The Right Fit - Chapter #2 - by Daphne Dubois

His light brown crew cut showed off the tops of his ears, red from the wind. He smiled, a dimple appeared on the right cheek. “Some day, huh?” He stopped a few feet in front of the bench. Then he squinted up at the late gray February sky, making sure the sun was still there. When he looked back at Maxine his smile was still in place, but it looked stuck, unnatural. “Say,” he said, inclining his head, “do you have the time? I don’t have a watch on, and I left my phone on my desk back at the office.”

Her date didn’t work at an office. He was a teacher—and he’d taken today off especially to meet her. Maxine’s hands shook as she attempted to open her purse, the paperback tumbled from her lap and fell to the ground. Wordlessly, he stood there and watched.

“It’s twenty after twelve,” she said, turning the phone to show him as if she needed to prove herself.

He barely glanced at the screen, but took her all in, itemizing her scarf, long white coat, and black high heels Crosby insisted she wear. The man’s smile reduced to a thin line. After a pause he nodded, then continued down the path. Maxine listened to his fading footsteps, but unlike the jogger, she didn’t turn around to watch him disappear.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed on the bench, too stunned to move. A number of people passed by before she acknowledged the horrible truth. That man had been her date, she was sure of it. He’d shown up for their rendezvous, took one look, and refused her.

Then he lied about working at an office, pretending to be someone else.

Asshole, her sister Rose would say.

Cowardly, Crosby would offer.

Embarrassment lurched her into action. Maxine made her way two blocks east to the subway station, ignoring the dull sound her heels, now stiff with cold and salt caked, made on the concrete.

The stale, heated air of the underground swirled around her. She got on the next train and plopped gratefully into two empty seats. She could fit into one molded seat, but just barely. And right now, the last thing she needed was to be reminded of how much space she took up.

She felt the sway of the subway car as she simmered inside her white coat. The vindictive humiliation at being stood up by him was too personal.

A few weeks ago, he’d emailed her about his upcoming root canal. He hated the dentist, he’d written, he’d have to be sedated. She’d responded at once, worried for him.

The last few messages between them had been inching toward more intimate matters. He’d confessed he hadn’t been with anyone since his divorce. Maxine hinted at what she wanted in the bedroom, being subtle yet flirtatious. He was direct, factual. She was receptive, hopeful.

She had stared at his picture trying to fill in the details hidden by the sunglasses and longish hair, wondering what his lips would feel like. The ache to be touched had driven her toward this mysterious man.

At first, she felt brave; acknowledging that no one who knew her, certainly no one she worked with at the

spa, would have guessed she was pushing the boundaries of her own personal comfort level. Humility, she thought at the time, was a small price to pay for a long kiss that would take them to her bedroom and under the covers.

Maxine was only two stops from her apartment. Her frozen calves were thawing out with pins and needles. She was anxious to get out of the ridiculously tight outfit and slip into her bathrobe. An afternoon of binging on movies was promising to be a nice consolation. What better way to watch Dynasty than with a bottle of wine and appetizers? She wouldn’t even have to share. Her heart calmed. Perhaps this was meant to be. Fate—the nail polish never lies.

Her phone buzzed in her purse. There was a text from Rose.

—The city is full of creeps. If you don’t text me back, I’ll assume you’re in the trunk of his car—

Subtly was never an option for Rose.

Maxine sent a quick reply before Rose called 911.

—He cancelled last minute. Stomach flu—

There was a pause of about a minute, then a text came in from Crosby, who had obviously heard from Rose.

—Did you reschedule?—

A dull throb started in Maxine’s temples. She tried to take a deep breath but the green dress felt like a vice around her chest. She texted back.

—I think fate is telling me he’s not my rebound— Then she added a smiley face with its tongue sticking out—Crosby loved emoticons. Might as well lie all the

way, she thought. Maxine recently discovered pretending to be happy was almost as good as the real thing.

The subway train came to a stop. A crowd spilled in taking almost all the seats. Maxine noticed an elderly couple shuffle on, she had a flowered kerchief over her hair white hair, and he was wearing a fedora. They wavered, stooped over, staying beside the center pole.

Maxine stood. “My stop is the next one,” she said, motioning to the pair of seats she just vacated.

They nodded and smiled. The man helped his wife sit before he tucked in beside her. She reached for his gloved hand. He covered it with his.

Maxine smiled at the couple. Then she looked away as a tug of loneliness pulled down on her heart. She pictured the white box on the top shelf of her closet. She’d be mortified if anyone found out, but she couldn’t throw it away. Besides, the nail polish never lied. It was her fate to be stood up today.

Fate.

Waiting for Fate.

Then she realized she left the new paperback at the park, on the ground—soiled and forgotten.