Since Forever Ago (4 page)

“Why?” Sam asked again, staring at the two of them with a puzzled expression.

“Max here is in love,” Evan sang out before Max angrily slapped the baseball hat off of his head.

“So you’re sabotaging her life on purpose?” Sam slowly ventured, scratching his head as he tried to understand his pledge master’s evil plan. “Why don’t you just tell her you like her instead of sending her out on shitty dates?”

“Oh, Samuel,” Max began with a sigh. “You have much to learn, little one.”

“I don’t get it,” Sam mumbled under his breath before turning to his two mentors. “How is this working in your favor?”

“Sammy, just watch and learn,” Evan instructed as he pulled over the whiteboard that they used to strategize plays for flag football games. “If Riley goes on enough terrible dates, she’ll start to hate all guys in general,” Evan began, the dry erase marker squeaking against the plastic surface as he drew out a series of stick figures. To emphasize his point, he scrawled out a giant frown on his cartoon depiction of Riley as Sam reluctantly nodded in agreement. “Besides, she went out with that douchebag, Noah, for, like, a hundred years too, so she really won’t know what a real man’s supposed to be like. No offense, bro, but he’s pretty fucking beta.”

Max merely shrugged his shoulders, knowing very well that most of his frat brothers didn’t care for Noah and his vast collection of polo shirts and driving loafers. Despite the fact that the two had drifted over the past few years of college, with Max easing into the disheveled lifestyle of a bro and Noah becoming obsessed with gathering elite internships like they were trading cards, they still remained as close as they had been since they were five-year-old benchwarmers in Little League together. This, of course, only made the situation of Max having feelings for his best friend’s ex-girlfriend that much worse.

“Meanwhile, our man Max here will swoop in and act like the perfect gentleman,” Evan continued, snapping Max back to reality. “Being all nice and supportive and shit, you know? She’ll realize what a great guy he is and then—
bam
—pound town,” he added with a grin, slapping his hand next to the lewd illustration he had just produced.

“What?” Max cried, furiously wiping away the amateur pornographic drawing as the tips of his ears grew red. “There won’t be any pound—there isn’t going to be any pounding.”

“Whaaaat,” Evan whined out, shaking his head in disappointment. “Bro, you
have
to smash that. She’s hot!”

“Riley’s not the type of girl you... smash,” Max said, shooting him a glare.

“Holy shit,” Sam commented, his eyes widened in awe. “You really
are
in love.”

“Not
love
,” Max quickly blurted out. “Just... I just
like
her.”

“Love or like, it doesn’t matter,” Evan pronounced as he turned back to the board, scribbling out the words “girlfriend” and “girl friend” with a flourish. “Because
this,
my friends,” he began, underlining the wide space he had placed between the words “girl” and “friend”. “This is where Max is stuck.
The friend zone
,” he added in an ominous tone.

“Clever,” Max muttered, an unamused frown on his face.

“I know, right?” Evan replied, momentarily surveying his handiwork with pride before continuing on. “Anyway, we need to close this gap. And what better way to do that than to send her out on a bunch of shitty dates with shitty guys?”

“So are you just going to force a bunch of guys to treat her like crap?” Sam asked, cringing as he thought back on his date with their unsuspecting victim. “I felt like total shit the whole time. I wasn’t even sure I would make it to the end of the night!”

“Fortunately for us, we know plenty of guys who don’t
need
to be prompted to act like complete tools,” Evan said, grinning at the ingeniousness of their plan. “Not all men are as noble as you, Sammy. We have an entire list of worthy candidates that should last us until graduation.”

“Plus, I prepped her with all of that terrible advice,” Max added with a shrug. “Add those two together, and her dates should be bad enough for her to swear off guys altogether in no time.”

“All guys except you, you mean,” Sam slowly replied.

“Bingo.”

“Would she even
want
to go on any more dates after tonight?” Sam asked, his face scrunched in skepticism. “I mean, ours was
pretty
bad.”

