The Perfect Mistake

I sigh as I glance around the restaurant. I see all the happy couples quietly chattering at their tables, and a sinking feeling gnaws at the pit of my stomach. How stupid must I look right now sitting here all by myself? I’ve seen the pitying looks that the waitress has sent my way when she passes by my table, and believe me when I say that they have not made me feel better at all.

Across the bustling room, I spot another woman sitting at a table by herself. She must be waiting for her date, too. And by the look of the worried expression on her face, he’s late, just like mine is. She looks so lost, even sad and defeated. I wonder if this isn’t the first time she’s had a date obviously bail on her…

“Excuse me, Miss, but I’m afraid if your date doesn’t show up in five minutes, you’re going to have to give up the table,” the waitress informs me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, um, okay,” I mumble, looking down at the table for a moment. I’ve already eaten all of the bread they’ve given me; that can’t be a good sign… “But I’m sure he’ll be here soon. He’s just a little late,” I add on with a smile, hoping to give off an air of confidence that my date really will show up any second now.

“Okay,” she replies with a polite smile, but I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t believe me. She knows what I’m refusing to accept, that I’ve been stood up.

I watch her as she walks off to check on another table, and I bite my lip. My eyes scan the restaurant again, hoping to find any sign of my date. He’s supposed to be wearing a red fedora. That’s easy to spot, right? I mean, who even wears those anymore? So it’s not exactly like this is going to be a game of ‘Where’s Waldo?’ or anything.

But if he’s supposed to be so easy to spot, why can’t I find him?

I inhale deeply through my nose and sigh. Again, my gaze falls on the lonely blonde woman sitting at the table across the room. She looks down at her watch again, takes a sip of water, and shakes her head. Her once worried expression has turned to one of dejection as her waiter approaches her again. I watch her talk to him, looking desperate, and I can only imagine that she’s trying to buy just a couple more minutes to wait for her date. I notice a few of the couples at tables close to hers glance her way, smug smiles play on some of the women’s lips while other just shake their heads, pitying her.

Swallowing hard, I see her begin to gather up her belongings and make the embarrassing trek to the exit. As she passes by, she runs her hands down her blue dress to smooth out the wrinkles, and I notice tears welling up in her eyes. I may be in this same situation, but I refuse to leave here without my dignity intact. So I do what any sensible woman in my situation would do -- invent a fake excuse for my date not showing up.

I open my purse and pull my phone out. I check the time and notice that I’ve got a text waiting for me from my friend Dassah, the one who set me up on this date to begin with. I open my phone and read the message, gently shaking my head at the words on the screen: How is the date going? I quickly reply to let her know that he hasn’t showed up yet, and close my phone just as my waitress walks by.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry about this. My date just texted me and told me that he’s got some car trouble and can’t make it tonight. Sorry for the inconvenience,” I tell her as I stand up, slipping my phone back into my purse.

She gives that same polite smile and nods her head understandingly. “It’s quite alright. I’m sorry to hear that he will be unable to join you.”

“Yeah, me, too; I’m so sorry for holding up the table.”

“It’s fine.”

I slip my purse strap onto my shoulder and make my way to the front door. I can feel a few eyes on me as I walk by, but I do my best to brush them off. At least I’m not sulking out of here a crying mess; at least I still feel as if I have a shred of my dignity intact. I mean, those people don’t know that I was stood up, for all they know my date really did have car trouble.

I pass by the bar and pause. I’m not a drinker, and I never really have been, but I might as well make something of tonight. I did get all dressed up for this silly thing, so why should I waste all the effort? I take a seat at the bar and the bartender comes by, smiling.

“What can I do for ya?” he queries, resting an arm on the bar.

“Um,” I hesitate. How badly do I want a drink? Should I go all out or should I play it safe and go non-alcoholic? The last thing I want is to get drunk, get hit on by some sleazebag, and wake up in some stranger’s bedroom. “Just a virgin strawberry daiquiri, please,” I reply.

“Coming right up,” he says with a wink before turning away.

“Virgin? Why are you ordering virgin when you can have the real thing?” someone asks from beside me.

I turn my head to see who has just addressed me, and I am taken aback. He has dark hair, which looks nearly black in this light; high, chiseled cheekbones; and deep chocolate brown eyes. And although his lips do seem a little on the thin side, they suit him. I’d be lying if I said that he isn’t one of the most handsome men--if not the most handsome man--I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m almost wondering if something had been slipped in my water earlier; there is just no way that this man is real.

