like someone’s maiden aunt. Someone’s tiny maiden aunt.
“I’m wearing a Wonderbra,” Jo said. “Do you think that’s false advertising?”
“No.” She thought for a moment of what other advice she could give Jo, who was more invested in this process than Maeve would have thought or even liked. “I wouldn’t mention how much you hate cheating Catholics, though.”
“What about how Eric never satisfied me sexually?” she asked, only half-joking.
Maeve pretended to think it over. “Uh, no on that one as well.”
“I bet you’re going to have a good time.” She smiled hopefully, and it was that smile that came close to breaking Maeve’s heart. It was also what made her enter the ballroom with Jo, against her better judgment.
The minute she entered, she was sorry she had, but she put her feelings aside, paying attention to the rules, planning on breaking several if the spirit moved her. She took her place at a small table and waited until bachelor number one, a tall drink of water named Doug, took his place across from her. She wished she were thirstier, but Doug wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to slake her thirst. He was thirty-nine, Jewish, never married, and a C.P.A. Maeve listened to his litany of academic and athletic accomplishments and then beckoned him closer.
“Turn around slowly,” she said, watching his eyes as he did as he was told. That was a plus in his favor: he could follow directions. “Do you see the fantastic-looking brunette over there? The one who looks like a taller Natalie Portman?”
He turned back around, keeping one eye on Jo. “Uh-huh.”
“She’s thirty-eight, Jewish, a former gymnast, divorced, no kids.”
“Keep going.”
“She likes the Knicks. And she makes the best pot roast you’ll ever have. Bar none.”
“My mother makes good pot roast,” he said.
Great. A mama’s boy. “Play along, Doug,” Maeve said.
“Okay,” he said. “What else?”
“What else is there?” she asked.
“Does she want to get married again?” he asked.
Maeve considered this, not sure what the right answer was. But Doug made it easy for her. “Because I’m looking to settle down,” he added.
“Definitely,” she said, as if that had been her answer all along. She wanted to advise Doug not to show his hand so easily; that always led to trouble. “She’s dying to get married again.” Of that she was fairly certain.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for you? How do I know that you’re not just trying to get rid of me? What if I wanted to date you?”
“You’re a Jew. I’m a Muslim. It would never work,” she said just as the air horn sounded. Doug looked at her quizzically, then jotted something down quickly on his date sheet before sauntering off. Maeve watched Doug’s Dockers-clad backside sidle away, his attention still on Jo. Mission accomplished.
Maeve leaned back in her chair, her work for the evening complete. Another candidate slid into the chair across from her, talking while she continued to focus on Doug, wondering if he was good enough for her friend or if her usually correct instincts had let her down.
The new bachelor rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hello?”
Maeve dragged her eyes away from Doug, calculating that the air horn needed to sound three more times before the round robin brought him to Jo’s table. “Um, hi?” she said, focusing on the man in front of her. The face that stared back at her was mid-forties, black, brown-eyed, and handsome in a way that suggested this wasn’t his first rodeo. But he looked tired. Really tired. As tired as she felt.
“Your name?” he asked, looking down at his date sheet. “Or are we just going to use numbers?”
“What are we supposed to do?” she asked.
“Not sure. I wasn’t really paying attention during the instruction portion of the evening,” he admitted, but he held out his hand anyway. “I’m Rodney.”
“Maeve,” she said, taking his hand.
“What kind of
“I’m wearing a Wonderbra,” Jo said. “Do you think that’s false advertising?”
“No.” She thought for a moment of what other advice she could give Jo, who was more invested in this process than Maeve would have thought or even liked. “I wouldn’t mention how much you hate cheating Catholics, though.”
“What about how Eric never satisfied me sexually?” she asked, only half-joking.
Maeve pretended to think it over. “Uh, no on that one as well.”
“I bet you’re going to have a good time.” She smiled hopefully, and it was that smile that came close to breaking Maeve’s heart. It was also what made her enter the ballroom with Jo, against her better judgment.
The minute she entered, she was sorry she had, but she put her feelings aside, paying attention to the rules, planning on breaking several if the spirit moved her. She took her place at a small table and waited until bachelor number one, a tall drink of water named Doug, took his place across from her. She wished she were thirstier, but Doug wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to slake her thirst. He was thirty-nine, Jewish, never married, and a C.P.A. Maeve listened to his litany of academic and athletic accomplishments and then beckoned him closer.
“Turn around slowly,” she said, watching his eyes as he did as he was told. That was a plus in his favor: he could follow directions. “Do you see the fantastic-looking brunette over there? The one who looks like a taller Natalie Portman?”
He turned back around, keeping one eye on Jo. “Uh-huh.”
“She’s thirty-eight, Jewish, a former gymnast, divorced, no kids.”
“Keep going.”
“She likes the Knicks. And she makes the best pot roast you’ll ever have. Bar none.”
“My mother makes good pot roast,” he said.
Great. A mama’s boy. “Play along, Doug,” Maeve said.
“Okay,” he said. “What else?”
“What else is there?” she asked.
“Does she want to get married again?” he asked.
Maeve considered this, not sure what the right answer was. But Doug made it easy for her. “Because I’m looking to settle down,” he added.
“Definitely,” she said, as if that had been her answer all along. She wanted to advise Doug not to show his hand so easily; that always led to trouble. “She’s dying to get married again.” Of that she was fairly certain.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for you? How do I know that you’re not just trying to get rid of me? What if I wanted to date you?”
“You’re a Jew. I’m a Muslim. It would never work,” she said just as the air horn sounded. Doug looked at her quizzically, then jotted something down quickly on his date sheet before sauntering off. Maeve watched Doug’s Dockers-clad backside sidle away, his attention still on Jo. Mission accomplished.
Maeve leaned back in her chair, her work for the evening complete. Another candidate slid into the chair across from her, talking while she continued to focus on Doug, wondering if he was good enough for her friend or if her usually correct instincts had let her down.
The new bachelor rapped his knuckles on the table. “Hello?”
Maeve dragged her eyes away from Doug, calculating that the air horn needed to sound three more times before the round robin brought him to Jo’s table. “Um, hi?” she said, focusing on the man in front of her. The face that stared back at her was mid-forties, black, brown-eyed, and handsome in a way that suggested this wasn’t his first rodeo. But he looked tired. Really tired. As tired as she felt.
“Your name?” he asked, looking down at his date sheet. “Or are we just going to use numbers?”
“What are we supposed to do?” she asked.
“Not sure. I wasn’t really paying attention during the instruction portion of the evening,” he admitted, but he held out his hand anyway. “I’m Rodney.”
“Maeve,” she said, taking his hand.
“What kind of
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