You Are Not Alone(62)

SHAY


More than half of Americans believe in love at first sight, with younger people being more likely to hold this belief. Four in ten Americans say they have fallen in love at first sight. One survey found that almost three-quarters of Americans believe in “one true love.”

—Data Book, page 54



I WALK IN THE DOOR of Atlas at a few minutes after seven.

Ted had suggested we meet at the bar, so I scan the customers already in the tall, high-backed chairs. But no tall, slender guys are sitting alone.

I take a seat by the far end, so I can keep an eye on the front door. I put my coat and purse on top of the chair next to mine.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, wiping down the space in front of me.

“Just water for now. I’m meeting someone.”

He fills up a glass from the spigot and adds a wedge of lime to the rim, then puts it on a coaster in front of me. I smile and thank him and take a small sip.

I’m nervous. More than I expected. The last date I went on, a few months ago, was a setup. Mel’s husband wanted me to meet one of his old college buddies. I didn’t feel any chemistry, and it’s safe to say he didn’t either. We had a nice talk, but once we ran out of stories about Mel and her husband, our conversation ran dry. Neither of us reached out to the other after our date.

I realize I’m slumping a little and I sit up straight. I spent the day doing more research for Quartz—this time on the variety of “clean” beauty products currently for sale and the market share each claims—but at five sharp, I started getting ready. I changed into my new blue top and my favorite jeans. I spritzed on one of the perfume samples I got when I bought the lip gloss at the Sephora counter. I even added a little eyeliner and mascara. I worried I’d overdone it with the mascara—it kept smudging off just below my brows—so I swiped a little off with a tissue.

I glance at my watch: 7:07 P.M.

Ted and I have been messaging sporadically all week. After he asked me out, he told me he’d find a good place. We also exchanged phone numbers.

I pull my phone out now and check, but there’s no new text from him. The last one came in yesterday: Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night.

I scroll back through our previous texts to make sure I’m at the right place. But the name and address he gave me are on the menus I see stacked on the counter at the end of the bar. And he definitely said seven P.M.

I take another sip of water, then reply to a text my mom sent earlier today, asking how my new job is going.

Really good so far! I type—which is true. I’m working on a few campaigns already, and I’ve chatted on the phone with Francine, my boss, a couple of times. She seems smart and capable. I think I can learn a lot from her. She’s coming to New York next month, and she suggested we meet for lunch.

The bartender swings by again. “Ready for something else?”

I smile brightly. “No, I’m good.”

I scroll through my other recent texts so I appear occupied. Beneath my exchanges with my mom and Mel and Sean, who all asked about my new freelance job, there’s my last conversation with Cassandra and Jane. I’d sent the Moore sisters a group text after I visited Daphne’s boutique: I found a really cool top! Can’t wait to show it to you!

Only Jane had written back: Great!

I haven’t heard anything from either sister since.

I’m sure they’ve had a busy week. It’s nothing personal.

I consider sending them a quick message, something breezy or funny, but something holds me back.

It’s 7:17 P.M.

New York traffic is so unpredictable, and subways are always delayed. Ted could also have gotten stuck at work. He’s probably rushing here right now.

But why couldn’t he have sent a text to say he was running late?

There’s a pit in my stomach. He’d seemed so friendly and polite in our messages. More than that, he always wrote me back quickly. He acted sincerely interested in me.

Is it possible he met someone between yesterday and today? He seems like such a catch. I can’t be the only woman he reached out to.

As I’m staring down at my phone, a text pings in. It’s from Ted.

I’m so sorry! Work emergency—I’m going to be here for hours. I wanted to text you earlier but my boss grabbed me as I was walking out the door.

It’s 7:25 P.M.

I blink against the prickly feeling in my eyes. I understand why he couldn’t make it. I’m just so disappointed. I guess I wish he could have let me know right when his boss first approached him. But maybe he didn’t have his phone, and his boss could be a nightmare.

No problem, I write back. Rain check!

I slide five dollars onto the counter beneath my coaster and grab my coat and purse, not even taking the time to put the coat on.

I hurry out the front door.

It’s Friday night, and all around me on the sidewalk people are in pairs and groups—couples walking hand in hand, a cluster of twenty-somethings laughing on a corner as they wait for a light to change, two guys in business clothes giving each other a high five.

At least I have my own place to go home to.

But I don’t want to be alone tonight, so I take the subway to Athena’s.

It’s crowded when I walk in, but Steve waves me over and squeezes me into a tiny table in the back. “Haven’t seen you lately, pretty girl. Where are you going all fancied up with that new hairdo?”