Wine Not?

“Why not?”

I ask my friend this with a premeditated air of flippancy and a half shrug, expecting her disapproval as I announce I have a date tomorrow night.

Lily looks at me with a concerned, sisterly expression. “Because you said you were done with the app and I’m tired of seeing you disappointed after each failed date.”

“I was about to delete it, but I'd like to give it one more try. I have a good feeling about this one. His name is Christian. He just moved here from New York. He recently graduated college, so he’s a couple years younger than me. He seems sweet and funny. Emphasis on the funny. That’s what’s been missing. All the other guys I’ve gone on a date with have lacked humor.”

“What? You didn’t think that inviting you to a pyramid scheme meeting was funny?” Lily always enjoys interjecting sarcasm into an argument, pitch-perfect for her supporting role in my romantic dramedy. “Because I certainly did. What was his name again?”

“Oh, yeah. Caleb. How was I supposed to know that you could pull that on a dating app? He looked so normal and I fell for his adventurous travel photos.” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Little did I know there are multi-level marketing ventures that involve posting photos while having fun on vacations.”

I take out my phone and search for the world travel company that almost had a new inductee one night a couple months ago when I thought I was on a first date with a guy named Caleb. I pass the phone over to her and she flips through photos people posted online in various countries holding signs that read: Wish you were here?

We laugh over the incident until we finish our cappuccinos, but I end our coffee shop chat on a sincere note. “I just want what you and Mariana have."

Cut to me the next day running errands just to stay busy. The more I let myself think about a first date, the more I want to cancel and hole myself up in my apartment for the weekend. TV series binge-watching is quickly becoming a real sport and I know I could go for gold. Who needs a love interest anyways?

The fact that this date has been determined as my final hurrah before returning to old-fashioned dating does not help my nerves. Somehow swiping right gives me a sense of control, even if every time has ended in disappointment. But Lily has been trying to convince me that meeting someone organically in this day and age is still an option. Afterall, she and Mariana met at a house party thrown by a mutual friend, and they are one of the more successful relationships I have witnessed in real life (as opposed to the fantasy ones on screen). Time to leave my love life up to fate! If tonight’s date is failure number xx, I will be praying for a “meet-cute.”

I pull into my apartment complex and hear that beautiful sound: Doo-do-do. A text from Christian. I figure he wants to check-in and confirm our meeting place and time. Throughout the week we sent the usual “looking forward to it” messages and I get the impression he is the planning type. He wanted to know all the times and via points of our date- dinner and seeing a local band at my favorite dive bar.

But as I read the new message, my elation quickly turns to confusion, and then fear.

I read: I’m going back to the store. I forgot duct tape.

Soon to follow: Whoops. Wrong person…. How are you today?

I head upstairs to my apartment and throw my keys and phone down on the entry table as soon as I get in the door. I need a moment before I reply. Either he is the dumbest murderer ever or this is a joke. It can be so difficult to tell if someone is joking over a text message! On one hand, this guy is definitely funny. He made me laugh with puns, memes and corny jokes all week. That’s why I had been excited for our date. All of the past guys I matched with were extremely dull texters- What’s up? Not much, you?

On the other hand, this guy is new to the area. Maybe he is the Ted Bundy type, moving around, acting all charming, making his kills.

Of course I did my research online, and he checks out. He appears to be who he says he is: a recent Columbia graduate from New York City who moved to Dallas, Texas for a job. He agreed to all the places I suggested for our first date because he is so unfamiliar with the area. 7:00 pm: dinner at Bella’s Italian. 10 pm: concert at The Mad Dog. But he has had time to case the joints this week….

Brilliant idea! What if I throw a wrench in his schedule? Killers do not react well to changes in the plan. I’ve seen it played out on shows and movies. That way, if this duct tape is meant to muffle my screams and bind my arms and legs as he throws me into the trunk of his car, he will just have to postpone it until our second date.

I finally text him back saying that I am doing well, but something came up and it would be better to meet him at 7:30 instead. Also, Bella’s had no open reservations so I think we should go to the equally delicious Carmen’s Pizzeria. He quickly replies that that works for him and he will see me soon.

That did it! I congratulate myself on my cleverness.

Feeling slightly relieved, I put on a movie in the background as I paint my nails, straighten up my apartment, and choose which variation of black dress I will wear tonight. Then it’s hair, makeup, the works. Very movie montage.

7:15 rolls around and it’s time to get going. This is also my last chance to bail. I start my car and let it warm up, choosing the proper early 2000’s pop playlist to get me in a flirty mood. Final inner monologue: I should go. He seems so normal except for…. But why would he need duct tape? I push any crazy theories aside. Oh, why not? I've always been one to take a chance on love. I’ll text Lily my whereabouts throughout the night. Cue the music.

Walking up to the restaurant, I easily spot Christian outside the entrance. He looks just like his photos. He also looks as if he has been waiting on me so I open with, “Hope you haven’t been waiting too long!”

We get seated at a cosy table in the back corner of Carmen's. Fueled by pizza and wine, the conversation flows effortlessly. Or perhaps it’s just that we have chemistry and there are no signs of murderous tendencies on either side.

“I had a TV delivered to my new place today, but it showed up damaged!” Christian shows me a photo of the ill-fated 65 inch on his phone. “See the top left of the screen? I have to ship it back and get a new one. I was so bummed! That’s why I went to the store for packaging tape.”

“Packaging tape? I thought you said duct tape in your text.”

“I did but I just got the name wrong. I meant the clear kind for shipping boxes. I was texting my mom and she corrected me.”

Time to fess up.

“I have a confession,” I begin. “I thought you may have been making a first-date joke or….” He looks genuinely confused, so I go on, “You said you forgot duct tape, which is that heavy-duty, grey tape that movie murderers use to tie up their victims….” I trail off. He understands now.

Without missing a beat, Christian takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it to his side. He pretends to text with dramatic flair, saying out loud, “Abort mission. The girl’s on to us!”

I keep up the act and shake my head, “Sorry. I’m just too quick. You’ll have to try harder next time.”

He smiles. “Now that that’s out of the way. I’m glad you took a risk to have dinner with me.”

I made the right decision.

The waiter comes over and asks if we’d each like another glass of merlot. Christian looks at me for confirmation. I smile and nod enthusiastically.

“Wine not?”