Richard

I’m obsessing about the weather. I’m sure I’ve checked the forecast seven times in the last hour alone. His flight has been delayed. Originally due at around 9 PM, it is now expected to arrive somewhere around 2 AM and as luck would have it, we are expecting freezing rain tonight. I’m not only nervous about meeting him for the first time, but now I have to drive nearly 30 kilometres on an icy highway. The joys of living in Alberta!

I was thrilled when he said that he was ready to buy a ticket and fly to Edmonton for a visit. We decided on the February long weekend, and it also happened to be Valentine’s day on Sunday. The perfect weekend to meet him in person. I was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to stay a little longer, but we vowed to make the most of the two and a half days together.

We found each other on a dating site. His name is Richard and I’m attracted to his big, bright smile. We chatted, then texted and eventually started talking on the phone daily. He’s Jamaican. Living in Toronto. Employed full-time. Not living in his parent’s basement. And his children, grown. Funny how different your dating criteria is in your forties - okay maybe early fifties - than it is in your twenties.

He described himself as humble. Check. Romantic. Check. Resourceful. Check. A gentleman. Check. Generous. Check. Spontaneous. Check. Looking for a long-term relationship. Check.

He’s told me stories about his grandmother and aunt, strong women that helped shape him into the man he is today. Through the years they imparted lessons in how to conduct himself as a man. He’s grateful that they’ve been there to guide him. He enjoys cooking, although he mostly makes the Jamaican dishes that he grew up with. His aunt often introduces him to foods he hasn’t tried, like baked potatoes with all the fixin’s. He loves them, but never makes them for himself.

I’m a bundle of nerves driving out to the airport. I leave early. Drive slowly and cautiously, and breath a huge sigh of relief as I park my Trailblazer. I inch my way across the icy sidewalks to the arrivals door.

There’s plenty of time for me to work up my nerves again. I’m still early. And tired. I put in a full day's work, shopped for groceries for the weekend; including baker potatoes and all the fixin’s. Stopped at the liquor store for a couple of bottles of nice wine. Rushed home to clean the house, shower and commenced my obsession with the weather. It’s now well after midnight and I’m exhausted.

With everything closed at the airport, there’s nothing to do but pace. And then pace some more.

I think about the weekend ahead. I purchased tickets for a concert at the River Cree Casino for Saturday night. A friend of mine and her husband will also be attending the concert, but sitting on the other side of the hall. Afterwards, we’ll get together for a drink or a bite to eat. Richard has promised to cook dinner for me and my daughter during his visit, maybe for Valentine’s Day. And spoil me. When I ask him what that means, he says, "You’ll see."

When the arrivals board finally lists his flight safely on the ground, I join a small group of people gathering to meet their loved ones. Passenger after passenger files through the arrivals gate and into the airport. I hang back, hoping I'll recognize him as he steps through the doors. The crowd starts to thin. He’s one of the last to arrive. I see him walking the long hall, happily chatting with a pretty lady, presumably from the same flight. They stop as they walk through the arrivals door, exchange a few more words and part ways. She approaches a tall, good-looking man. They embrace, kiss, and the man takes her bag as they walk away hand in hand.

He spots me. His walk immediately changes to a swagger. He starts, what I can only assume, is some kind of weird mating ritual. Almost pausing to pose a couple of times on his way over to me, allowing me to take it all in. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, with a multicoloured scarf around his neck. He’s heavier than I expected. He keeps his hands in his pockets, and he’s grinning like some kind of Cheshire cat. Looking at me like I just won a prize. I’m immediately turned off.

“You see that girl I was talking to there?” He points in the direction of the lady he just parted ways with. “She was hitting on me so hard during the whole flight!”

I watch as she walks with her man through the airport. Richard has a smug smile of self-satisfaction on his face. I have a sudden urge to slap it off. After all this time, this is how this man chooses to greet me? No hug, no kiss, not even a handshake. The first thing he wants to do is tell me how some other woman finds him desirable, like I should be pleased that he passed on the offer and held out for me.