The bartender returns with my drink, placing it down in front of me, and I take my eyes off of the stranger beside me long enough to thank him. I quickly regain my composure and turn my attention back to the mysterious man next to me.

“And what makes you think I’m even old enough to have the real thing?” I counter as I pick up my drink. To be honest, I’m quite surprised that he does believe that I’m old enough to legally drink since I still have to show I.D. often just to get into an R rated movie.

“Well, then, how old are you?” he asks, and I can see the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“How old do you think I am?” I ask in return before taking a sip of my drink.

He looks at me carefully, thoughtfully, for a moment. I watch him, nervously licking my lips when I realize that his gaze is lingering just a little too long on my chest. It’s not like I have a large chest-- if anything, I’m on the small side. So why is he staring so long? Is he trying to determine my age by the size of my boobs or something?

Finally, his gaze returns to my face. “I’d say that you’re twenty-one. If you aren’t, then you’re very close to your twenty-first birthday.”

I bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “Nope.”

“Well, you can’t be younger than nineteen. I’m sure of that,” he retorts, sipping his beer.

I raise an eyebrow. “And why do you say that?”

“There’s just something about the way you carry yourself. You look young, but something about you gives off this air of maturity. So, how old are you, darling?”

“I’m twenty-three, and I am not your darling,” I answer, my pulse picking up a bit.

His smirk grows into a full-blown smile. If I thought that he was handsome before, it was nothing compared to what he looks like when he smiles. He’s simply breathtaking. “Well, if I can’t call you darling, what should I call you? Sweetheart? Sunshine? Baby? Beautiful?”

“How about none of the above?” I suggest.

“Well, if that’s what you want. But, frankly, I find ‘none of the above’ to be quite the mouthful to say.”

I can’t help but giggle. Yes, it is a cliché joke, but it was still kind of funny. Or maybe stupid things just seem funnier when they’re said by a good-looking person.

“You’re cute when you smile,” he comments, and I can feel my cheeks grow warm. “And you’re even cuter when you blush. So, what’s your name?”

I bite the inside of my lower lip and look at him for a moment. I guess there’s no harm in telling him my name. “Angelica,” I say, waiting to hear the usual cheesy joke about being on Rugrats. I don’t laugh when my friends teasingly kid around with those jokes, so I’m not going to laugh at it when some random guy who’s hitting on me says it.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Really?” I query, arching an eyebrow in surprise.

“Yes, really. What did you expect me to say? That it’s a sexy name?” he asks; I can hear a chuckle lacing his voice.

“Actually, yes, I did,” I admit. If it’s not the Rugrats crack, then it’s always that my name is sexy, which I highly doubt. I mean, how the hell can a name be sexy?

He softly laughs and shakes his head, almost as if judging the other guys on some major rookie mistake. “I take it that you’ve heard that line a few too many times?”

“Just a few,” I reply, smiling slightly. “That or they go with some crack about how I was so mean to the babies on Rugrats. Those are usually from the guys who think that they’re just hilarious, but they really aren’t.”

“Well, he probably just wanted to get to know you a little better. Maybe he was just trying to break the ice, and it was all he could come up with because he was nervous.”

“And why would he be nervous?”

“Most guys get a little nervous when they’re talking to a gorgeous girl.”

Gorgeous girl? Me? Is he serious? Is he one something? Or maybe he’s just really, really desperate for some action, and I look like the kind of girl who’d give it up if flattered enough. Either way, this guy is really laying it on thick…

“What’s that look?” he says, raising an eyebrow, which only makes him even more attractive. I bet he could make the dopiest face ever and still manage to look hot--he’s just that ridiculously good-looking.

“What look?”

“You made a face when I told you that you’re gorgeous. What was up with that?”

“Oh… I just… I find it a bit hard to believe, that’s all.”

“And why do you say that?” he queries as he brings his beer up to his lips.

My eyes briefly meet his gaze and I lick my lips. “Well, I…” Swallowing, I try to find the best way to phrase my response. “I’ve just never been called gorgeous before, that’s all…”

His eyebrows arch up in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah…” I trail off, letting my gaze fall to my drink. I pick it up and take a drink, suddenly wishing that I had ordered the real thing.

“Your parents never told you that you’re beautiful?”

