Alana, 25 v. Haley, 31

Chapter 4

I still can’t figure out what the hell could have been said to her, Lorraine or Laura - whatever her name was. I guess we’ll chalk it up to one of life’s mysteries. I step out of the restaurant into the beautiful summer night, my cheeks warm and flushed and my head feeling light. I’m a little buzzed and feeling good, too good to drive. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk back to my apartment, so I hoof it.

I send a few more messages on the way home. It’s not even eight yet, the night is young, and summer is dwindling. The first message comes in a block down the road, then another about a few minutes later. I don’t answer either right away. I open their profiles and start reading.

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I’m right around the corner from my apartment and I’ve narrowed my scope down to two women. I’ve got conversations going, and in between our exchanges, I’ve been reading through their profiles carefully. 

It’s usually not until after I’ve gone out with someone, that I notice the red flags that I should have seen earlier. If the date’s a dud, I’ll go back to her profile and read it more closely. I’ll scroll through her pictures and look for a clue �" a warning sign, usually standing out like a sore thumb that I didn’t notice before, that, had I seen, would have foreshadowed what was to come. 

There was this one woman, Christine, 27, that I went out with a few weeks into my foray into the online dating world. Back then, it was all so new, and I was overzealous in swiping right almost the second I saw her looking stunningly gorgeous in her photos. She had straight dark hair, tan skin, a flirtatious smile and striking eyes - and my immediate reaction was dear god this girl is so insanely beautiful, so far out of my league that for a moment I doubted she could even exist.

 But she was real, and we matched and went out and she looked even better than in her pictures. I thought I’d hit the jackpot with Christine. She was all the beauty I could have imagined and more �" but she had one tenth the brain that I could have deemed acceptable regardless of how stunning she was.

I’m not the smartest man alive, but I like to think I’m far from an idiot. I have a college degree, and I read more than most. I’m not looking for a rocket scientist or a neuro-surgeon or a theoretical physicist, not that any of those couldn’t be the one �" but I could never be with someone like Christine who’d been blessed with a hundred helpings of beauty and only one of brains. The poor girl didn’t know where Europe was, believed the earth was flat, told me she’d never read a book in her life, not a single one, and after she insisted on paying for dinner, she had to ask for help to determine a twenty percent tip on a bill that was an even one hundred bucks. 

And the signs were there, “hidden” behind her gorgeous visage in her photographs were what I wish could say were blurry pro-flat earth banners… and a lot of red hats �" but they were clear as day. Further into my investigation, I found the writing in her profile  looked like it had been constructed by a third grader. It had no rhythm, no flow, and was filled with run-on sentences and incomplete, incoherent thoughts. She didn’t even capitalize the C in her name. I would have given my students hell if they ever turned in anything so dismal, but I was so enraptured by her appearance, so struck by the physical beauty, that I didn’t notice the glaring evidence that would have told me we were ill-fated from the start. 

What can I say? Looks aren’t everything and I stand by that, but they definitely count for something. I’m a sucker for beautiful women and I wish I could say it’s the only time I’d fallen for it, but that would be a lie. Unless a Kate Winslet look-alike comes around, it’s not happening again, though. I’ve become much more vigilant, and far more meticulous in spotting the obvious pitfalls in advance. I don’t just read the profiles anymore. I critically analyze them. 

I hear Leia’s collar jingling, followed by her adorable excited barks, as I walk up the stairs to my second-floor apartment and she’s all over me the second I walk through the door. I sit down on the floor with her and she gives me licks and kisses me as I pet her and acts like she believes there was a solid chance I’d never come back. She curls up next to me as I continue flipping through the two profiles, sending a few messages. I’m casting two fishing reels and seeing what latches on. I’ve got conversations and potential meet ups with two women and it’s a close match up. In one corner we’ve got Alana, 25 and in the other, we have Haley, 31.

At first glance through their profiles, it’s a wash �" but I know there’s something in there, a little detail that will tilt the scale in favor of one of them. 

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I’ve read through Alana’s profile and must say I am impressed. She’s 25 years old, which is right at the bottom end of my age range. It used to be 24, but after Stephanie, 24 drank about nine shots in the hour we were out and giggled her way through our “date” before throwing up on the floor of my mini-van as I drove her home, I decided not to take anymore risks and I raised it to 25 - mostly just to thin out the herd. Still, 25 is young - but age can be iffy, neither a fair nor accurate barometer of someone’s true maturity. 

Alana presents herself well. She’s pretty, brunette, and works in real estate - but also designs and crafts handmade jewelry. She mentions Harry Potter in her profile, which is a definite plus since it makes our first movie night, should we get that far, an easy decision with what to watch. Her profile and pictures show someone who’s a dreamer, an artistic type who looks bubbly and fun to be around.

