The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series (13 page)

It reminded her of Summer’s kids. Luke and Nate were always interrupting Summer’s conversations to say, “Watch, Mom!” They’d ninja-jump off the couch, or spin around a dozen times, or do some fancy somersault, then turn to her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to cheer.
 

That
was cute. But Craig Densmore wasn’t a little boy. At one point when he looked at her after pantomiming poking a slow golfer with his club, she shook her head.
 

“Whatsa matter? My club making you nervous?” He wagged the golf club back and forth in front of his body and came towards her. It took a gargantuan effort for Delaney to stop herself from saying something about how pathetic he was.
 

By the time they reached the ninth hole, Delaney wished she could find somewhere to hide. She was more than grateful the building was dark so no one would recognize her. What about one of those fake moon rocks? Could she climb under it?
 

On another fabricated restroom break, Delaney texted the girls:
I need an exit strategy. ASAP
.
 

Summer:
Why?

Josie:
Not the kindergarten teacher! I had high hopes!

Delaney:
I was fine with the mini golf, until he started the endless club and balls jokes. Kill me now.
 

Summer:
Are you for real?

Delaney:
Is HE for real?
 

Josie:
His profile didn’t say anything about liking body humor. I swear. He’s probably nervous.

Summer:
Are his armpits sweating?
 

Delaney:
Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t get a good look at his freakin’ armpits, Summer. Geez.
 

Summer:
Just trying to get a sense for whether he’s nervous. Geez, yourself.

Josie:
This is what we’re talking about. You give up too easy. Get out of the bathroom, suck it up and finish the date
.
 

Summer:
What hole are you on?

Delaney:
I think he’s probably on 11 by now.

Josie:
You can make it through 2 more.
 

Delaney:
Josie, a golf course has 18 holes.

Josie:
Oh. Right. Well, you can make it through 7 more.

Josie:
Then just say you’re tired. He’ll get the hint. But I still think you give up too easy. If he wants a second date, he’s getting it.
 

Delaney:
Fine.
 

Summer:
Haha, she said fine!
 

Josie:
“Fine, you guys. Fine.”
 

Delaney:
Shut up. I’m calling an emergency meeting for tomorrow. My handy dandy schedule says you’re both free at 4. We’ll meet at Summer’s. That way you can go get the kids at 5. See you then.
 

In a huff, she shoved her phone into her purse, threw the stall door open and stalked out of the bathroom and back to Hole Twelve, where Craig, tongue poked out between his teeth, was pouring all his concentration into getting his ball around the tight corner and over the small bridge. Once he’d completed the hole successfully, he turned and looked at her as if he wanted her to cheer for him.

He really is cute, with those puppy dog eyes. Maybe he
is
just nervous. Maybe I
should
cut him some slack.
 

She tried to get a good look at his armpits but it was dark and he was wearing a sweater. While they waited for the group ahead of them to finish Hole Thirteen, Craig looked earnestly into her eyes.
 

“Look, Delaney. I’m really sorry. About all the potty humor and everything. I obviously spend way too much time with five- and six-year-olds. I’m just nervous. It’s been a while since I dated. Can we start over?”
 

Holes Thirteen through Eighteen went smoothly enough. Craig was subdued. A couple of times, she thought she saw him smirk, as if he’d thought of a really good joke but abstained from actually saying it. Although she was grateful for the respite, she found him pretty boring when he was this quiet.
Is there no happy medium?
 

Sure, dinner conversation had stayed above the belt, but it hadn’t given her much to think about. Despite having started over, she decided before they said goodnight that she wouldn’t be seeing any more of Craig Densmore.
 

She didn’t need a rubric to tell her that.

“Thank you all for coming. As you know, we’re gathered here today to create an emergency exit strategy for Yours Truly.”
 

Delaney and Josie stood in Summer’s bright, cluttered kitchen, where Summer chopped onions, tossing them into a Dutch oven on the stove and Josie leaned against the counter, scanning her copy of “101 Tips for the Best Interview Ever.”
 

