Can't Always Get What You Want (2 page)

Samira greets me at the door, smiling. She has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen, dark skin, and expressive brown eyes framed by black, chunky glasses.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming over at all. You’re late for our date with Don Draper,” she says.

“And miss the glamour of 1960s advertising? Never.”

I toss my purse and coat onto a kitchen chair. “Has your mom sent over any more butter chicken?”

I start digging through her fridge before she has a chance to answer. And I find what I’m looking for. Cracking open the plastic container, I smell the contents of delicious chicken in a curry and tomato gravy.

“If I had one last meal to eat before I died, this would be it,” I say, putting a hand to my forehead and fluttering my eyelashes. “Do you think your mom will ever share her recipe with me?”

“Are you kidding? She won’t even tell me.”

—

Two hours later, we’ve finished two episodes of
Mad Men,
one container of delicious butter chicken, and half a pizza.

“I can’t believe you chose Pizza 73 over your mother’s cooking.”

Samira laughs, and gets up to refill our drinks.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Samira mumbles through a mouthful of pizza, “I can’t make it to the Jagger Bombs concert.”

“What?” I shout back.

The Jagger Bombs are a Rolling Stones tribute band. And I
love
the Rolling Stones. I’ve been talking about this for months.

“I was really looking forward to this. What happened?”

“Narayan is taking me out tomorrow night. I think he’s going to propose.”

“Really? What makes you think that?”

“When his grandma was visiting last week, he asked me to meet her.”

Wow. I’m not even dating Narayan, and even I know how important his grandma’s opinion is to his family.

“So, what do I do with my extra ticket?” I ask.

“Well, I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“That you should go with Brett.”

“Brett who?”

“Oh, come on! You know Brett! He’s Narayan’s business partner.”

“No, I don’t know Brett. I’ve
heard
about Brett. Big difference.”

“Well, maybe you could ask him to go with you. Narayan and I can vouch for him! He’s single, cute, and apparently he likes the Rolling Stones too,” she says, nudging my ribs.

“Then wouldn’t it be like a date? With someone I’ve never met?”

“Yes! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

I roll my eyes. “So fun. What are my other options?”

“Well, either you go alone, or you ask Joel to go with you.”

I shudder at the thought. Joel is the last guy I dated. He was funny, charming, and good-looking. He took me to expensive restaurants, a lot of movies, and seemed to fit in well with my friends.

I thought he might be long-term boyfriend material until he decided to show me his house. It looked normal enough at first, until he showed me his bedroom.

I have never seen so much pink in one space.

Pink walls. Pink carpets. Pink curtains. And full of Barbie dolls. Every Barbie imaginable, from floor to ceiling. His bed had Barbie sheets, pillows, and comforters. The Barbie mansion was prominently displayed in one corner of the room, with dolls strewn haphazardly around its perimeter.

“Whoopsie!” he said, laughing. “I’ve been a bad boy, and didn’t pick up my toys.” He turned to me and asked seductively, “Want to play?”

I made up an excuse about working early the next day and needing to go. I think I broke several traffic laws on the drive home.

“No to Joel,” I say sternly. I reflect for a moment. “I suppose going on my own would be kind of pathetic?”

Samira nods. “Not to mention wasteful, since you have a perfectly good ticket that someone should use.”

“What if I brought Alex?”

Alex is my aunt, and is perhaps the coolest person on the planet. She’s a mechanic and drives a black muscle car.
And
, she loves classic rock.

She would be the perfect replacement date.

“Alex probably would enjoy the concert,” Samira admits. “But you should consider taking someone new. Besides your family and me, who do you hang out with?”

“I don’t want to meet anyone new,” I say.

Samira’s smile droops.

“I know,” she says quietly. “But you’re going to have to get back out there sometime. It’s been five years.”

She needn’t have reminded me.

I remember every day.

“I have tried dating. I put myself out there, and what do I find? Guys like Joel.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pressure you. Just looking at options.”

She smiles, but I can tell she’s disappointed. I tip my head back and look skyward.