“My mom’s told me that I’m pretty, but she’s never said that I’m gorgeous or anything like that. She said it’s because I’m not and she didn’t want to lie to me. And my dad…let’s just say that it’s not the best relationship, so he’s not really one to tell me that I’m pretty…”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

I shrug my shoulders, brushing it off. “It’s okay. You get used to it after a while.”

I notice something flicker in his eyes; my best guess would be sympathy, as if he wants to say that it shouldn’t be something that I have to get used to, but he’s biting his tongue. “Well, I’m sure that someone must have told you that you’re a gorgeous girl before. What about your grandparents?”

“They live so far away; I never really see them.”

“I’m sure your friends have told you that before, right?”

“My friends and I don’t really go around calling each other gorgeous. Pretty, yes, but not gorgeous or stunning or anything like that.”

“Someone must have. Your boyfriend, maybe?” he tacks on, sounding rather curious.

I simply chuckle. “If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t be here all dressed up and alone, would I?”

“Well, you never know. Maybe he had car trouble or something and had to cancel.”

“I wish that were the case. Unfortunately, I’m single and…” I scoff and shake my head, thinking of how stupid I was to even agree to going on a blind date in the first place, “I just got stood up, actually.”

He raises his brows, looking surprised. “Seriously?” he asks, as if he can’t believe the words that just tumbled out of my mouth.

I nod. “Seriously,” I reply, chuckling slightly at the thought that has entered my mind. “I have a feeling that he probably did come, but when he saw me, he decided to turn around and leave.”

“Now why do you think he would do that?”

“Oh, I dunno… Perhaps because he could tell just by looking at me that I’d be a bore or something.” I bite my lip and sigh. “Maybe he knew that I’d be a crappy date.”

“Why do you say that?” he queries, taking another drink of his beer.

“Because…” I trail off and gently shake my head, sighing, “I haven’t really been on a date in… forever, it seems.”

He raises an eyebrow again, and I silently wish he’d stop doing that because I’m finding it far more attractive than it should be. “Forever? Now, I’m sure it hasn’t been that long.”

“Okay, so I may have exaggerated a little bit. But it has been a very, very long time since I’ve been on a date.”

“How long?”

“You’re rather curious, aren’t you?” I ask; I can’t help but smile a little bit.

“What can I say? I’m just a curious guy. So, how long has it been since you’ve been on a real date?”

“Well, if you must know, it’s been a…couple of… well, more like a few… years…”

“Years?!” he repeats, a bit too loudly for my taste seeing as how he’s earned the attention of a couple sitting a few seats down from us.

“Do you think you’ve said that loud enough? I don’t think people out in L.A. heard you.”

“Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. But seriously, it’s been years? How have you managed that? I mean, look at you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I question, not sure if I should be flattered or not.

“I just mean that you’re a beautiful girl, how does a girl like you manage to go without a date for so long?” I laugh at him; he’s silly. “I’m serious here! Don’t laugh. How have you managed to stay unattached this long?”

I smirk softly and lean forward just a bit. “Do you really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he replies, his smoldering eyes locking onto mine. My heart races and I feel heat rise to my face. I can only pray that I’m not blushing.

“If I tell you, you’re probably going to think that I’m crazy.”

“I’m sure I’ve dealt with crazier,” he counters.

“Okay, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” He simply chuckles in response. “So, I’ve managed to stay single for this long because…well, I guess it’s because, honestly, I’m scared. I’m scared of getting hurt again. My last relationship didn’t end very well. It didn’t end well at all. I mean, he was fine; he moved on in, like, two weeks. But I…” I exhale heavily through my mouth and look down into my lap. “I didn’t fare so well. He shattered my heart. We were together for two years, and he was just able to throw that away like it meant nothing… I guess it was just nothing…

“And I just keep thinking that getting into another relationship, or even going on a date, will only open me up to getting hurt all over again… I just don’t think I can handle going through that ever again.” I lick my lips and look back up at him; a humorless chuckle passes my lips. Judging by the look on his face, he looks like he wants to run for the hills. “So, sure you’ve dealt with crazier?”

“That’s not crazy; that’s being human,” he replies, his expression making a seamless transition from surprise to understanding.

I shrug and take another sip of my drink. My eyes flit down to his hands for a couple of seconds, and I notice that his fingers are tattooed. I wonder what else he’s got tattooed or if that’s all. “I suppose so.”

