Page 4 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“What are you late for this time?” my younger brother, Jimmy, asks.

“Coffee. How’s it going?”

“Better than it is for you. I’m working through my jobs for the wedding.” Jimmy is marrying his childhood friend, and girlfriend of the last few years, Beth Peterson, next month. Our older brother, Chuck, and I are sharing the honor of being his best man.

“That doesn’t sound fun.” I regret it as soon as the words are out of my mouth, because Jimmy is so in love, I know he’ll give me an overly enthusiastic lecture about how good it feels to be engaged to the love of his life. I, on the other hand, would rather drink tar than ever get married again, so I cut him off at the pass. “And don’t tell me about how great it is to marry Beth. I’m happy for you, but I’m on my way to meet Tal, so what do you need?”

“It is great,” he says with an audible shit-eating grin.

“Jim,” I warn.

He laughs. “Did you get your tux?”

“Did I say I would?”

“Yes, but you’re also late for meeting Talia for probably the tenth time this month.”

“I got it.”

“Great. Beth wants to know if you have a plus-one yet.”

“Why would she even ask that? She knows I have no interest in dating.” My family has been annoying the hell out of me lately, telling me it’s been long enough since my divorce and I need to get back out there. My mother has even started texting me pictures of her friends’ daughters, asking if I’ll accompany them to one event or another. The other day she texted a picture of a barista and said she could pass along my number, like she’s some kind of wingwoman.

“Because she loves you, dude. You know your dick will fall off if you don’t satisfy it with something other than your hand every now and then.”

“Just because I don’t date doesn’t mean I’m celibate.” Though it has been several months since I’ve entertained a woman.

“I’m only giving you shit. We love you, man. It’s not about sex. It’s about connection. We’d like to see you let a woman into your life as more than a friend. Don’t you miss that?”

“No. Why don’t you bother Chuck with this nonsense?”

“Because he doesn’t give off a get-the-fuck-away-from-me vibe around women, like you do. He goes out with plenty of them. When’s the last time you planned a week away with anyone other than your dog?”

“Molly doesn’t annoy the shit out of me or bitch about everything I do.” Molly and I spend a week at my fishing cabin every August, and I enjoy our annual long weekend away at a dog retreat, where Molly gets to play with her own kind.

“Know what else she doesn’t do? Stroke your ego or that other body part you like to ignore.”

As I round the corner toward the food court, I see the bane of my existence, my student Cecilia Ulman. “Fuck.” I turn around, heading back the way I came as fast as I can. I’ll take the long way to the food court.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stalker.” There are always a couple of guys and girls in each class who get student/professor crushes and try to reel me in with excessive eye contact or unnecessary questions before or after class. But Cecilia is disturbingly relentless.

“Come on. She’s got a harmless crush. You’re used to that.”

“This one feels more like a fatal attraction. The other day I found a rose on my windshield with a note about having a drink with her, and before you ask, yes, I’ve told her that I don’t get involved with students.”

“Take it as a compliment.”

“I became a professor to educate and shape young minds, not to get compliments from women who are barely out of high school.” I glance over my shoulder and breathe easier when I see she’s not behind me. “What else is going on? Are you going to show up Sunday, or are you blowing us off again?” Jimmy lives in our hometown of Sunnyvale, and Chuck lives in Port Hudson. Both are neighboring towns to Harmony Pointe. They try to make it into town for a basketball game with me and my buddies once or twice a month on the weekends.

“Hey, if your wife came out of the bedroom in lingerie, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t blow us off just as fast.”

“If a woman calling herself my wife came out of my bedroom, getting laid would be the last thing on my mind.” I walk into the food court, and spot Talia sitting at our usual table by the windows. I head in that direction. “I’ve got to go. Try to show up tomorrow if you can.”

“Will do. Tell Talia I said hello.”

I end the call and pocket my phone as I approach Talia. Her wavy dark hair is tidily pulled back at the base of her neck, her makeup and attire are demure and professional, and her smile reaches her eyes, despite my tardiness.