Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(2)
“Malevolent spirits or blood and guts?”
He grimaces, struggling under the weight of his choices. “Can I say both? Is that creepy?”
“It is borderline morbid. But I’m okay with it.” More than okay with it.
“I’m Nate.” His introduction is followed by an enchanting Disney prince–like smile.
“I’m Tara.” Our gazes lock again, kicking my heart into overdrive. It’s hammering fast and furious. Either I’m going into cardiac arrest, or I’m having a meet-cute with the blueprint of square-jawed perfection. It’s hard to say.
If I weren’t wearing my most unflattering, shapeless nursing scrubs, I’d probably twirl around the subway aisle, arms outstretched, like a blissful middle-aged person in an allergy medication commercial who’s finally experiencing life’s joy without watery eyes and nasal congestion.
In the span of ten minutes, I’ve learned all there is to know about Nate. He’s twenty-five (five years my junior, but I’m willing to embrace the Cougar Life), works at an investment firm, owns his very own condo, would choose mustard over ketchup if stranded on a remote island, and is secure enough in his manhood to admit his fondness for Taylor Swift’s latest album. Creatures like him are a romance reader’s wet dream. The man just oozes soul mate potential, and I’m eagerly absorbing it like a ShamWow.
In fact, peak soul mate status is reached when he waves enthusiastically at a cherub-faced toddler waddling up and down the aisle. Hello, dad material.
Cue the violins. I’ve just fallen in insta-love.
If this were a romance book, the clouds would part as we exit the subway at any given stop, lockstep, hand in hand. We’d spend the cool October day doing the usual things soul mates do: ignoring all responsibilities, discovering random dives around the city, drinking liquor wrapped in a brown paper bag, and revealing all our emotional baggage as the sun sets. At the end of the night, he’d fold me into a passionate embrace under the starry sky and bless me with a foot-popping kiss, preferably with a little tongue.
Turns out, this is no romance book. I don’t even have the chance to name our golden retriever and four unborn children. In the nonfiction life of Tara Li Chen, the following events unfold in chronological order:
1) The subway comes to an abrupt halt. Hordes of people funnel to the exit.
2) A new group of commuters push and shove their way in. A lanky dude wearing a May the Gains Be with You T-shirt over a full Lycra getup beelines it for the only remaining seat, to the quiet dismay of a very pregnant woman.
3) By the time the crowd settles, Soulmate Nate is no longer next to me. In fact, he’s vanished entirely.
4) And so has my purse.
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE DEATH OF THE MEET-CUTE
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT
[Tara appears on-screen at an upward chin angle, seemingly out of breath, hair slicked back in an unflattering founding fathers’ ponytail. She power walks down a bustling city sidewalk in a seedy neighborhood.]
TARA: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel, where I talk all things romance. First, I’d like to apologize for my hiatus the past few days. I’ve been super busy with work and packing for my move, which happens to be today. Yay!
Since I’ll be spending the better part of my day schlepping boxes, this episode is going to be super brief. I want to talk about meet-cutes.
You all know I’m a sucker for a good meet-cute. I mean, they’re a beloved staple in romance. The best ones involve the spilling of a scalding-hot beverage, or a near-death experience. Sometimes it even verges into meet-ugly territory, where they dawdle in mutual loathing and delightfully petty prejudice for half the book. That is . . . until they discover each other’s emotional sides and fall head over heels in love.
[Tara waits impatiently at an intersection and stares into the camera of her brand-new phone, brow cocked.]
Thanks to the internet—don’t even get me started on online dating—real-life meet-cutes are DEAD and I’m in mourning. In today’s harsh world, any stranger, no matter how beautiful, who makes eye contact for longer than a few consecutive seconds most definitely has nefarious intentions and will mug you in broad daylight. I speak from experience.
Is all hope lost once you hit thirty? I’m beginning to think so. If anyone would like to prove me wrong with some adorable, real-life meet-cute stories, I’m all ears.
COMMENTS:
I met my husband online. We’ve been happily married for ten years. Meet-cutes are overrated.
Tara, I completely agree with you. I’m waiting for my in-person meet-cute too. Preferably in between rows of dusty mahogany shelves in a public library.
* * *
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EVERYTHING IS FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE.
I mentally repeat that phrase as I haul myself up the stairwell to my new apartment. To my new life.
It’s fine that I got mugged. It’s fine that I’ll need to cancel all my credit cards. It’s fine that I had to buy a new phone. It’s fine that I’m moving into a new apartment, sight unseen. It’s fine that it boasts a chronically broken elevator, even though I’m a staunch proponent of a sedentary lifestyle. IT’S ALL FINE.