“I’m serious. No one wants to open themselves up to being hurt again-- at least not anyone that I know. But, I also know that no matter how much you may want to close yourself off from that pain, you have to open up to it eventually.”

“And why do you say that?”

His gaze locks onto mine and the corners of his lips curl into a brief, tiny smile. “Because love is worth it.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

His eyes widen a bit, and I notice his brows arch in surprise. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting such a response from me. And to be honest, who would expect me, the girl who waited an hour and a half tonight for a date who never showed up, to have such a pessimistic view of love? If anything-- based solely on my actions tonight-- I should be a hopeless romantic who’s waiting for that shining knight to come riding in and sweep me off of my feet. But I’m not seven anymore; I am well aware that there is no such thing as Prince Charming-- no happily ever after-- and that girls should stop buying into all of that bullshit. It only leads to heartache in the end.

“What?” he finally chokes out.

“It’s not worth it,” I repeat as I set my glass down on the bar. “It never is. It’s always so great in the beginning-- love. But once that blissful little honeymoon phase passes by, you’re in for nothing but a world of pain. Eyes wander, hearts find new desires, and one person always gets screwed over in the end.”

“Not when you find your soulmate,” he interjects.

It’s now my turn to raise an eyebrow. He looks nothing like the type of guy who believes in true and everlasting love-- as someone who believes in something as ridiculous as soulmates. He has definitely taken me by surprise, but I quickly regain my composure. “I hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as soulmates.”

“And why do you say that?” he queries, sounding intrigued.

“Because it’s a ridiculous notion,” I answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world; and it is. At least to me, it is. “To think that there is only one person out there for everyone is just crazy. What happens when that other person dies unexpectedly? Are you supposed to trudge on through life alone and miserable? Or even better, what if you never even get the chance to meet your soulmate? There are so many people in this world; the chances of finding the one person that you’re mean to be with are slim.”

“But that’s the thing,” he starts, leaning in towards me again. He’s close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath, “if they’re you’re soulmate, you’re destined to meet them eventually. At least I think so.”

I can’t help it as a light chuckle passes from my lips, and I shake my head at him. Who would have imagined that the tough-looking tattooed guy sitting next to me would have such a soft spot for love and romance? Our eyes meet, and he arches an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks.

I bite my lip for a moment, letting my laughter subside. “It’s nothing really, just…you.”

“What about me?”

“I just wasn’t expecting… I mean, out of all people, I just never would have pegged you to be…well, for lack of a better word, a romantic.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because you’re… You just don’t look the type; that’s all.”

“So, why don’t you enlighten me? What does the type look like? The romantic type, that is.”

I gulp, taking my eyes away from his intense gaze. “I dunno,” I mumble as I shrug my shoulders. “Just… Not like you,” is all I can manage to say.

“And what’s wrong with me?” he queries, a slight chuckle in his voice. Obviously, he’s finding some amusement in this. I wish I could say the same… I’m pretty sure that if I could see myself in a mirror, I’m blushing--at least the heat rising to my face tells me that I am.

“Nothing at all!” I practically blurt out, forcing another laugh to pass from his lips. The warmth growing across my face only intensifies. If I keep this up, I’ll be sweating bullets in a matter of minutes. “I mean, there is nothing wrong with you; it’s just that most guys like you aren’t big on the whole idea of soulmates and love and stuff like that.”

“Guys like me?”

“You know…” I trail off, glancing down at his tattooed fingers.

He notices.

“You mean with tattoos?”

I blink and look back up at him; the realization dawning on me just how judgmental I’ve been. My heart hammers in my chest, my palms become clammy, and my mind races at a hundred miles an hour, trying to imagine just how badly I’ve embarrassed myself-- just how poorly I’ve come across to my good-looking stranger. He must think I’m some pessimistic, judgmental, heartless bitch by now. And truth be told, he probably wouldn’t be very far off base…

“No, um, I just meant in general…and, um…” I lick my lips and swallow hard. I shouldn’t have tried to lie; I’m an awful liar. “Well, okay, so I was maybe, sort of, talking about the tattoos. But that isn’t just it. I mean, most guys in general won’t admit to being romantics at heart. And you’re one of the few guys, if not the only guy, I’ve met who will say that he believes in soulmates. I guess I was just being presumptuous…”

I look up at him to see him staring at me, and I feel my heart plummet into my stomach. But I notice a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. Maybe I hadn’t offended him as much as I had imagined.