“Looks like she has a man.”

“That don’t mean nothin’,” he says, finally removing one hand from his jeans and swiping at the air in an effort to banish my absurd comment. “Come on, let’s go.”

I should know by now that when a man tells me he’s humble, he’s already proven he doesn’t know the definition.

Humble. Uncheck.

I ask about his flight as we head to the car. He had a nap he tells me, no doubt he was exhausted from fending off all those advances.

“I have a favour to ask. I have a real phobia of driving on the highway at night and with the freezing rain . . . Would you mind driving?”

“I don’t know your car.”

“It’s an SUV. I think you told me you drive an SUV too. Shouldn’t be much different, but if you’d rather not . . .”

“No, I’ll drive,” he says, like I’m expecting way too much of him and I immediately regret asking.

He’s driving 60 kilometres an hour down the highway, well below the posted limit of 100 kilometres an hour at night. I can’t help thinking I could have done that. The whole time I’m trying to make casual conversation while watching the side mirror and praying that no one hits us from behind. Thankfully the highway is pretty lonely at this hour and I only have to clutch my seat in fear a few times.

We arrive at my house and he makes several attempts to parallel park. “I’m not used to your car,” he tells me over and over.

My daughter has set everything up for me and then hidden herself away in her room. Candles are lit. Wine and two glasses await us in the living room. I invite him to have a seat with me on the sofa. I imagined we would enjoy a glass of wine and spend some time getting comfortable with each other. He lunges at me. His tongue is in my mouth and his hand up my sweater before I take my first sip. “Pretty bra,” he says, grabbing at it. “How do I get it off of you?”

“I thought we could enjoy a glass of wine”.

“We can take it with us.” He grabs the bottle as he stands up. “Where’s your room?”

Okay, I think, so much for romance. I bring the glasses and we head up the stairs. I tell myself it’s not like we’re strangers, we’ve been communicating for almost a year.

I head to the ensuite where I slip into the sexy little nightgown I planted there earlier. I come back out to my room to find he’s already crawled into bed and is, I presume, naked under the covers. He grabs the wine bottle from the bedside table and takes a long swig directly from the bottle while he pats the bed with his other hand. What am I, a dog? At least he’s not on my side.

He switches off the light and climbs on top of me before I’m even completely in the bed.

Romantic. Uncheck.

******

“I’m thirsty,” he announces upon waking, as he reaches for the bottle of wine that’s sat on the bedside table all night. He struts through a beam of sunlight on his way to the toilet. He really is a lot chunkier than I thought he was, he clearly chose his photos carefully. I feel kinda bad even thinking that. I’m not a small person myself. The difference is, he has a stated preference for ‘curvy’ women, and I have a preference for tall, slim men. At least he’s tall; kind of.

He leaves the door half-open while he pees. I try to ignore the torrent of urine as it hits the bowl. I’m one of those people that appreciates a private moment in the washroom and I’ve never understood those that don’t. As he flushes the toilet he squeezes out a fart. That, I can’t ignore.

Gentleman. Uncheck.

He returns to bed for another round of slap and tickle. At least the sex isn’t bad.

******

“I forgot my toothbrush!”

“How did you manage that? You should pack things as you use them the day you leave.”

“What am I supposed to do!?!?” Suddenly I had a five-year-old standing in front of me. A rational person would ask if there’s a store nearby where they could pick one up. “Don’t you have one for me?”

I wasn’t aware that I was obligated to provide basic toiletries for my houseguests, but I look around anyway, he’s clearly not going to solve this problem on his own. After checking my usual backup stock, I remembered that I have a toothbrush in the half bath on the main floor. I’m pretty sure I’ve used it a couple of times, but desperate times.

Resourceful. Uncheck.

******

He dresses in a ratty old pair of sweats and inquires about when breakfast will be served. We head downstairs.

“This is my daughter.”

