‘If that’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right.’ He smiled again, and even lying in a pile of filth, smeared in bacteria-riddled food stains, it made my heart question the whole no-dating decision. I briefly considered Nita’s three-point checklist for a successful marriage:
Chemistry – big fat yes.
Kindness – the way he’d murmured sweet nothings and tried so gently to open the dog’s mouth, even after it’d led him into a swamp of rubbish, would surely indicate a good heart?
Commitment – going to all that trouble for a near stranger’s ring – what feats would he take on for someone he loved?
‘Yet one more reason to hate weddings.’ He clambered to his feet, again offering his cleanest hand to help me do the same.
‘You hate weddings? You’re a wedding photographer!’ The checklist disappeared in a puff of smoke.
He looked shifty, which wasn’t difficult given the circumstances. ‘It’s a temporary stopgap.’
‘How can you hate weddings?’ I asked again, later, when we were waiting for the hotel staff to bring us out our things (for some reason, they didn’t want us entering the hotel premises). ‘Unless you hate beautiful decorations and delicious food and people having a great time and the whole idea of love and happy-ever-after.’
‘I’ve been to enough weddings to know that hardly anyone has a great time. And the décor and the food and all those fancy little favours and choreographed dance routines are just a thin façade trying to help everyone forget the truth that happy-ever-after is a fantasy. Shackling yourself to one person in a futile attempt to pretend they’ll be the answer to all your problems is only going to end badly. Either you both wise up, and spend another hideous amount of money trying to undo the mistake, screwing up any children you’ve had the misfortune to bring into the sorry mess in the process. Or, you remain too pig-headed, lazy or cowardly to do anything but wallow in the tepid remains of your noose-for-two for the rest of your pitiful lives.’
The door flew open. ‘Is this all of it?’
Thank goodness! I virtually snatched my coat and boxes from the waiter’s outstretched hands before Not-nearly-so-hot-now Photographer could suck me any further into his vortex of despair. I nodded my thanks and started to head towards my car.
‘Wait!’ He caught up with me. ‘Um, thanks again for the help.’
‘You’re welcome. Alia is married to my brother-in-law’s cousin, so I kind of felt obliged.’
‘Still, I’m not sure how many women – or men – this is totally unrelated to gender – would clamber into a skip so willingly.’
‘I wasn’t willing. But I couldn’t stand there and watch you slip into that gloop one more time.’ I reached my car, opening the boot and dumping my boxes inside. He didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.
‘Anyway… at least you were in your work clothes, and didn’t ruin a nice dress.’
‘Yep. Well, see you, then.’
He pushed his hands into his jeans pockets, rocking back on his heels. ‘Would you like to have a drink with me some time, when we don’t both stink of rotten mayonnaise?’
‘Oh! Um…’
He smiled, face deceptively warm and affable considering the depths of bitterness that lay beneath. ‘I promise I won’t coerce you into a bin, or any other waste receptacles. No matter how huge the dog I’m chasing.’
I thought about it, for a whole three seconds. Were chemistry and kindness enough reason to go and have a drink with an attractive man, probably resulting in a lovely evening?
Then I thought about thirty-seven first dates in three years. About how I was so done with rehashing the getting-to-know-you chit-chat, the same old questions and big reveals, desperately pouncing on the tiniest scrap of common ground. And I made a decision. I wasn’t going to go through the agonising wardrobe choices, the small talk, having to keep alert watching for any signs of weirdo/liar/creep, the awkward who’s-going-to-pay moment, the fumbling half-hug, half-kiss goodbye, followed by the exhausting what to message, when to message, waiting for them to message, praying they won’t message…
There was no way I was going through any of that again unless that commitment box was checked. And if Iknewthat the person asking, however kind and smiley he might be, considered commitment to be a noose-for-two? Well…
‘Thanks for asking, but I don’t think we’re looking for the same thing.’
‘Ah, okay.’ He shrugged, looking sheepish, and so cute it dangerously rattled my resolve.
‘I guess it was the wedding speech. Probably should have saved that for the second date.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make someone else a very happy one-night stand.’ I got in the car before I could change my mind and went home to use up all the hot water scrubbing the stink out of my hair, along with the whiff of lonely despair from my heart.
Cooper
On Tuesday, Cooper met his new housemate, Ben, in the Tav after work.
‘Some things never change.’ Ben laughed as they took their pints over to one corner. ‘They’ve even got the same newspaper propping up the wonky table.’
