Bouquet Toss (4 page)

“Oh, that’s perfect.  Then, I can attract a bunch of drunks!” The sarcasm drips from my voice.
             

“I think you’re being a bit overdramatic, Cuz,” she laughs, paging through my new copy of Us Weekly, “I also think that if you put a little more effort into this, you might meet someone really cool.  Besides, you need something to take your mind off of you-know-who.”  She’s referring to Mayson.  It’s been three weeks since Elise’s wedding and he still hasn’t called.  I am stewing in a very big way and Morgan knows it. 

“I know you’re just trying to help me.  But, it’s hard for me to put myself out there like that, on a computer screen no less.  You know I’m not very internet savvy.  Not like you.  You’re the Facebook queen of our generation,” I tease. 

Morgan doesn’t have to find dates online.  She has been seeing the same guy for a while and they are quite serious.  His name is Matt and he seems to be perfect for my cousin.  He has a sharp sense of humor and is laid-back and fun; the kind of guy who gets along with everyone he meets.  I’ve seen Morgan go through many boyfriends and Matt is, by far, my favorite.  He’s kind of a workaholic, however, so it gives Morgan lots of time to spend with me, which I’m grateful for.

Morgan lives in the building next door on our little suburban street.  It’s nice having a friend so close by, especially one who’s known me for my entire life.   But, it also means that she can come over and hound me about my love life by making me update my silly dating profiles.  I secretly love her for giving me the extra push I need.   Without her, I probably would have avoided the whole thing.

“How about I page through my magazine, and you update my profile for me?  How does that sound?” I ask, almost begging.

“But, then it won’t be authentic.  Besides, I want to read all the celebrity dirt.”

“Hey, why don’t we go for a walk and talk about this some more.”  I suggest, trying desperately to distract her.  Standing up, I head straight for my keys.
             

“Not so fast, little missy.  We have a job to do first.  Now, scoot over.  If you won’t finish this, I will.”

About an hour later, Morgan has created a beautiful profile for me.  Although I feel she was a bit too complimentary of my looks and personality, I secretly love how she presents me to available men.  Maybe, just maybe, I will meet someone of substance; someone who will evict Mayson from my brain.  After all these years, I never expected that he’d let me down again.  But, maybe that is the problem.  Maybe I should have expected it.

The following evening, I check the dating site to see if any guys have found my page interesting.  Logging into my welcome page, I see that four guys have sent messages.

“Not bad,” I say to myself with a grin, my confidence emerging.

As I sift through the emails from my potential suitors, I hear a “ding” from the website.  Someone is trying to talk to me. 

Cowboy85:  Hey sexy.

Daphne307:  Um…hello.

Cowboy85:  I love your picture.  Can’t stop thinking about it.  And lucky me, you logged on.

Daphne307:  Well, thank you.  What is your name?

Cowboy85:  We’ll get to that….

Daphne307:  uh….ok.

(Right about now is when I should have blocked his ass)

Cowboy85:  So, tell me, Miss Daphne.  Do you like to take baths?

Daphne307:  Where are you going with this, pal?

Cowboy85:  Right now, I’m wondering if you’d like to take a bath with me.

Daphne307:  That is a little forward, don’t you think?  Especially since I don’t even know your name?

Cowboy85:  Oh, you have no idea.

Daphne307:  Dude, you’re a little odd.  Is this how you approach all of the women you are interested in?

Cowboy85:  Sometimes.  But, I’m really drawn to you.  I’d like to bathe you in the finest strawberry jell-o….

What?!?  Without wasting another second of my time, I quickly “x” out the conversation box and block the Jell-O Cowboy from my account.  Blech!   If this is online dating, I’m not so sure it’s for me!  My first conversation over the internet and it leads to bathing in gelatin products.  This is going to be an agonizing process.

Uncomfortable laughter sweeps through me as I reach for the phone to call Morgan.  Just before picking up the receiver, however, it rings.  Hesitant to lift the phone from its cradle, I wonder if Morgan added my phone number to my profile.  It’d better not be the Cowboy! 

“Um, hello?” I answer, holding my breath and hoping for someone I know on the other end of the line.   Then, an all-too-familiar voice speaks in a velvety tone.  My pulse quickens and my lungs tighten within my chest.

“Daphne, hi, it’s me. It’s Mayson.”

“Mayson, um… hi, how are you?” The words stumble clumsily out of my mouth.  I never quite know what to say to this man.

“It’s so good to hear your voice, Daphne.”  Something deep inside of me begins to tighten.  I’d missed that voice more than I’d allowed myself to admit these past few weeks. 

“It’s been a while,” I respond.  “How is
Denver
?”

“Actually, I’m in
Champaign
, on campus.  Remember that project I told you about?” My heart skips a beat.  He is less than two hours away. 

“Yes, of course.  That’s very e-exciting.” I stammer.  What is he doing to me?

“Well, I was thinking that maybe we could get together.  You’re on summer break from teaching, right?  My week is pretty slow.  It’d be great to see you.”

“What did you have in mind, Mayson?”  My mind is racing.

“Well,” he pauses.  I try my best to slow my breathing as I wait for his reply, “I was thinking I could come and see your place.  Take you to dinner?”

His voice almost sounds hopeful.  Was Mayson actually nervous?  We make plans for the following evening and a wave of excitement shoots through me.  In less than twenty four hours, Mayson will be with me.  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m ecstatic.

Senior Year (fall semester)

I stumble into my apartment, throwing my keys on the floor, and walk with a determined drunken march to my bedroom.  My computer is already on and I am no longer nervous.  I am no longer afraid.  I’ve had five beers tonight and they will help me to connect with him.  I can only hope he’ll be online.