“You don’t need an exit strategy,” Josie muttered. “You need a try-to-like-someone-normal-for-once strategy.”
 

“You weren’t
there
!” Delaney said, raising her voice. “Was she, Hannah?”

From her high chair, Summer’s one-year-old squealed and clapped her hands, then extended her arms to be lifted. Delaney took her out of the chair, wiped the smears of sweet potato off her face and hands, and kissed her cheek before settling her on one hip.

“I need to be able to make
some
of the decisions,” she said as she tossed Hannah high into the air, making her squeal.
 

“You can,” Summer said casually. She shrugged a shoulder and stirred the beans and meat she’d added to her Dutch oven. “You did. Don’t do that thing you do where you act like you don’t have a choice. That’s exactly how you’ve turned bartending into a permanent career. You made choices last night. Like what to order for dinner. What to say during conversation. When to go to the bathroom and text us like a crazy person.”
 

She ticked these off on her fingers. Hannah copied her.
 

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed that date, either,” Delaney said. She could hear the poutiness in her own voice.
 

Instead of responding, Summer asked, “How was dinner?”
 

“It was fine.” When Summer and Josie exchanged a look, Delaney switched gears. “Pleasant, even. I would say pleasant. We had a nice conversation. But the balls and club … it was too much. You would have thought so, too. Both of you.”
 

Josie shrugged. “Maybe.”
 

Delaney glared at her.

“Fine,” Josie said. “I would have thought so, too.” She marked her place and snapped the book closed. Then, still holding it against her body, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave Delaney the stink eye.

“But we wouldn’t have hightailed it out of there,” she said. She leaned against the counter again, her compact figure accentuated by a fitted black suit. “Look, Dee, I get it. He made weird jokes. Middle school jokes from the sound of it, and we all know how much you hated middle school.”
 

“We weren’t all gorgeous at fourteen like you were,” Delaney muttered. “I was zitty, thick around the middle, and I had a huge metal mouth. And I had to endure fat jokes, acne jokes and brace face jokes from the very same guys who made those balls and club jokes while they scampered after you offering to carry your backpack. All night I was waiting for Craig Densmore to ask me if I had my own postal code. Remember that joke? ‘You’re so fat you have your own postal code.’”
 

“I get it. I do. I mean, I was pretty good-looking in middle school, I’ll give you that.” Josie winked. “But you’re not in middle school now. This is the real world. Marriage is about loving someone despite, and sometimes even because of, their faults. Not that my marriage is perfect, but I get it.”
 

“
We
get it, Dee,” Summer chimed in. “Remember, Josie, we’re unified.”

Josie nodded, and Summer continued, “We do get it. But you’ve got to stick some of these things out, honey.” She put the lid on the Dutch oven and started emptying the dishwasher. Did the woman ever stop?

“Right,” Josie said. “
We
get it. Anyway. I have to get home to study for my interview. So let’s plan the exit strategy. But you have to get our permission to use it.”
 

“Do you hear this, Hannah? I have to get their permission to use an exit strategy, even if a juvenile kindergarten teacher is thrusting his mini golf club at me.”
 

“Do you hear this, Hannah?” Josie said in a sing-songy voice. “We have to beg our best friend of almost twenty years to find a guy who’s actually good for her.
Dios mío.
”
 

Hannah giggled.
 

“All right. Let’s do this,” Josie said. “But let me ask you something, Delaney. Did he give you a sob story? Was he super-depressed and needy?”
 

“No, he was perfectly normal.” She closed her eyes against the onslaught she knew was coming, then opened them when Josie yelled, “Ha!”
 

She jabbed a finger at Delaney, her expression triumphant.
 

“You just can’t handle not having a fixer-upper. That’s all there is to it. You can’t handle dating a normal guy. And you can’t give anybody half a chance. Unless he’s in ultimate peril. Near death, near suicide, or near insane.”
 