“Well, that certainly was a mouthful. And while you were being presumptuous, I can’t really say that you’re wrong. I guess you can be right, or you just know some shitty guys.”

“It’s probably more the crappy guys than anything else,” I reply, half-jokingly. I can feel some of the tension and anxiety leave my body, and I take another sip of my drink. “So…” I stop, mentally searching for his name. Certainly he told me his when I told him mine. But after a few more seconds of trying to recall it, I realize that he hadn’t.

“Yes?” he inquires before taking a swig of his beer.

“I just realized that you never told me your name.”

“Because you never asked for it,” he counters with a playful smile on his face.

“Well, I’m asking now. So, what’s your name, stranger?”

“Brian,” he answers.

My brow furrows at his name. Brian’s the name of the guy I was supposed to be meeting here tonight-- the name of the guy who stood me up tonight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, um, nothing.” I shake my head, trying my best to brush it off. It’s not like Brian is an uncommon name or anything. It can just be a coincidence. “It’s just that--Nothing. So, um, Brian, what brings you here?”

“Um, well, I was supposed to meet someone here but…uh, they didn’t show.”

It is now my turn to raise a questioning eyebrow. Has he looked in a mirror lately? Guys like him do not get stood up. They just don’t. “You were stood up?” I ask, still not believing his claim.

“Yeah. Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because I just don’t find it very plausible, that’s all. I mean, who would stand up someone like you?”

“I guess the same kind of person who would stand you up-- an idiot,” he counters.

I read his face, doing what I can to discern whether or not he is telling the truth. His face is earnest; however, there is something about the glint in his eyes that tells me that he is hiding something. He isn’t being totally honest with me.

“I call bullshit.”

“Why?”

“Because there is something that just tells me you aren’t being totally honest with me. So spill; why are you really here?”

He sighs, takes another drink of his beer, and orders another before he looks at me again. “You’re not going to like it,” he starts, warning me. “You sure you wanna know?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” I reply, trying to keep cool, but I am starting to freak out a little inside.

“Okay…Well,” he stops. He mulls over the right words to say, as if reordering or rephrasing things will decrease the chances of me throwing what’s left of my drink in his face. “I was supposed to meet someone here, that much is true. But… She didn’t stand me up. I-- I came in here, I saw her, and I--”

“Stood her up,” I finish, feeling my temper begin to rise. Just when I thought that I had met a decent guy, he turns out to be scum--just like every other pathetic excuse for a man that I’ve had the displeasure of knowing.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it isn’t? Well then, what happened, Brian? Please enlighten me! So you came in, you saw her, and then what? Saw that she was flirting with someone else? She was performing an animal sacrifice at the table? What had repelled you so much that you didn’t even have the decency to introduce yourself to her?” I growl.

“She…she just wasn’t what I had expected.”

I stare at him in disbelief. My mind immediately goes to the woman who was in here earlier; the one who had sat at the other side of the restaurant; the same woman who had walked out of here in tears. Brian had done that to her. I wonder if he would feel any remorse if I told him how much he hurt her. I doubt he would.

“What do you mean ‘not what you expected?’” I query, suddenly feeling very defensive. Not just of the woman, though. No, not just her, but for me too, because for all I know, my date had done the exact same thing to me. “Was she not tall enough? Not skinny enough for you? Were her boobs too small? Was she not pretty enough? Or was she simply just not good enough for you in general, you pig?” I hiss, glowering at him. “You’re a real fucking piece of work, Brian.”

I swiftly rise to my feet and turn away from him, making my way straight out of here. I don’t even want to be breathing in the same building as Brian. I never want to see his face ever again. I should make a note to just avoid all men named Brian since they’ll just turn out to be assholes. I mean, first I have a Brian stand me up, and then I meet another one who led me to believe that he was a genuinely nice guy, only to see that even he’s a jerk. I’m sure that there are more shitty guys named Brian to add to the list, but for now, those two will do.

I emerge from the restaurant. My skin meets the warm breeze outside and I let out a long, heavy sigh. I take a step towards the parking lot, but I remember that I didn’t drive myself here. Dassah had given me a ride here and had assured me when she dropped me off that Brian would drive me home. I scoff, shaking my head; even she doesn’t know what kind of jerk he really is.