“Well, she already agreed to go on a date tomorrow with one of my douchebag suitemates from freshman year,” Max told them with a mischievous smile. “
That
one should be good.”

“Brendan?” Evan asked, letting out a loud guffaw. “Man, she’s going to be scarred for
life
.”

“You guys are evil,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Love knows no bounds, Samuel,” Evan dramatically sighed out. “Love knows no bounds.”

“We’re not
that
evil,” Max said defensively. “
She’s
the one who wanted to meet new guys.
I’m
just doing her a favor.”

“I wouldn’t really call that a favor...”

“Besides,” Max began, waving his beer around dismissively. “It’s not like I’m
forcing
her to go through with them. I bet she can’t wait to meet all of these stupid guys. She’s probably trembling in excitement as we speak.”

––––––––

L
ist of excuses to get out of a date,
Riley repeated silently in her head as she typed the words into the search box.

How to get ex-boyfriend back

How many strands of hair is it okay to lose in one day

Calories in Nutella

How to make ex-boyfriend jealous

Can someone tell if I block them on Instagram

What to wear on first date

How to tell if ex-boyfriend misses me

Why do boys cheat?

Letting out a defeated groan, Riley slammed her laptop shut and pulled her blanket over her head. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t divide and conquer! She could barely stop herself from thinking about Noah every fifteen minutes!

Game face, Benson
, she silently instructed as she forced her body out of bed.
Brush your hair, put on something presentable and smile. Who knows? Maybe today is the day you meet your future boyfriend.

Riley couldn’t recall much about Max’s former suitemate, as they had only bumped into one another a few times many years ago. What she did remember, however, was that Brendan had been the tall, dark and brooding type who never smiled and always listened to sad music.
A tortured soul
, she mused to herself as she got ready for their date.
We can be twinsies.

Once she caught a glimpse of him waiting for her, however, Riley felt her heart skip a beat.
Oh God, he’s cute
, she squealed inwardly as she stared at how impossibly cool he looked while casually leaning against a table in his all black ensemble and dark sunglasses.
Thank you, Max. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Brendan had explained that he wanted to check out some exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, so Riley had enthusiastically agreed, making it a point to mention how much she loved museums.
When was the last time I went to a museum?
she had pondered to herself as she sent her reply to his text message the previous evening.
Five, no, six years ago?

“Riley,” Brendan called out in his husky voice, leaning in to give her a stiff hug. “It’s good to see you again. I already got our tickets. Should we head inside?”

And a gentleman too,
she silently swooned, nodding her head cheerfully as she followed him towards the main entrance.
Maybe I won’t have to play the field after all!

Despite her initial enthusiasm, however, Riley soon realized that she and Brendan had absolutely nothing in common. Not only that, he was actually kind of a pretentious dick.

“You don’t know who Yves Klein is?” he asked in disbelief as they entered their sixth minute of standing in front of a paint-smeared canvas. “You’re actually telling me that this work doesn’t mean
anything
to you?”

“Um... it’s a really pretty shade of blue?”

“A pretty shade of blue?” Brendan repeated, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. “Klein wanted his pieces to get people thinking. He wanted them to invoke emotion or stir up some sort of philosophical response. You don’t feel anything?”

“I mean, I think I get what he was trying to... express,” Riley began, her voice cracking in the process. “The brush strokes are very... er, swirly, and the blue is, um, very... deep? So maybe he was—”

“No, no, no,” Brendan cut her off, shaking his head in exasperation. “He wasn’t trying to
express
anything! All of his work was
satirical
. He wanted people to stop saying what they
thought
they should be saying, like you’re doing right now.”

“Oh.”

“He wanted people to take away their own sense of meaning from each piece,” Brendan continued to explain, passionately waving his hands around as he tried to convey his point. “Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

“Definitely,” Riley mumbled as Brendan gave her a small smile of relief and beckoned for her to follow him into the next room.