“Nice to meet you.” He shakes her extended hand. “What are you watching?” He asks as he makes himself comfortable at my computer, without asking.

“Just some YouTube videos.”

“Pass me the TV remote.”

She looks bewildered but does as she’s asked.

“How do you get the cable on here?”

“We don't have cable.”

“What!?!? How am I supposed to watch sports?” That five-year-old is back.

She just shrugs.

I head to the kitchen, he makes no attempt to follow.

In a few minutes, I hear the computer speakers come to life with the colour commentary from a soccer game. It drowns out the TV. This man has to be the rudest person on the planet.

My daughter joins me in the kitchen and we exchange a look that says we're on the same page.

“Breakfast is served. Scrambled eggs with ham, peppers and cheese, hashbrowns and raisin toast. Come and help yourselves”

“You’re not going to fix my plate?”

“Not in my house. I cook, you serve yourself.”

He takes a generous serving and eats quickly. Then he returns to the kitchen and helps himself to the last of the eggs and hashbrowns and pops a couple more pieces of raisin bread in the toaster. Now, I like my guests to feel at home, but when he returned to the kitchen several more times over the course of the next hour and finished the entire $5 loaf of bread, I started to see how he got that physique. I had hoped that bread would last for a couple of meals.

Oh, and he makes a disgusting sound with his mouth when he eats.

All that bread has made him tired and he asks me to join him for a nap before we go out for the evening. Another round of sex and he’s out cold for the next few hours.

I lay in bed thinking that I’m grateful that he’ll only be here for two and a half days.

He rolls over and passes wind.

******

After a ridiculously long shower, he opens the door and emerges in a billow of steam requiring some lotion before he gets all ashy. Apparently, he forgot that too and my fruity-smelling stuff wasn’t going to cut it. He suggests I look through my stash for something a little less girly.

******

As we enter the casino I nudge Richard and point in the direction of a young couple being carded by security. “I hope we don’t get carded,” I joke.

“I hope not too. I’m not carrying my ID.”

“How do you leave the house without ID?”

“I’m not walking with my wallet.”

Seriously? How does a man leave the house to go on a date and not take his wallet unless it’s intentional?

We’re early, so we walk around. I decide to try my luck at a slot machine, so I pull a twenty out of my wallet and push it into the machine.

“I wanna play too. Can I get a twenty?”

I unintentionally shoot him a look.

“I have money at the house. I’ll pay you back.”

I hand him a twenty and he shoves it in the machine and pulls back the lever. The reels start spinning and the first one stops on bonus, followed by a second and a third bonus reel. Lights start flashing and the arcade-type music fills the air as his bonus game begins. He wins a hundred dollars even and cashes out. I’d rather puke than say good for you, but I say it anyway.

He hands me a twenty. “I told you I was good for it.” That smug look is back again.

He pushes the other eighty dollars deep into his pants pocket as I take my last unrewarded spin.

The show is starting shortly, so we make our way to the concert hall and take our seats. The place is packed, but I manage to spot my friends and wave.

Gino Vannelli takes to the stage and leads us on a musical journey back to the ’70s and ’80s. The music is loud, the lights are bright and I’m treated to the rumble of Richard farting in the chair next to me.

******

“Donna. Graham. This is Richard.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you!” Donna smiles, shaking his hand.

“What did you think of the concert?” Graham asks.

We all agree that it was a great concert.

Richard looks towards the restaurant, “I’m starving! I haven’t eaten since breakfast. No one fed me dinner.”

We get comfortable at the table and look at the menus. Richard orders a chicken and pasta dish with an add-on of shrimp. “I don’t eat fried foods,” he tells us. I ask for a beef dip, while my friends just order sodas. We settle into a casual conversation. As we eat, Richard’s hand keeps finding its uninvited way onto my plate and the majority of my fries find their way to his mouth.

“Can I get you anything else?”