Logging in to the University IM system is difficult since it takes me a while to type my password correctly.  But, eventually it works and I see he’s online. 

“Let’s do this,” I say to myself, typing my instant message to the boy whom I miss so very much.  It will be our first contact in months, ever since he told me he’d be studying in
Paris
for the semester.

DaffyGirl: Hey.  What time is it in
France
?

Mayser: Hey, Stranger.  It’s 7:30 am.  I’m getting ready for class.  You’re up late.

DaffyGirl:  I know.  We just got back from the bar.

Mayser:  Ah, I see.  And you thought of me?

DaffyGirl: Of course.  Was there any doubt?

Mayser:  Not really ;)

DaffyGirl:  Are you loving
Paris
?

Mayser:  It’s incredible, Daph.  I’m amazed on a daily basis. I feel really lucky to be here.

DaffyGirl:  I’m so happy for you. (Although, secretly I hate
Paris
)

Mayser:  LOL.    We went to an Irish Pub last night...in
Paris
.  It was too funny.  You would have loved it.  I thought of you, actually.  You would have fit in really well...your red hair, your freckles, drinking Guinness like an Irishman.

DaffyGirl:  So, you thought of me, huh?

Mayser: I do from time to time...yes.  And last night was one of those times.

DaffyGirl:  Because I have red hair and I get drunk?

Mayser:  Other reasons, too.  I’ve been meaning to email you.  Sorry about that.  I’ve literally been in class for 10 hours per day, plus I spend additional time in the studio.  I hardly ever see Daniela or any of the other people in the program outside of class.

DaffyGirl: So, you’ve been meaning to get in touch.

Mayser:  Yeah...I’ve decided to stay through next semester. I’ll be here for the entire school year.

Tears spring from my eyes as I read those words.  Perhaps, I might never see him again.  After all, this was our senior year.  He’ll go back to
Charleston
, and I’ll move back home to the
Chicago
suburbs and that’ll be it.   It will be over.  Somehow, I manage to type as my tears drip slowly onto my keyboard.

DaffyGirl:  Wow, that’s incredible.

Mayser:  Yeah, I’m stoked.  An entire school year in
France
—it’s a dream come true for me.

DaffyGirl: So will you graduate with the class?

Mayser:  Not sure yet.  I may not be able to participate in convocation, but it’s a small price to pay for this experience.  I’ll receive my degree regardless.  I just might miss out on the pomp and circumstance.

DaffyGirl:  True. 

Mayser: Hey, are you ok?

DaffyGirl:  Yep.

Mayser:  Listen, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I don’t want to be late for class.  My professors here are incredibly strict regarding tardiness.  Take care, ok?

DaffyGirl:  Sure, of course.  Goodbye, Mayson.

When will this boy stop making me cry?  When will contact with him stop hurting so much?  When am I going to learn that we are simply not meant to be?  Still incredibly drunk from this evening’s activities, I curl up in my bed and drift off into a drunken sleep.

Dinner (Present Day)

“You look beautiful, stunning as ever.”  Mayson’s tone is sexy and confident; not at all like the voice that I heard over the phone.  But, then again, I have acquiesced.  He is here now, sitting at a table of a local Italian restaurant with me, and I’m blushing like crazy, my cheeks burning with anticipation and curiosity.  I feel like he’s reading my mind, knowing how excited I am to be near him again.

“Thanks,” I mutter, twirling my finger nervously in my hair.

“Why are you doing that?” Mayson smirks.

“What do you mean?” I’m puzzled.  What
am
I doing?

“You’re twirling your hair.  I only remember you doing that before big exams or when you had a paper due.  Are you nervous to be here with me, Daphne?” he’s flirting with me, so confident.  I want to punch him right in his smug face for being so damned arrogant.

“What kind of a question is that, Mayson?  Of course I am.  I haven’t seen you in five years and suddenly you’re back in my life.  I’m trying to figure out what you’re doing here.” I answer honestly, pausing before shrugging my shoulders.  I’ve never been one to dance around an issue.  It always feels better to work things out and move on because I need to know where I stand.  But, it hasn’t really given me much luck in the men department, especially with Mayson.  Many times, I’ve felt that I’ve scared men away by being too direct.  But Mayson, surprisingly, doesn’t seem to shy away from my direct nature as he did in the past.

“Well, just relax.  I’m really fortunate to be here with you.  I just wanted to reconnect.” Mayson takes a deep breath and continues, “I’ve missed you.  That smile of yours has haunted me for years.  Maybe you can unwind a bit and let me see it?” he grins, taking a sip of wine.

“Okay.” I smile reluctantly.  “So, I’ve haunted you, huh?  Those are some big words to say after all this time, Mayson.” I flirt, regaining my confidence.  He knows exactly what I’m doing.  Narrowing his eyes, he refills my wine glass with just enough wine to calm my nerves.

“Well, I don’t want to start the evening with a lie.” He says, leaning in close.  His fingers lightly caress mine as they lay on the table in front of me.  My first instinct is to pull away, but I can’t do it.  My hand feels as if it is glued to the table.  I gently respond to his touch by moving my fingers back and forth under his.

Two hours later, the check is paid and the wine bottle is empty.  Mayson calls a cab to take us back to my place.  We sit close together in the car, his hands lightly caressing the small of my back as I stare out the window, my head on his shoulder.  My brain is so fuzzy from the wine and my heart is trying desperately to understand what’s happening.  Longing for him to touch me further and terrified of what might (or might not) happen.  My mind is conflicted; so turned on and yet so afraid of the morning light.