I pull my phone out and groan at the sight of the dead screen. My battery must have died on me in there. I knew that the reception was kind of shitty, but I hadn’t realized that it’d drain my battery so quickly. I guess I’ll just have to hoof it home. Crossing my arms underneath my bust, I begin the walk back to my place.

“Angelica! Wait!”

I grit my teeth and continue to walk down the sidewalk, doing what I can to block out the sound of his voice.

“Angelica, please wait!” he calls out again.

But again, I just keep on moving, acting as if I cannot hear him.

“Angelica!”

There is something about the desperate strain in his voice that makes me stop-- something about it that makes me pity him. I sigh, square my shoulder, and prepare myself for facing him--the last person I want to see right now. Whatever I do, I know that I can’t give into him. I can’t, and I won’t, forgive him.

I watch him as he jogs up to me, a hopeful smile playing on his lips. He obviously thinks that I’ve decided to forgive him. He’s a bigger idiot than I thought. “Thanks for stopping,” he says, panting a bit as he adjusts the hat on his head.

The red hat on his head.

How long has he been wearing that? Surely he wasn’t wearing that in the bar. I would have seen it. There’s no missing it. He must have taken it off after he got in…

“Is…” I clear my throat. “Is that a fedora?” I ask, even though I know the answer to my question.

He looks puzzled, but quickly responds. “Yeah, it is. Why?”

“You asshole!” I shout, shoving him before turning on my heel and storming away. Fuck letting him grovel; he doesn’t deserve the chance to redeem himself.

“What? Angelica, what did I do now?” he cries out after me. I can hear his shoes hit the pavement as he trails after me.

“Fuck off, Brian!”

“Angelica, what did I--”

Without warning, I come to a halt and whirl around to look at him. My eyes lock onto his and I shake my head as I smile humorlessly. “You stood me up, that’s what you did, you fucking prick!”

“I… I what?!” he exclaims, confused.

“You. Stood. Me. Up,” I repeat.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who just left me!”

I shake my head and fight the urge to knock that stupid fedora off of his head. “And you’re the jerk who left me waiting like an idiot!”

“What are you talking about?”

“My friend set me up with a guy named Brian. I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“It’s a common name. That doesn’t mean that I--”

“He was supposed to be wearing a red fedora to let me know who he is,” I finish, glancing up at the top of his head. “Looks like I found him.”

“You’re-- No, you can’t be. I was supposed to meet a girl named…” And it finally hits him. “Angel…”

“Yeah, it’s a nickname,” I reply; my eyes still transfixed on his hat.

“You’re-- you’re not wearing the dress,” he stammers.

I tear my eyes away from the fedora down to his face, and I knit my brows together in confusion. What the fuck is he talking about? “What?”

“So that I could tell who you were. Like how I was supposed to wear this,” he says, tipping his head towards me, indicating the fedora, “you were supposed to be wearing a blue dress. Where’s the dress?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I am wearing a blue dress.”

“No, you’re not! You’re wearing a black dress,” he states matter-of-factly.

“No,” I rejoinder as I step underneath the glow of a nearby streetlight. “I’m wearing a blue dress; a navy blue dress.”

“Well, it sure as hell didn’t look blue in the restaurant. There was another girl in there that looked like she was waiting for someone, and she was wearing a blue dress. I thought--”

“That she was me.”

“Yeah. Look, if I had known you were the one I was supposed to meet, I would have never--”

“Been an ass and stood me up?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I suppose that is sort of sweet of you to say, Brian. However, even if that other girl had been your date, you shouldn’t have stood her up.”

“But I--”

“It doesn’t matter if she wasn’t what you had expected. You should have at least had the decency to introduce yourself and talk to her. What you did was totally unacceptable.” I sigh and shake my head, looking into his eyes. “You probably don’t get this because you’re good-looking and have probably never had to go through this, like, ever, but do you know how much it hurts to get stood up? Do you realize how humiliating it is to know that the waiter pities you every time they come by the table? Do you know how embarrassing it is to give up your table because it’s obvious that your date isn’t coming; to know that some of the people around you are watching you leave by yourself?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, you didn’t. You meant to embarrass that other girl, right? Did you see her as she walked past the bar on her way out, Brian? Did you see the tears welling up in her eyes? Because I did. If she had been the girl you were really supposed to meet, how do you feel about that? How do you feel, knowing that you had reduced that poor girl to tears?”