And then there’s Haley, an adorable blonde with blue eyes and an electric smile, who at thirty-one already has an impressive list of accomplishments. She graduated from Wheeler, earned her master’s in accounting at UMass and is a certified public accountant who owns a house. Her profile paints the portrait of someone who is stable, successful, down-to-earth and hardworking.

I’ve positioned myself in both conversations to make my move and both have already said they don’t have plans tonight. I’ve got Alana hooked with my sense of humor and my vast knowledge of all things fantasy fiction. I have Haley snagged with my intellect, the illusion of being a full-fledged adult, and the simple fact that she loves guys with beards, and I’m 99% sure that with a simple “Want to grab a drink?” I could be out with either within the hour. 

This is quite a predicament, but a good one to have. They both even live within 10 minutes of me, and neither has a dog, which could have swung the pendulum. I could ask both and just go with whichever answers first, but then I’m risking losing the other for good when I have to cancel…

I pace around the apartment and wonder if I should talk to Steven and Nelson, but that usually just ends up with getting wine-drunk and playing board games - which would be awesome most nights, but it’s 8:24…. Three days, eleven hours, thirty-one minutes from now... I’ll be back to school, back to having almost no time to meet someone. This could be one of my last chances. I flip back and forth between the two profile pictures again. Alana or Haley? 

“What do you think?” I ask Leia, who tilts her head to the side but is no help in settling the debate. I often wonder what she’d say if she could talk. I’m sure she’d be full of wisdom, and since she’s an Australian shepherd, I’d like to imagine she’d say something like, “Aww crikey mate, that’s quite the pickle you’ve found yourself in, mate �" but no worries, mate. You’re a good bloke, and there’s plenty of fish in the sea, mate. So, just make a choice, then when you get back later, mate, we’ll have a Fosters, put some shrimp on the barbie, then keep our land safe from dingoes, mate.”

I suddenly realize that I’m not just imagining what she’d say, but actually vocalizing it in my atrocious attempt at Australian accent, like a more over-the-top female, Steve Irwin, may he rest in peace �" and she sure does say mate often in my mind. I recognize how bizarre my behavior is, but still, it’s not the first time I’ve found myself looking to Leia for help with life’s mysteries. There’s something about asking her a question then answering how I imagine she would, that brings light to some of life’s more complex decisions. She’s right �" I just have to make a choice and live with whatever outcome happens. But how…? 

“Any opinion Luke?” I ask, looking across the room at Luna’s brother swimming in his tank. I decide I don’t have time to listen to what he has to say. Sometimes in life you just have to let fate decide. I get up from the floor, dig down into my pocket and find a quarter. 

“Heads it’s Alana, tails it’s Haley,” I tell Luke and Leia. I send the coin flipping up into the air and it lands with a clang and goes rolling across the floor. Leia chases after it. I follow her to where the coin landed and stare down at my fate.

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It’s 9:08. Three days, ten hours, fifty-two minutes from now I’ll be back to school, but I’m trying hard not to think about it anymore. She’ll be here any minute, the one that fate chose. 

Can you imagine if she ends up being the one? I picture us years from now �" still madly in love, with two kids, Leia and Luke, and a puppy sibling, a house and a beautiful life filled with happiness, and it all came down to a coin flip. 

I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but maybe she could be the one, and maybe one day I’ll tell her about how our destiny was written by a fifty-fifty coin flip, but for now, I’m back at the same restaurant I left just over an hour ago.

            It really couldn’t have worked out better when I messaged her to see if she wanted to get a drink and she answered, Sure, where? It was a fifteen-minute walk and now here I am, only a tiny bit sweatier than I was an hour ago, twenty feet away from the booth that Loretta, or whatever her name was and I had been sitting at when she went into full-on meltdown mode after that phone call. What the hell could have been said to her?

I’m watching the door discreetly in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar. I didn’t have time to spend on a phone call in advance, but I’ve learned that one of the things you can look at to get to know someone instantly is how they enter a room. You can tell if they are the anxious or nervous type. You can tell if they are comfortable and confident, or at least good at faking it. You can tell if they come in looking dejected, then put on a plastic smile when they see you, or if they are genuinely happy to be meeting you there the second they walk in. That’s why I always try to get to my dates first and choose a seat where I can see the entrance. 

The waiter from earlier walks by and does a double take when he sees me. 

“Welcome back,” he says with a smirk, and now I’m wondering if coming back here was a tactical error on my part. There’s a chance he might blow it for me. Before I have time to consider how I’d explain my way out of that one, the door opens and I see her… radiant eyes…  then the smile on her face. The light above the door shines down like a halo upon the head of… the chosen one.