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“Here’re your drinks,” the waitress said, sweeping between them and setting two glasses of beer on the table.
“Is that…” She didn’t know where to begin to question what he was saying, because all of it was ridiculous. “Is that what you really think?”
Her date took a long drink from his beer, leaving a little mustache of foam on his top lip. “I’m an old-fashioned guy.”
Marsie sipped from her own drink. Too much alcohol would only loosen her sense of propriety, and she hadn’t gotten this far in her career by letting her emotions get the better of her. Professors had waited, biting their nails, all through her grad school career, for any excuse to say she was too emotional to apply the logic and rationality needed for economics.
Too bright for the dismal science.
Those professors had never acknowledged that fear was an emotion, too.
Another bitter sip of beer down her throat and Marsie was ready for more conversation. “Tell me, what does it mean when you say you’re an ‘an old-fashioned guy’?”
Apparently, “old-fashioned” meant he would open his arms out wide and knock over his empty beer glass. He righted the glass without pausing a beat, then launched into a long explanation about men’s roles in the world and women’s roles in the world and how women wanted a man who would do all the planning and thinking for the household, while they took care of the “love.”
Marsie smiled up at the waitress as she set the food on the table and her date ordered another beer. Everett wasn’t the man for her, but she was hungry, so she might as well get dinner out of the date.
Food on the table, Marsie unwrapped her flatware and placed the napkin on her lap. Then she turned to her date. “And what about a woman like me?”
“A woman like you?” Everett asked, reaching for a chicken strip.
Marsie scooped some filling into a piece of lettuce and popped her food in her mouth. “If you remember from my profile, I have a PhD. I run large research projects for a living. Your education was one of the things that attracted me to your profile. And I assume you to mine.”
He appeared to give what she said serious thought while he finished chewing. Then he shrugged. “A woman like you is also not married, and you want to be. Independence isn’t really what you want. And your strategy hasn’t been working for you so far.”
Clearly. She picked up her napkin and wiped off her hands, then set the napkin on the table. Tonight, she would have to review where in her algorithm she could have caught “self-important asshole” and saved herself from this date. She wasn’t hungry enough for lettuce wraps to listen to a man telling her that she didn’t want independence.
And she was independent enough not to need to be here any longer. “I’ll be right back.” She didn’t wait for him to ask questions, but scooted back from the table and headed for the bathroom, purse in hand. On her way, she stopped at the bar and paid their tab.
Everett was almost finished with his second beer when she returned. Hers was half drunk. She had only a couple bites of her lettuce wraps. His chicken strips were gone. He looked up as she stood over the table.
“Everett, I won’t lie and say that I had a nice time, but I had an educational time and that’s important, too.”
“What?” He wiped mustard sauce off his lips. “Aren’t you going to finish your beer? Bad manners not to finish a beer someone else is paying for.”
“Well, then, we’re both lucky that you finished your beers, because I’ve already paid the tab. You’re welcome to finish both my beer and my lettuce wraps. I’ve some nice frozen dinners at home. I think I’ll eat those.”
Everett’s faced screwed up, reminding Marsie of a baby about to cry. “You’ll never get a man with that attitude.”
“You might be right,” she agreed. “And I’m okay with that. Have a nice evening.”
Marsie walked out of that date with a smile on her face. Not only had she learned something, but she also had a good story to tell Jason the next time they grabbed coffee.
CHAPTER SIX
MARSIE WAS WAITING for Beck at the mall entrance to Nordstrom, purse in hand and credit card ready to be blown. “Shopping, huh,” her friend said as she approached. “We’re not usually shopping buddies.”