“Fine,” I relent. “If you vouch for Brett, then I’m sure he’s a good guy.”

Samira’s smile couldn’t be any brighter. Damn perfect teeth. If I didn’t love my best friend so much, I’d resent her for being so beautiful.

“So that’s a yes? You’ll ask him to go to the concert?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’ll really like him.”

“Do you have any pictures of him? I mean, since he and Narayan are business partners and all?”

“Hmm…” she says, flipping through her iPhone. “Nope, can’t find any.”

“Well, what about Facebook? Maybe he’ll have some pictures on there.”

We manage to find a Facebook page for Narett Construction, but the only photos are either company logos or a large group shot from which Brett is conveniently missing.

“Are you sure Brett even exists?”

“No, no, he’s real,” Samira says.

She scrolls through her phone’s contact list.

“Here’s his number. Why don’t you give him a call, and see if he’s interested?”

I smirk. “In me or the concert?”

“Both?”

“Okay, give me his number.”

Samira and I jump onto the couch and sit with our legs tucked under us. Clutching pillows to our chests, she watches as I hesitantly dial his cell number. I feel like we’re prank-calling someone.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited. It’s not every day that you ask someone you haven’t met before on a date.

He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” a deep masculine voice says.

“Erm, hello. Is this Brett? Brett Nicholson?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Sophie. I’m friends with Samira and Narayan.”

He pauses for a moment.

“Sure, I think I’ve heard Samira mention you.”

“Yeah, we’ve been best friends for forever.”

Awkward pause.

“Anyway, this might sound weird since you don’t know me, but are you free tomorrow night?”

I hear a surprised chuckle.

“Okay…” he says.

“I have an extra ticket to see the Jagger Bombs. They’re a Rolling Stones tribute band playing at Hawrelak Park. Sam was
supposed
to go with me, but she’s ditching me for Narayan.” I laugh, shooting Sam a mock dirty look.

She’s clutching a pillow to her chest and looking at me with a face-splitting grin. You’d think we were still thirteen, talking to our first boy on the phone.

“The Jagger Bombs?” he asks, sounding amused.

“Yes. The Jagger Bombs. Their music is fantastic, and Sam suggested I take you. She said you’re a Rolling Stones fan?”

“Who isn’t?” he replies.

“Exactly!” I laugh. “So, the concert is tomorrow night at seven. Would you like to go with me?”

“Umm, sure. Sophie, right?”

I laugh. This is so weird.

“You got it.”

We agree on a meeting place and describe what we look like. I tell him that I’m about five-two, have light blond hair, and will be wearing a mint green dress. He describes himself as being tall, with dark, sandy blond hair, and will wear a white shirt and ball cap. And that’s that. I have officially arranged my own blind date.

I turn off my phone, and notice Samira gaping at me.

“I can’t believe he actually agreed to it,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“Brett hates meeting new people, almost as much as you do. It’s
so
out of character for him. He must’ve liked the way you sounded over the phone,” she says.

“Yeah, because I have such a sexy voice,” I say, making my voice husky.

“I think you’ll like him, Sophie,” Samira says, while turning
Mad Men
back on.

Ha. Fat chance.

I’m so over men.

Chapter 2

It’s Only Rock ’n’ Roll (but I Like It)

It’s about a twenty-minute drive from Samira’s house to mine. We both live on the south side of Edmonton. She’s in a newer area, while I live in an older, (ahem) more mature area.

I love my little house, an old bungalow that I bought last year.

It used to have olive green shag carpet.

Everywhere.

It was even in the main-floor bathroom.

Between that, the faux wood paneling, and the purple bathtub and toilet, I felt like I was walking through a reject set of
That ’70s Show
. But the horrible interior worked to my advantage: nobody else wanted it.

Aside from the strange color choices and even stranger bathroom flooring, the house was well built and could be modernized quite easily. I put an offer in that day, and it was mine.

Opening the door to my house, I can’t help but admire what a transformation it has gone through. The past year has been a complete whirlwind. Between working all the time (sometimes double shifts to cover staff shortages) and renovating my house (often myself to save on costs), I haven’t had much time to do anything other than get through the day.