“I feel like shit, honestly. Look, I never meant to hurt anyone. I just…” He closes his eyes and sighs as he rubs the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Can we just…start over?”

I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you dense?”

“What?”

“Are you stupid? You stood me up, you admitted to trying to stand another girl up, and now you’re asking me for a do-over because you’ve realized that you fucked up? I don’t think so, Brian. I’m not interested.”

“But, Angelica, you have to give me another shot!”

“And why should I do that? You weren’t going to give that other girl a shot, so why do you deserve another one?”

“Because I’m sorry, I really am.”

I scoff and shake my head. “Sorry isn’t good enough, Brian,” I tell him before turning to walk away.

“Well, at least let me give you a ride home,” he insists as he falls into step beside me.

“I’ll be just fine walking.”

“But it’s not safe.”

“I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself.”

“Angel--”

“Brian, fuck off!” I growl.

As I walk away from him, I let out a heavy sigh. Part of me thinks I’m going to regret this--passing up the chance to go on a date with such a good-looking guy when I hardly ever get noticed to begin with. But there’s no way that I could forgive him for what he did. It wouldn’t teach him anything; and he needs to learn how to treat people properly. I know I did the right thing. After a couple of blocks, I swallow hard, fighting the urge to look back and see if he’s following me; resisting the temptation to catch one last glimpse of him.

At least I think I did the right thing.

~

My roommate is sitting on the couch watching a movie when I finally get home. She turns her head towards the door at the sound of my arrival. She looks at the clock before glancing back at me. I can tell by her expression that I’m earlier than she had expected. But she sits up in her seat, looking excited to hear what I’ve got to say about the date. After all, she was the one who set me up on the stupid thing.

“So, how’d it go?” Dassah asks me as I sit down in a recliner and slip my shoes off. Thank God I decided against wearing heels tonight; otherwise, my feet would be killing me right now.

“It was awful,” I reply simply as I slump down into the chair.

Her green eyes widen in surprise. I suppose she wasn’t expecting me to say that. She had probably figured that I’d be gushing about the wonderful time I had. Especially since before the date, she had gushed on and on about how compatible Brian and I are. “What? Why? What happened?”

I sigh dramatically, wondering if I should play this up or not while I look up at the ceiling. “Oh, where do I start?” I mumble. My gaze moves away from the ceiling over to where she is sitting. My brown eyes meet her green gaze. “How about we start at the moment when you said that you wanted to set me up with one of your boyfriend’s stupid friends?”

“I…still don’t follow. What happened, Angel?”

“Well, remember that text I sent you that said he hadn’t showed up yet?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, he never did show. I ended up having to give up the table after making some stupid excuse that he had car trouble to salvage whatever pride I had left.”

“He never showed up?” Immediately, she begins to shake her head. “No, he wouldn’t do that, Angel. I know Brian; he’s a nice guy.”

I scoff; it’s now my turn to shake my head. “Clearly you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

“Wait, if he never showed up, then how did you get home?”

“I walked,” I reply simply. “I knew there was a reason why I didn’t want to wear wedges tonight.”

“You walked?! Why didn’t you call me? I would have given you a ride home.”

“My phone died by the time I left, and I didn’t feel like going back inside to ask to use their phone-- I had already embarrassed myself enough in there for one night. It’s not a big deal. I made it back in one piece.”

“But it was not exactly safe.”

“Yeah, that’s what Brian said, too,” I grumble as I pick some lint off of my dress.

“Wait-- Brian? I thought you said that he never showed up,” she says, looking perplexed. “How could he tell you that it’s not safe to walk home by yourself at night if he wasn’t there in the first place?”

“Oh…Well, he never showed up for the date. But he was at the restaurant…”

She looks at me for a while, trying to process what I’ve just said. I can tell by the still puzzled expression on her face that she isn’t getting it. But I can’t really blame her; I would probably be just as lost if someone told me the same thing.

“I mean that… He did not show up for the date, but before I left I decided to grab a drink at the bar. I know, I know, I don’t drink. It was virgin, which is exactly what caught his attention to begin with.” I lick my lips and gulp as I recall the moment I first laid eyes on Brian. “I guess he figured that as long as he was there, he might as well grab a drink before heading home. I really don’t know why he was hanging around the bar. He wasn’t wearing the fedora, though, so I didn’t know it was him when he spoke to me.”

“So…what happened? What’d he say?” she queries, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her thighs.

