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By Sandra James
In a moment of weakness I agreed to let my friend Sue set me up at
Red Rose Introductions. I regretted it immediately but once Sue
starts, there’s no stopping her. She swiftly downloaded forms and filled
them in, giving me only a brief glance before sending them off.
Sue is happily married to a wonderful man and she wanted the same for
me. She meant well. We’d been friends since school and had always been
there for each other. A week later she brandished a list of perfect
matches in front of me and insisted I choose one.
So I found myself sitting nervously in a local coffee shop at a table in
the corner, holding a red rose and waiting. And waiting. Yes, the
wonderful, too-good-to-be-true Gavin, stood me up.
I stayed for almost an hour; perhaps he’d been caught in traffic or
delayed at work. Finally, after three cappuccinos and numerous pitying
glances from the lunchtime crowd I was more than ready to leave.
Embarrassed, I paid the friendly owner, leaving my sad, wilted red rose
on the counter and fled to the anonymity of the weekly grocery shopping
at the supermarket down the street.
My marriage had ended after my husband decided his young secretary was
far more appealing than a mother on the mature side of thirty. He was
shallow, I know, but when you sit alone night after night watching
television re-runs and longing to share the trials, and tribulations, of
raising two youngsters rapidly approaching their teenage years,
self-esteem plummets.
I kept busy, involving myself with the kids’ numerous activities and
volunteering at the animal shelter. I had my job at the nursing home and
loved it, each resident holding a special place in my heart but I was
lonely and longed for a companion so took a deep breath and consulted
the Red Rose list again.
Roger sounded ideal. Tall, athletic build. A professional in his
thirties who enjoyed travel and music. I loved travelling and although
my CD collection was sparse, I enjoyed a wide range of music so I looked
forward to meeting him.
Roger arrived at the coffee shop just minutes after me. All
five-feet-two of sixty-year-old Roger who hadn’t washed for a week, his
shirt buttons barely stretching over his beer belly and looking like the
only travel he did was his daily trip to the betting shop. His musical
contribution was a loud burp as he reached the counter.
The coffee shop owner pointed him toward a table on the opposite side of
the room and I crumpled my rose into my handbag feeling a little guilty
because I knew what it felt like to be stood up. The coffee burned my
mouth as I swallowed it quickly and made my way to the counter. The
owner shot me a conspiratorial wink as I hurriedly paid, leaving Roger
by the window studying his form guide, his red rose drooping from his
grubby pocket.
Sue was undeterred, insisting it was just a bit of bad luck and that
Prince Charming was just around the corner. I suggested the corner led
to a dead-end but she gave me a pep talk that would have inspired an
athlete to a gold medal performance and I resolved to try again.
Andrew was next on my list. Shy, awkward Andrew who squirmed
uncomfortably, nodding at regular intervals while his mother, who
accompanied him, extolled his virtues. Andrew makes beautiful pictures
with match sticks. Andrew always takes out the garbage. Andrew brings
his mother a cup of tea in bed every morning and breakfast on the
weekends. I smiled politely, hoping that I, too, nodded in all the right
places.
She droned on with a list of her expectations for Andrew which included
having his mother, who was in delicate health, live with him once he was
suitably married. "You’ll do nicely," she announced, pulling a diary
from her voluminous handbag when we finished our Devonshire Tea.
"Now…when will you see Andrew again?"
I was mercifully saved from replying by a thunderous crash from behind
the counter as Mike, the owner, dropped a tray of glasses to the floor.
Mike grinned and winked again as I hastily muttered a feeble excuse
about being late for work, paid my money and departed.
Enough, I decided. Red Rose Introductions wasn’t for me. There
were still several names on the list but I couldn’t put myself through
another disastrous meeting. Sue though, wasn’t about to give up. "Where
do you think you’re going to meet Mr Right? At the nursing home?"
"Plenty of bachelors there!" I laughed. "And I don’t think they’d run
off and leave me for a younger woman."
Sue didn’t see the funny side.
Perhaps because my confidence registered an all-time low or maybe our
lifelong friendship enabled Sue to push the right buttons, because
exactly a week later I sat in the same coffee shop with a fresh red rose
and waited again. I resolved to put my recent disappointments behind me,
hoping the man of my dreams really was about to appear as Sue had
suggested. My hair was freshly trimmed in a new modern style and I’d
splurged on a flattering new outfit.
Peter arrived on time and he did look very much like his photo. He was
polite and softly spoken and I began to think my luck had changed as we
ordered lattes, but as soon as Mike placed the tray on the table, Peter
began a seedy monologue, detailing his numerous conquests, punctuated
with frequent winks and nudges. With a sinking heart I realized being
stood up would have been preferable.
Finally, as he leaned across the table, gazed deeply into my eyes and
asked "Your place or mine, love?" I knew it was time to cancel my
subscription with Red Rose Introductions.
Peter uttered a few expletives at my refusal to accept his offer and
left without paying his share of the bill. Mike took my rose when I
approached the counter and placed it in a vase beside the till, then
handed me a container holding a chocolate muffin topped with a bright
red cherry. "Maybe this will cheer you up," he grinned.
Sue was disappointed, of course, but no amount of her clever persuasion
and downright nagging could change my mind this time. I was still lonely
but joined an art class one evening a week while the kids visited their
father and I took up cross stitch. Sue kept reminding me I would never
meet the man of my dreams in an art class full of pensioners or in the
craft section of our local store. At every chance she tried to set me up
with dateless desperadoes from her husband’s football team but I had
vowed to never try a blind date again and I remained firm.
My life was predictable and boring but I counted my blessings and made
the best of my lot. It could have been far worse. Whenever I got the
blues I reminded myself that I could’ve been accompanying Roger to the
betting shop or making small talk with Andrew’s mother. And the
possibility of being added to Peter’s list of conquests didn’t bear
thinking about. I had a wonderful family and good friends. Romance
wasn’t for everyone.
It must have been about four months later on a cool autumn afternoon,
when the chill in the breeze was a reminder winter wasn’t far away, that
I happened to pass the coffee shop again. The tables were deserted and
Mike was carefully drying dishes behind the counter as I climbed onto
one of the stools. He turned and for the first time I noticed the
sparkle in his blue eyes as he winked once again.
He didn’t say a word as he poured a steaming cappuccino and passed it
across the counter. I looked down beneath the chocolate-sprinkled froth
and noticed on the side of the cup...a picture of a beautiful red rose.
***
© Sandra James 2008
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