I scan the falling-apart restaurant, taking in every rusted chair and scratched table. I'm looking for a man with black hair and a red tie. He shouldn't be hard to find; today's Valentine's Day and no one in their right mind would come here for an evening out with their significant other. Except me of course, and the guy my best friend set me up with. I should have known as soon as he suggested this place that this date wouldn't go well. I enjoy extravagance--chandeliers and waiters in tuxedos offering me champagne. Not whatever this is.
Surprisingly, a few tables are filled, but there is no sight of any curly black hair. Showing up late to a blind date is not a good start. I should give this guy a few tips when he gets here--no, if he gets here. I take a seat in a booth, pretending not to care that I'm sitting alone on Valentine's Day. Even though I try not to, my eyes keep glancing toward the door, looking for my date. I look at my watch; it's only a few minutes past eight--he's not that late.
As I scan the menu for something that would satisfy my growling, vegan stomach, a shadow appears over the table.
"You must be Missy," a deep voice says. I look up to find a beautiful creature standing in front of me. Chiseled and tan, my date looks like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad. "I'm Alex," he says, stretching out his hand to shake mine. When I finally take my eyes off his face, I admire the rest of him. He's lean and looks like a marathon runner or Tour de France biker. I decide I need to go to the gym tomorrow.
"Thanks for coming tonight, Missy. I know this isn't the fanciest place in the world, but they have the absolute best sweet potato fries." I like this guy already. My friend who set up the date told me she would get me out of it if I absolutely hated him. But the way she said it, she sounded so confident that I would love him. I get it now. This guy is perfect--he's healthy, gorgeous and polite. I met him two minutes ago and I already feel like I would say 'yes' if he proposed.
"Welcome to Miriam's, what can I get you to drink?"
"Want to share a bottle of champagne?" Alex says, his clear, green eyes glimmering and hopeful.
"I'd love that," I say, running my fingers through my hair and adjusting my posture to match his. I'm not one to be flirtatious, but considering this guy could easily land a Victoria's Secret Angel, I need to make myself seem as confident and attractive as possible.
After we order (I get a club sandwich with sweet potato fries and he orders a salad), we immediately dive into conversation. I find out that he is indeed a marathon runner, he does logistics for retail corporations, and he recently moved to Chicago from Brooklyn, New York. He's everything my mom ever wanted me to find in a man and suddenly, I'm envisioning Alex and I going to dinner at my parent's place. I imagine my parents finally being impressed with me.
I expect him to get up and leave when I tell him I'm a freelance writer. It may be true that I can barely afford my rent and that I've never run more than a mile in my life, but Alex stays. In fact, he smiles and tells me how jealous he is that I can write.
"I just never understood the appeal," he says with a smile that looks like an audition for a Colgate commercial, "I guess numbers are more my thing."
9:30 comes so quickly that I jump when I hear my phone ring. That's when I remember my friend's plan. She calls at 9:30 and if the date is awful, she'll say she has an emergency and get me out of it. It wouldn't be hard too convince Alex of an emergency considering my friend, Cindy, recently discovered she's pregnant.
"I'll be just a minute, I'm sorry," I say, hoping Alex doesn't think I'm being too rude. "I already took care of that," I say, as I walk away from the booth. That's my assigned line if the date is going well. There's silence on the other end of the phone. "Cindy? The date's going great! Thanks for setting this up."
A few seconds pass, and still no answer. "Cindy? Hello?" I hear quiet sniffling on the other end and then a muffled, "Help." The call disconnects. I hurry back to Alex's table and tell him we have to go immediately.
"Slow down, what happened?"
"I don't know, I just heard her say she needs help." My mouth is dry and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. Cindy has been my friend since we were toddlers; I panic at the thought of losing her. Alex drives us to her house in his 2015 Mustang; I open the door and rush out before he's fully stopped.
"Jesus," I hear him mutter under his breath. I ring the doorbell and wait about two seconds before frantically opening the door and stepping inside. Alex follows closely behind me. "Cindy?" I yell around the first floor. I take a peek in her backyard, her kitchen, and her family room before running up her winding staircase.
"Are you hom-" I stop in my tracks when I pass the master bathroom door. The door is cracked open about a foot wide and I see Cindy laying on the ground, blood dripping down her legs.
"Oh my God," Alex says, and rushes over to her, "What happened?"
Cindy's eyes flutter open; she's about to pass out from the pain. "I think I lost my baby," she whispers.
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