Meternity. Meghann Foye
all developed a formula for what works postthirty. Me, a loose, bohemian-style “with child” ready ensemble in case anyone I know should arrive.
Drinks in hand, Addison and Brie eye the room for possible prospects, goal-oriented and ready. So different from our midtwenties when these nights were just about having fun. I see Addison eyeing a cute group of youngish guys. Brie clicks into flirt mode, flicking her head back and running a few fingers through her hair, that is, when she’s not checking her phone.
Lately, I’ve noticed that most of our conversations center around assuring one another that we’re smart, beautiful and are going to be “okay.” It goes on and on until we’ve reached a fever pitch of feeling hot, smiling around the bar widely. Not a soul seems to notice.
“So, what happened with Brady?” I ask Addison. She’s eyeing the twentyish group of guys who seem to be playing fantasy football on their phones from their sporadic cheers and table slapping.
“Ooh, yes, the venture capitalist who met us out at karaoke?” asks Brie, intermittently checking her phone.
“How old is he again?” I ask, the only one fully attentive.
“Thirty. But it ended last night when I told him I needed more attention and he told me he needed a twenty-two-year-old,” she says. “I told him he’d never find one as good as me in bed, but he was welcome to try.”
“Aww, no. I’m sorry, that sucks,” I tell her.
“It’s okay. It’s his loss. I’ve decided I’m just going to have as much fun as possible this summer. What else can you do?”
“Well, plan Secret-4-the-One isn’t going as well as I’d hoped, either,” says Brie, shoulders scrunched.
“What happened?” I ask, worried.
“So as soon as I launched into online dating full throttle, I met this guy at a bookstore—can you believe it? It was like straight out of a ’90s rom-com. He’s been traveling around the world for years after getting laid off on Wall Street. Totally my type.”
“So? How did it go?”
“Okay,” she says, smoothing her hair behind her ears. “Until I decided to go back home with him, and discovered that he had a hoof hanging above his bed.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. A hoof. Not even a dream catcher—I would have given him a pass on that one, but yeah, a hoof. He said it was considered a good luck charm to increase male virility. He said a town elder gave it to him in Burma.” She turns up her nose.
“So no date number two?”
“Uh, yeah, ya think?” she says, smiling. “It’s okay. The right one is out there, I know. I just have to clear a few more blockages in my love corner.”
I consider keeping my crush on Ryan under wraps. Once it’s out there, I know my friends will pick apart every detail, or “pinball” it. Brie and I’ve coined the term denoting the way in which your well-meaning friends can inadvertently send a nascent relationship straight into the gutter by commenting on each individual interaction and text too soon, before the blastocyst has fully implanted. One psychologically projected comment from Add or Brie, and I know I’ll be swayed to start thinking the worst about the whole Ryan situation.
“So remember the guy I worked with on the mega-multiples story? Ryan Murphy? I went out with him last night. Well, it wasn’t a date really. More of a work thing.” My face warms as I say it out loud, even though I’d just decided not to.
“The cute Gap Jeans Guy from karaoke?” My two friends stop staring around the room. I’ve now got their full attention. “Wait, you didn’t even text me?” says Brie.
“Yeah, way to bury the lede,” shoots Addison.
“It kinda happened last minute. I couldn’t have him come to the office, so he asked me to go to drinks instead.”
“And?” pushes Addison.
“It was fun. I don’t know if it was a date per se. Well, maybe it was—I think he was flirting with me.” I timidly tell them about the back-and-forth banter. “He wants to produce an environmental documentary and I think he’s pretty legit about it.” I look down for some reason, shy to reveal these details. “It’s actually kind of awesome.” I feel nervous all of a sudden. “Do you guys want another round?”
“I’m technically on a cleanse,” says Brie, “I probably shouldn’t. Well, okay.”
“So did he make a move?” demands Addison.
“No. Right at the end he got a text, and he said he had to go suddenly.” Both girls take a second to think about it.
“He probably just had a work thing. I’m sure it’s no big deal,” says Brie. “This is exciting.”
I look over at Addison, whom I can typically count on to be more of a realist. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s fine,” she says with a look of reassurance. “Anyway, even if it is another girl, there’s no reason why he wouldn’t be totally into you, hot stuff.”
I cringe a little at the compliment, which feels slightly untrue. “Well, even though it was super fun, I’m sure he’s still in Peter Pan phase. I mean, he’s thirty-seven, hot, works at a television network and lives in the East Village—that’s basically like twenty-one in Manhattan guy years,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Liz, you can’t think like that,” says Addison. Brie waits carefully.
“Like what?” I’m a little peeved.
“Defeated.”
“What? I’m just realistic. There are no real men in this city—only man-children who want mother-wives to be by their side and cook dinner for them. All I’m saying is that the chances are slim someone who is such a catch would be into me.” I take a large sip of my drink.
“Enough!” says Addison. “I am not buying in to this internalized powerlessness. We’re quality catches. Any guy would be thrilled to have us.”
“It’s not us. It’s them.” I wave over to the “brahs” who are now flinging chicken wing bones at one another, three-point-field-goal-style. “Things have changed so much in the past four years. Texting and Tinder culture has made life too easy for them. They think they can just Amazon.com a model girlfriend.”
“Seriously,” Brie says. “The only one with the power is the owner of those three evil black dots!”
“Liz, it’s all about taking back the power and portraying confidence,” says Addison. “Watch me.”
Addison squares her shoulders, runs a hand through her curls, then walks right over to the boys in the corner, who, to her credit, light up as she starts talking to them. The next thing we know she’s brought them over.
“I just asked these nice gentlemen if they could settle an argument we were having about what guys are really looking for in a woman.” The guys look at Addison stupidly with their hands in their pockets like she’s a cut of prime rib.
“When you’re looking at girls online, what’s the most important thing? Hotness or confidence?” The guys look at one another as if there’s a right answer and a real answer. Still, Addison pushes.
“Confidence—she has to look like she doesn’t give a shit,” ventures one.
Addison beams. “See!” she says. “These guys get it.”
“Like she’s too good for you,” adds the other.
“Exactly,” confirms Addison. “A girl who knows her value.”
“Like she knows how to take care of herself,” interjects the first. “Hot.”
“You guys get it,” says Addison, resolute. “A girl who puts herself first.”