Why the fuck couldn’t you wear quieter shoes?
she grumbled inwardly as the heels of her boots clacked against the wooden floors, the booming echoes disrupting the eerily silent atmosphere that surrounded them. Curling her toes in an almost painful manner and treading as lightly as she could, Riley silently chastised herself for her imprudent choice of footwear.
Do you really have to fuck up on
every
little last detail? Do you? Do you?!

“Okay, this one should be easy,” Brendan told her with an eager grin, gesturing to a giant slab of ceramic with what looked like multicolored leaves adorning the surface. “You know who
this
is, right?”

“Uh... IKEA?”

An indecipherable expression clouded Brendan’s face, as if he was unsure of if he should be laughing or cringing at his date’s utter cluelessness. “Matisse,” he corrected her in a barely audible voice. “It’s Matisse.”

“I knew
that
,” Riley quickly replied, making sure to let out an uproarious cry of laughter before slapping him good-naturedly on the arm. “I was just joking!”

Matisse?
she repeated in her head as Brendan cautiously joined in on her awkward laughter.
That sounds familiar, I guess. Was he friends with that Rembrandt dude?

Come on
, Riley silently groaned, resisting the urge to roll her eyes while Brendan continued on with his commentary on a painting of a square.
It’s just a square. A fucking square!

I really should’ve been an Art History major,
she thought in misery, shooting Brendan a terse smile as he marveled over a small canvas splattered in paint. She had never felt so uncultured in her life, and it annoyed her to no end that the person causing her insecure feelings was a self-important art snob who, to be honest, wasn’t even that attractive up close.

You aren’t cute enough to be so condescending,
Riley secretly grumbled, trying not to outwardly glare at her date as he scolded her for not knowing that Picasso had also been a sculptor.
Who
cares
if he sculpted some weird bust of somebody’s head? It’s creepy as fuck!

But beggars can’t be choosers,
she acquiesced as she found herself agreeing to accompany Brendan on an outing to the Museum of Contemporary Art the following weekend.
Look at it this way, Benson. It’s an experience
.
All pros need experience!
she reminded herself, nodding in determination as she made her way back to her car.
All you need to do is look up some artsy shit on Wikipedia before you go. Maybe you’ll actually have fun next time! Besides, how bad could it possibly be?

––––––––

“D
o I have a sign on my forehead that says ‘please hate me’?” Riley whimpered out, her face scrunched up in despair.

“I take it your date went well?” Max asked, smirking at her in amusement.

“You’d think that, from the sheer number of dates I’ve suffered through, I would’ve at least met
one
decent guy by now,” Riley groaned, shaking her head miserably. “Maybe it’s about time I just gave up and accepted my fate.”

“Your fate?” Max repeated in confusion.

“Daisy. Do you think that’d be a good name for my first cat?”

“Here we go,” Max muttered under his breath, taking a long sip of his drink.

Riley was well into her third week of “power dating”, though she had yet to have any luck with the string of eligible bachelors with whom Max and Evan had set her up. Her second, and final, meeting with Brendan had been a disaster, ending with him chastising her in front of a crowd of onlookers for not comprehending the sheer brilliance of Roy Lichtenstein or Mark Rothko’s works.

Then there had been Kenneth, a stern-faced dweeb who had been aghast at the fact that she had yet to take an upper division computer programming course, after whom came Trent, a steroid-pumped adrenaline junkie who texted her selfies that he had taken via the mirror at the gym. Stoner Mike had dozed off mid-conversation not once, but three times, during their short-lived pizza date, while Elliott, an opinionated political science major with a bad case of onion bagel breath, had chatted her ear off for the entirety of the movie they had watched together.

Rounding out the pack were Jason, a slightly awkward resident advisor who had the misfortune of having been born with the smile of an overeager predator, and Dave, a blank-faced surfer boy who had exhibited no signs of having an actual personality.

After surviving such crippling dating disasters, Riley had assumed that Lucky #8 couldn’t be any worse than the seven bachelors that had preceded him. Vowing not to let this one end like the others before it, Riley had approached the date with a determined attitude and a comprehensive game plan.