and then declares, “I will not promise to help you lie to these women, Blake. I think it’s unethical, and borderline cruel.”
I take a step toward her. “Please, Molly. I’m not hurting anyone, and I really need my job. I moved all the way from LA for it.” At least I’m back to telling some version of the truth.
The look on her face makes me think I might have convinced her, but I don’t want to push too hard. “Please …”
Flinging both her hands in front of her like she’s shooing away a swarm of flies, she says, “Just stay away from me, okay?” I step aside as she teeters toward the door—she really isn’t stable on her feet.
It’s clear that if I decided to come clean and tell Molly the whole truth, she’d most likely be so mad that she’d tell Trina. Then my whole mission would be compromised, along with my employment status.
After leaving the room, Molly slams the door with enough force to cause a picture on the wall to tilt. Ignoring the food that’s still sitting on the table, I pick up my laptop and find a place to sit and work.
If the future of humanity hinges on the success of matchmaking events, I fear for our species. People, I implore you to introduce your single friends to each other. Moms and dads, get moving! Surely you know someone whose child needs a mate.
In addition to old-fashioned intervention, we desperately need to allow courtship back into the workplace. While I understand sexual harassment has been a big problem in the past, we’re not currently living in theMad Mengeneration. People should be allowed to flirt at the office. Co-workers should be free to co-mingle. If we continue to impede people’s access to organic coupling, then our civilization could be in real jeopardy!
I know I sound dramatic, but other than Olivia and Ronald, I have not seen one successful match that has been made, and it’s too soon to say whether theirs stands a snowman’s chance in Bermuda of making it.
Releasing a giant sigh, I close my laptop and try to figure out how I’m going to spend my day. There’s a group going cross-country skiing, and another snowmobiling, but I’m not in themood to put on a happy face and pretend.
Turning on the television, I search for one of those movies Molly was talking about on Netflix, when out of nowhere I suddenly get inspired. What if I put my time to good use? I’ve met nearly every person here, so why not play matchmaker myself and introduce people I think would be a good fit. It’s not like I’d be anything like Trina. In fact, I’d be the anti-Trina. I’m not profiting from getting people together. I’m helping them the old-fashioned way—friend to friend.
With a renewed interest in the day, I put on my coat and head out the door. My first stop is the breakfast buffet that has been set up for our group. After the first night, there’s been one shared meal a day along with a group activity and a morning coffee or evening mixer, depending on which meal we have. For instance, if the meal is breakfast, then it’s an evening cocktail mixer.
On my way to the elevator, I run into the mom of the family that I keep seeing. “How’s Ben?” I ask her.
She looks tired, so I’m not surprised when she says, “He had a long night.”