“He asked me why I was drinking virgin when I could have the real thing.”

She chuckles. “That definitely sounds like Brian.”

“I wouldn’t know… Anyway, I was sort of surprised he could tell I was even old enough to drink since most people can’t, and we ended up talking for a little while. If I had known it was him, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“And how did you find out that it was him?”

“Um, well, after a while, he finally told me his name. And at first I just shrugged it off because Brian is a common name and all that. But then he told me why he was there and I was able to put it all together.”

“I don’t get it. Why would he stand you up and then talk to you at the bar? That doesn’t make any sense. The point of standing someone up is so you don’t have to bother to talk to them or see them. Are you sure that it was Brian that you talked to? Maybe it really was just another guy named Brian who happened to have a blind date there, too.”

“He talked to me after standing me up because he didn’t know that I was the one that he stood up. He thought that someone else was me and decided not to show up for the date. He stopped for a drink at the bar, and I ran into him. He had no clue that I was the one that he stood up because he thought I wasn’t wearing a blue dress.”

“What do you mean? That’s a navy blue dress!” Dassah exclaims. “What color did he think you were wearing?”

“He thought my dress was black. Apparently in the dim lighting of the restaurant, my dress didn’t look like any shade of blue. The other girl who looked like she was waiting for someone did wear a blue dress, a true blue dress, so I can get why he was confused.”

“Okay, so, why didn’t you guys just do something once you figured out that you were supposed to be on a date together?” I raise an eyebrow at her. She mimics me. “What? It’s a legitimate question! When you realized that you guys were supposed to be on a date together, why didn’t you guys just go do something together?”

“You’re kidding me, right? How could I go out with the guy when he openly admitted to standing someone up because she wasn’t what he was expecting? I mean, what does that even mean?”

“Well, did you ask him?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said…” I pause, trying to remember what he had said. There’s nothing; my mind is a blank. All I remember is listing off the possibilities as to why she wasn’t good enough for him and then storming off. I never did hear him out. “It doesn’t matter what he said! It’s the principle of the whole thing. How could I let the guy off for being an inconsiderate jerk? He needs to learn that just because girls aren’t what he expects he doesn’t have the right to just blow them off.”

Dassah shakes her head.

“What? You think that it was right for him to just stand someone up like that?”

“No, of course I don’t. I’m not condoning his actions. I just…don’t believe that Brian would do something like that, that’s all. He’s one of Zacky’s best friends; and I’ve hung out with him before, he’s a really great guy. I wouldn’t have set you up with him if he was an ass.”

I exhale, exasperated. “Or maybe you just don’t know him as well as you think you do. Just because he’s one of your boyfriend’s closest friends doesn’t mean that he’s a great guy. Even nice guys can have friends who are pricks.”

“I guess so, but I really don’t think Brian’s a bad guy. You just gotta give him another chance, Angel. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up really liking him.”

I press my lips together into a thin line. “I really doubt it. Look, I know that he’s a friend of Zack’s and all-- and, hell, I think that Zack is a great guy-- but that doesn’t make Brian great by association. From what I’ve gathered, Brian’s a jerk.”

“But Brian--”

“I’m not interested,” I cut in before she can continue. “I am just not interested in him. I met him, I talked to him, and I got to know him; I just don’t like him. I’m sorry, but he’s not my type.”

“You didn’t even five him a proper chance!” she cries out.

“And what exactly could constitute as proper? Just because he didn’t know who I was doesn’t mean that it wasn’t proper. It just means that he didn’t get to put up whatever façade he usually has when you’re around. I’m not seeing him again. Okay?”

She sighs and sinks back into the couch, looking defeated. “Fine… But I think you’re making a mistake, Angel.”

“You think that all you want,” I tell her as I grab my shoes and begin to stand up, “it doesn’t mean that you’re right. I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay… Have a good night.”

“You, too,” I mumble, walking past the couch towards the hall. “Good night.”

“Night,” she calls from the couch as I disappear down the hallway and into my room.

I close the door behind me, flip on the light, and drop my shoes by the closet, feeling too lazy to put them away. I let out a loud, audible sigh and collapse onto my bed. Taking a slow, deep breath through my nose, I open my eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

Tonight went horribly. It actually went worse than I thought it would, and that’s saying something since I had figured it would be a complete and total disaster to begin with. Tonight was a nightmare-- I would have rather just been stood up.