“I can! I swear! It’s just –”
 

“Now, now, girls,” Summer’s mommy voice cut through. “Let’s stay on task. I have to leave in twenty-five to pick up the kids.”
 

“Fine,” Delaney huffed.
 

Delaney set Hannah on the floor. She buzzed off to the living room, where banging sounds commenced.

“Exit strategy, huh?” Josie said. “If it’s really bad, just tell the guy you have a yeast infection and it’s really itchy. It’s bugging you and you need to get home.”
 

“Josefina. I can’t say that.”
 

“Why not?” Summer asked. She handed Delaney a stack of plates, which Delaney put away in the cupboard.

“That’s your only option,” Josie said.
 

“What?”
 

Hannah returned with a pretend vacuum and industriously vacuumed the kitchen floor.

“There’s your exit strategy,” Summer said, now loading dirty dishes. “If you want to end a date early, you have to tell him you have a yeast infection.”

“Itchy!” Hannah said.
 

“Oh. My. Gosh. You guys can’t be serious.”
 

To busy herself, Delaney started scrubbing pots and pans from the massive mountain of hand wash dishes in the sink.

Josie, still smug, looked at her watch. “I gotta go. Love you girls.”
 

She leaned down to kiss Hannah, whisper something sweetly in Spanish–which Delaney suspected was a diatribe about the exit strategy–and then she stalked out, her high heels sounding very important on the hardwood floor.
 

“Geez,” Delaney said.
 

“You’ve got to start sticking things out, Dee,” Summer said. “You can’t jump ship at the earliest opportunity.”
 

“Do I do that?”

“Oh, yeah. You do. Only on important stuff.”
 

“Give me an example.”

“Don’t make me do this.”
 

“Come on. An example,” Delaney said. Her arms were starting to burn from scrubbing so hard. “You’re throwing around some pretty hefty accusations about my character, here, Summer.”
 

Hannah pushed the vacuum up against Delaney’s toes, then dropped it. Her tiny hand skimmed the countertop until it landed on a rogue bean. She put it in her mouth, her face contorted and she spit it out.
 

“Your job hunt. Post-college. You applied to what? Four jobs?”

“Three,” Delaney corrected her, in a near-whisper. “Three. But they were three really good ones.”
 

“Were they?” Summer said.
 

When Delaney didn’t answer, she went on. “Here’s the thing. You didn’t even try for jobs you thought were great. You researched the heck out of them, yes. But you applied only for the select few that were mediocre: crap pay, crap location, crap job duties. Your job hunt lasted a mere two weeks before you threw in the towel. Then you took up residence at Rowdy’s and pulled on your permanent uniform of a black t-shirt and tight jeans. Which suits you,” she added as an aside. “But three jobs? That’s barely an effort. Sure, you went to vet school. But then what? It was just an extension – an expensive one – of your procrastination. Look. Sometimes you have to be willing to give things time. Even if they don’t seem perfect right away.”
 

“So you’re saying Mark–”
 

Summer held up a hand like Delaney had seen her do when one of the kids interrupted a lecture.
 

Why am I constantly undergoing the same treatment as Summer’s kids?
 

“I’m saying, when it comes to dating, every time you find a great catch, you fixate on the small stuff that makes him seem gross or unworthy somehow. On the other hand, you consider fixer-uppers ‘perfect.’ My guesses about the reason why aren’t important right now. But if you find a perfectly normal, reasonable guy, you won’t even give him the time of day.”
 

“But last night –”
 

The hand went up again.

“I hear you, sister. I live in a world of balls and club jokes. I have two boys in elementary school, remember? And their father loves revisiting that time in his life. But you said dinner was pleasant. You don’t
have
to see Craig the Kindergarten Teacher again. Although Josie and I agree you should give him another try. In general, you need to be willing to give people a chance. Not people on the edge of a mental cliff. Normal, happy people.”
 

Summer kissed her on the cheek, hoisted Hannah onto her hip. “Now get out of here. I have to go get the kids.”