A quick survey of the table confirms that we’re ready for the bill. The waiter sets it down between the two men. We all stare at it for a while and eventually, my friends pick it up and start searching their pockets for a few bucks to cover their drinks. Richard looks off into the distance while I think about the $80 in his pocket and the concert tickets that I paid for. I grab the bill, “I've got it.”

Generous. Uncheck.

******

It’s Sunday morning, Valentine’s Day. Basically a repeat of yesterday, except today I serve waffles since we’re experiencing a raisin bread shortage.

We sit down to eat and he grabs the remote. He now knows how to find Netflix. He searches the list of movies. “Okay, I think I found a good one,” he announces pointing the remote at the TV.

The opening credits begin as some french music plays in the background. Abruptly the screen fills with a naked man laying on his back in the middle of a bed. As the camera pans out we see a woman’s hand wrapped around his penis, rhythmically pumping up and down. She sits beside him, eyes closed, legs splayed in our direction, masturbating.

******

“What do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could go to West Edmonton Mall, walk around. Or we can do something touristy.”

At first, he agrees, but after I shower and get ready, he says he’s feeling lazy and would rather just take a nap.

Spontaneous. Uncheck.

******

“What’s for dinner tonight?” he asks when he gets up a few hours later.

I guess he’s not cooking. “We’re having chicken breast, baked potatoes and veggies.”

“Don’t you have rice?”

“I think so, but I remember you telling me how much you enjoyed the baked potatoes your aunt made. I’ve got all the fixin’s.”

“I rather have rice.”

It’s hard not to roll my eyes at this point. Dinner now consists of baked potatoes for me and my daughter. Plain white rice for Richard.

He loads up his plate and looks at me, “Where’s the sauce?”

“What sauce?”

“Gravy. Sauce! To put on my rice.” That five-year-old is making another appearance and I’ve officially lost my patience.

“I didn’t make gravy. I also didn’t plan to make rice, I planned to make baked potatoes.”

“How am I supposed to eat this rice?”

“Take a look in the fridge,” I say, as I walk out of the kitchen. “Maybe there’s something saucy in there.”

******

After dinner my daughter suggests we go out for ice cream. I’m happy to agree. We’re both looking for any kind of escape at this point. I consider going without him if he’s not interested in joining us. Unfortunately, he tags along.

“What are you two having?” I ask as we stand in line at the Dairy Queen.

“I don’t eat sweets,” he says.

We pick up ice cream for my daughter and decide to go for a drive to look at the rich neighbourhood. My daughter and I happily chatter on about the houses while Richard sits sullen and silent in the back seat.

On the way back home I suggest we pick up coffee.

“One large coffee with one sweetener and half cream and a large double-double,” I turn to Richard “What do you want?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“And a large hot chocolate," I tell the speaker.

As we drive up to the window he says, “Add some Timbits to the order.”

I thought he said he didn’t eat sweets. “I don’t suppose you brought your wallet,” I say, as I pay the lady.

I’d send him to a hotel tonight if I didn’t think I’d have to pay for it.

******

Monday morning and I’m obsessing about the weather again. Freezing rain. After breakfast I decide I’m not driving to the airport again and I start investigating how I can send him on his own. I find a city bus that goes directly to the airport from a nearby transit station.

“I’m sorry I just don’t feel safe on the highway," I tell him as we get in the car. “The fare is $5, they don’t make change.”

“I don’t have a five.”

Judging by the problem-solving skills I’ve witnessed thus far, I don’t expect he’ll be able to figure this one out. I stop at the store, get change and hand him a five-dollar bill. A small price to pay to get this guy out of my house.

I park in the lot of the transit station. As we start walking I see the airport bus waiting and walk a little faster. Richard slips and makes a disparaging comment about buying the shoes he’s wearing for running in the snow. Who does he think he’s kidding?

Before he boards the bus he stops to kiss me. I turn my head so the kiss falls on my cheek.

“See you again soon,” he says.

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?” He actually looks bewildered.

“I mean, I don’t think so.”

Looking for a long-term relationship. Uncheck.