I stand alone in my house, lean against the front door, and survey the work that I should feel so proud of.

But I just feel empty.

And tired.

And lonely.

Like it’s all been a big waste of time.

—

It’s a gorgeous afternoon in June. Before I leave, I do a quick check of my outfit in the mirror by the front door. My long blond hair is up in a ballerina-type bun. I’m wearing a new, knee-length, mint green dress that is fitted at the waist and gently flares out.

I grab my purse and check that I’ve got everything.

Tickets? Check.

Wallet? Check.

Keys? Check.

Sanity? Hmm…

Oh God, what am I thinking? I hate meeting new people. I should just go to the concert by myself.

“Stop it,” I say aloud. “It’ll be fine.”

I find a spot to park by the zoo and follow the dusty river valley trail to Hawrelak Park. People are streaming toward the amphitheater, hoping to get good seats. Scents of the street vendors’ salty popcorn and sizzling hot dogs fill the air.

I walk toward the boathouse, where Brett and I arranged to meet. I’m ten minutes early. I crane my neck to see if he’s already there, but there are about thirty other people standing around the vicinity.

As I approach the boathouse, my cellphone buzzes.

It’s a text from Samira.

Have u met Brett yet?

I hit a quick reply:

Nope. Almost at our meeting place. How’s your night going? Anything sparkly on your finger yet?

Not yet. But there might be soon. We’re on our way to the Hotel MacDonald. We’re having supper, and he’s rented a room for the night.

Wow. The Fairmont Hotel MacDonald is one of the fanciest places in Edmonton. Famous people like Celine Dion and the Rolling Stones stay there.

You lucky duck. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t pop the question. At the very least, you’ll get a nice meal and a night of rambunctious sex. Keep in touch! And good luck!

You too, sweets : )

A few seconds later…

Rambunctious sex?

Giggling to myself, I return my phone to my bag and recall my previous (and only) conversation with Brett. Brett described himself as tall and blond and said he’d be wearing a white shirt and ball cap. Samira told me that he’s twenty-eight years old, and really cute.

Scanning the crowd around the boathouse, I notice that there are about ten other guys with light brown or dark blond hair wearing white shirts. And ball caps.

And most of the young women are wearing some shade of mint green.

Awesome.

I mentally kick myself for wearing something trendy. Maybe I should’ve come wearing a purple, faux fur coat? Or a gorilla costume? He’d have noticed that in a crowd.

I stand on the side of the boathouse with the best view of the amphitheater. I watch the band’s instruments and equipment being loaded onto the stage when I notice someone approach my right-hand side and lean against the wall.

He’s tall, young, blond, and wearing a white shirt and ball cap.

Here goes nothing.

“Hi there,” I say, smiling.

“Hello,” he replies.

“You must be Brett?”

“Umm, no…” he says, looking puzzled. He flashes a flirtatious grin.

“Blind date?”

“Yep.”

—

Twenty minutes pass, and my new “friend” is still trying to talk to me. I probably shouldn’t move away, because the crowd is starting to disperse and there are fewer people for Brett and me to narrow our choices down to.

On the other hand, I’m afraid that Brett will miss me, thinking that I’m some other girl out with her “boyfriend.” That, and I’m wondering how many good seats are left.

Damn.

Another ten minutes pass.

“Listen,” my new tagalong says, “looks like this guy isn’t coming. You should sit with me.”

I take a good look at him. Mystery man is pretty cute.

“I’m a nice guy,” he says. “And besides, it’d be better than sitting on your own.”

I bite my lip.

“Thanks for the offer, but I probably shouldn’t. He could be running late.”

“Can I have your phone number then? And give you mine? That way, you can call me if this clown doesn’t show.”

My stomach does a nervous flip. I haven’t given my phone number out in years. I’m not sure that I want to. But, I’d rather not be here alone.

“Okay.”

I wait for him to take out his cellphone.

“Umm, do you want to add me to your contacts list, then?”

He digs an ancient-looking phone out from his back pocket.