Page 27 of Counting the Days

Rhea wondered why this man had reached out to her. The next day, he reached out again.

Randall:Wanna get a drink?

Rhea:With you?

Randall:Yes. Was that not clear?

Rhea:Yeah, sorry, I was joking

Feeling the need to say “Sorry” this early on was not a great sign, but she plowed ahead through several more dry, boring texts, and they agreed to meet at a wine bar in Santa Monica.

As Rhea rubbed lotion on her legs that morning, she shuddered at the thought of Randall touching them. She put on long pants to prevent that from happening. Typically, before she left her house, she would contour her face by applying differing shades of foundation and bronzer that created an optical illusion, making her nose appear thinner and straighter. However, that morning, she wore minimal makeup, opting not to execute the elaborate shading technique she had mastered over the years. She was subconsciously hoping her unshaded nose would repel Randall, so she would not have to see him for a second date, but could at least comfort herself knowing she was still putting herself out there; she was still trying.

She did not want to be the sole reason she had not found the right man yet. She wanted to blame outside forces, and as long as she kept putting herself out there, she could continue to see herself as an innocent victim of circumstance.

She debated calling the date off, but recently, as she swiped through the Bumble app, she had started seeing the same old profiles popping up over and over again on her account, and she feared she had reached the end of Bumble. She had swiped left on Randall three times before finally relenting and swiping right. She swiped left far more often than she swiped right, and even Bumble had grown exasperated with her.

The issue with Bumble was Rhea’s age. When selecting her age range preference, she chose men between thirty-five and fifty. However, almost all of those men would not be caught deadmatching with a woman over thirty-five; this prevented Rhea from ever matching with a man in her preferred age range. So, she was forced to expand her age filter and discovered the men whowerecomfortable matching with women over thirty-five were old enough to be their fathers. And since these men were old enough to have an adult child, they would probably not be too keen on having a newborn child, but Rhea was left with no choice but to pursue aged gentlemen, hoping one might still be fertile and energetic enough to procreate with her.

Randall was twenty years older than Rhea. She had to stop being so picky and take chances on men who did not immediately excite her but might prove to be soulmate material upon further inspection. Sure, Randall seemed boring, but that was only a first impression; men had grown on her before. She had to try. The tightening noose of 285 days propelled her forward.

She watched a woman browse. The woman came into the store every weekend and had never purchased anything, so Rhea didn’t feel the need to get off her stool. Rhea was not bothered by this woman, knowing she used the store as a form of therapy, gently touching the expensive dresses and locally made ceramics, never trying anything on, and leaving a bit more relaxed than when she arrived.

Rhea empathized with the woman and wanted to encourage her to keep coming back, so she always greeted her with the same energy with which she would greet a woman who was definitely going to buy something. She tried to appear alert and ready, as if she assumed the woman would require her services at any moment. However, she did allow herself to discreetly pull out her phone and check her texts. She told herself the constant text checking was not because of Danny, but herself knew she was lying.

Her imagination had created an outlandish scenario; Dannywas going to text her, out of nowhere, and say something like:Hey, did you end things because of what I said about not wanting to be a father? If so, I just want you to know, I changed my mind after I met you. Because I love you and want you to be the mother of my kids.

Sadly, no such text appeared on her phone. She did have a new email alert, though, and was willing to believe Danny had tracked down her email address because he had an even longer and more romantic message to deliver. Alas, the email was from Zoe.

The subject:Fwd: Finding Your Soulmate from Within

The message:Hey, my love, I’m on their mailing list, so I got this and thought you should check it out.

The original email was from a place called Esalen in Big Sur. Rhea scrolled through photos of a stunning cliffside retreat center overlooking the Pacific Ocean. An upcoming weekend workshop was being advertised that involved delving into your psyche to discover why you were preventing yourself from finding the love of your life. Housing and meals were included.

Apparently, Zoe thought Rhea needed a special workshop to figure out how to do the thing that everyone else seemed to do in their sleep. She neededtwo days and one nightto learn how to be a human being. Rhea suppressed the urge to throw her phone and instead clicked on a new Bumble message from Randall:C u soon cutie pie

She decided to put her phone in a drawer for the rest of the day.

—

Rhea shifted her car inand out of drive eight times. The number increased with her anxiety. She drove to the wine bar with less enthusiasm than to the DMV. She parked and entered the dimly lit, chic space and spotted a pair of humorless eyes sittingat a small table. She greeted Randall and sat across from him. He asked what she wanted to drink and got up to retrieve it. She felt bad for judging him so harshly; he was gentlemanly enough to buy her a drink. She had definitely experienced worse first dates.

He came back with a glass of orange wine for her and a whiskey for himself. He wore ill-fitting khaki pants with sagging cargo pockets, the hems of which hung over his stark white New Balance sneakers. His cellphone was clipped into a plastic holder at his belt. When Rhea spotted the contraption, she had to stop herself from pointing at it.

“So, Raya—” he began.

“It’s Ree-ah,” she said.

“Oh. Really?”

She didn’t know how to respond. Was he asking if she was absolutely sure about the correct way to pronounce her own name?

“Anyway, Ree-ah, tell me about yourself, what’s your story?” he said, and she noticed he had food in his teeth.

Another side effect of her teenage PTSD was an odd terror that took hold of her when she noticed food in someone’s teeth. If she was eating with the person and they got food in their teeth, that was fine, but when she did not know the source of the food or how long it had been in there, it made her throat close up. She needed to remove the food from her sight or she would not be able to stop thinking about it.What kind of food was it? When did it get lodged?

He now appeared clueless, completely unaware that a small piece of a past meal was displayed for all to see. She could not tell this man she barely knew that he had food in his teeth; that was far too intimate an act. Currently, he didn’t know he was ridiculous and vulnerable; if she told him the truth, the evening would be ruined.