Breaking the Curse

I wish I could say that dating came easy – but that would be a lie.

Everyone experiences the nerves. The night before, you obsess over your outfit and go over the details a hundred times in your head. Location, check. Time, check. Attractive outfit that he will think about after he drops you off, double check. The day of the date, you check your phone, hoping there isn’t a missed call (or worse, text) asking for a rain check. By the time you’re dressed and checking your reflection for the millionth time, you’re convinced your apartment’s AC is broken and your mascara is running. Your date picks you up for dinner, you make small talk at the restaurant and then never see each other again.

If only it was that easy for me.

Every year since the hopeful age of sixteen, I have experienced numerous dating disasters. The rate of these occurrences is higher than Florida getting hit by a hurricane in August. You name it, I have experienced it. I have tripped on a rock and twisted my ankle at Homecoming. An ex-boyfriend choked on a popcorn kernel during a movie and needed the Heimlich. One of my first kisses resulted in both of us in the emergency room because someone’s braces became stuck on a shirt. It sounds like hilarious stories to tell your friends, but when you add them in with the typical dating landmines consisting of cheaters, serial seducers, and boring candidates, the stories just become sad.

“I am cursed,” I announced dramatically on the group chat. I had just told my girlfriends about my latest dating disaster that ended with a dropped phone and a bloody nose. “Every time, it is the same thing. I am retiring from dating.”

“You are not cursed,” Lainey said, rolling her eyes. I have made declarations like this before. Lainey has known me since we were eight years old and was present for the twisted ankle. “You just have insanely bad luck.”

Shrugging, Sara poured herself a glass of wine. “Either way, it’s not like he’s going to call Jess again. Do men typically call women that they accidentally punch in the nose?” She sipped before laughing, “Your dates are like horror stories.”

I checked my Kleenex for blood (finally, it stopped) and laughed. “I couldn’t stop apologizing! It was my phone that dropped.”

Sara snickered, “Another one bites the dust. I would think it was your fault, but you’re the one that’s injured.”

Lainey grimaced, “Stop calling it that! It is not a curse!”

Now was my turn to roll my eyes. “Well, I’ll make you a deal. If I find someone who can withstand the curse by the end of the year, I will buy you a week’s worth of lunch. If I don’t find anyone, you have to acknowledge it to everyone and buy my lunch for a week.”

“Deal.”

________________________________________________

For eight months, I was assured of my win. Under the outlined terms, I could not refuse dates unless approved by two members of our friend group. It started as a casual joke, but after one promising guy’s wife showed up to happy hour, Lainey took over my dating profiles and swore she would find someone - anyone with some potential.

“After all,” she glared at her phone, swiping viciously to the left. “There has to be some idiot who can last at least one date with you.”

I chose to answer by lifting my glass of merlot and drinking deeply. Lainey is deeply competitive; I had a feeling that my Saturday nights were going to be filled until New Years’. It was a point of pride for her. She was happily married. Sara was practically engaged with her boyfriend of three years. I was the last one left in our group happily single, except for her brother, who swore off dating after his last girlfriend moved out of town.

Sara flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. “I may have someone, but she –“ She pointed at me with a French fry, “cannot know who it is.”

Lainey sighed, throwing her phone in her purse. “I know where you’re going with this. No.”

Sara grinned. “Do you want to win?”

Lainey looked like she would rather lose at that point. Wringing her hands, she sputtered, “Yes, but- “

“Okay then. Call him and set it up. Enough is enough already.” Sara shifted in her chair, glancing at me before looking back at her patiently. “We can’t let this go on. The guys have even asked why this is taking so long. And you know they barely pay attention.”

I had no idea what was going on. It sounded like my closest friends have been plotting behind my back for me to lose this bet. Worse, it was to Lainey, who wins most arguments with ease.

Lainey grumbled before picking up her burger. “Fine. But this better work.”

___________________________________________

Two weeks later, I found myself attacked by Lainey and Sara with makeup brushes and curling wands. My normally straight, black hair was curled into waves, falling onto my bare shoulders. The burgundy dress Sara threw at me two hours before clung to my curves. Everything on my body was plucked, polished, and scrutinized before I was sent on my way to my favorite restaurant.

Of course, I had no idea who I was being set up with. I just hoped he showed up. Yes, I was being pessimistic regarding this date, but considering I was sitting alone ten minutes after he was supposed to arrive, I was ready to order calamari to go. The nerves were taking hold, and I refused for the mystery date’s first glance to be me gulping down water. I pulled out my phone and started typing.

If he doesn’t show up in five minutes, I’m lea-

“Hey,” a familiar voice breathed next to me. Startled, I looked up.

It hit me like a truck – the constant laughter as we discussed our love lives. His defending me to his sister while she swore that I had to be sabotaging the bet. His careful glances at various group outings. The brush of his hand when we crammed in the backseat of Sara’s car. He was the first to ask me if I was okay after getting cussed out in public by the angry wife and the first to laugh when I confessed to not knowing the Heimlich maneuver.

I did not have to worry about Devin surviving one date. He already lived them with me.

Smiling, I put my phone down. The nerves were gone. I knew already that I lost the bet.

“Hi.”