What a Girl Wants (7 page)

Entering the coffee house, I order a tall double latte and find my way to one of the tables next to the other singles without better plans. We smile at each other, a bit embarrassed we’re here, but then Kay starts the show and things loosen up a bit. Kay’s great as emcee because she loves what she does, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. To have that ability must be so liberating. I covet it. To be able to get up in front of this group and belly dance would be so empowering.

“Welcome to the second bi-annual Open Mic Night for First Community’s singles group!”

Shouts and hollers rise, and it’s sounding like the Trigonometry Olympics from high school. I’m hanging out with the Mathletes now! The barristas behind the counter roll their eyes and I’m wishing I could just ignore stuff like that, just not even notice it happening. Our group doesn’t get that we’re comical. Why do
I
have to see it? Apparently, I’m the only one who does.
God, could
You just give me some special blinders for that? Make me socially inept
too, so I can enjoy myself ?

I want to go through life thinking Christian Colin Firth will be along anytime I’m ready. That he’d gladly put up with my bigger-than-J. Lo bum and sorry social schedule, stealing me away to an idyllic life on some tropical island, where he would be endlessly awed by my unyielding knowledge of Johnny Depp trivia.

Sigh.

“First up for tonight’s show is Seth Greenwood.”

I clap politely, wondering if Seth has any idea he dissed me. Seth has two beakers in his hands, and he proceeds to show us how salt added to water makes an egg float. I raise my eye-brows. Now that ought to impress Arin. It’s too bad she’s not here. I’m having Glenn Close bunny thoughts again. Let’s move on, shall we?

“Next up,” Kay consults her trusty sidekick, the clipboard. “Please welcome Sam Wong, who will be performing the Spock Dying Scene from
Star Trek.”

Sam has dressed his portly self in a
Star Trek
uniform and, quite frankly, he looks more like a navy Teletubbie than a Vulcan, but I suspend reality for the enjoyment of the scene.

Sam sputters and wrinkles his drawn-on Vulcan eyebrows for emotion, talking to an unseen Captain Kirk. “Don’t mourn. My sacrifice is logical. The needs of many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” The drama increases as Sam pretends to die, gives Spock-the-Vulcan fingers, and tells him to live long and prosper. Then he pushes the button on a tape machine where a rousing edition of “Amazing Grace” is played on the bagpipes.

The crowd goes wild, and I wonder how anyone is going to follow this—the grand finale of all engineer performances.

“Jake, you’re up, buddy,” Kay says.

Jake stands up and bows before actually doing anything. I swear I do not turn for the barrista’s reaction this time. Progress. I’m making progress.

“May I have a beautiful assistant, please?” Jake is looking directly at me, and I immediately check my purse for something I must have left at home. It’s useless though; Jake comes toward me. “Ashley, will you do me the honor?”

He takes my hand and lifts me up. Unfortunately, playing with my purse has wrapped the strap around my ankles, and I feel the top half of me going forward but, unable to untangle my feet, the bottom half is firmly planted back at the chair. I grasp Jake’s hand, desperately trying to stay off the hard tile floor, but it’s useless. I tumble into an ungodly pretzel position and pull Jake down on top of me. Immediately followed by my double, thankfully-cold latte. The whole room roars with laughter and, for once, we have the approval of the barristas who are clapping wildly.

As ladylike as possible, I wait for Jake to remove himself from my torso, and then uncross my legs and lift myself off the floor gingerly. I smile as if I’d enjoyed the whole scene, but I am mortified and can’t bear to look up. Jake, being a typical Silicon Valley male, quickly makes matters worse.

“Correction. I need an attractive assistant who can stand up by herself.” He laughs and grabs another woman from the giggling audience, wiping the excess coffee from his jeans. I sheepishly climb back into my seat and take the ribbing that is so richly deserved. Patting the coffee on my khakis, I know the exercise is futile. Color-safe bleach is my only option.

The worst part is that now I’m committed for the entire evening. I cannot possibly leave early without risking another big laugh.

Jake reads, from memory, a sonnet by Keats to his new, better-coordinated assistant. She blushes, and I wonder if maybe bowing out in clumsy fashion wasn’t the better alternative to having Jake under the delusion that he is a romantic. With all the waitresses he’s stiffed and extra dollars that have been added to bills for Jake’s sake, he fails miserably in the role of Romeo. Unless there’s a woman who finds home-cooked canned-chicken burritos a sexy alternative to gourmet dining.

Just when I think my evening can’t get much worse, in walks Arin sans Boyfriend. She’s wearing a darling pair of colorful capris on her size-two frame and a fitted T-shirt with flip-flops—in January—and it’s a look that works for her. She sits beside me and twists her gorgeous long blond hair. The action catches the attention of the entire room, and Seth is practically hyperventilating.

Her smile is bright and excited. “What did I miss?”

“Seth Greenwood did a science experiment, Sam Wong died as Spock, and now Jake is reading poetry.” My voice is monotone.

“Which one is Seth again?”

Ah, vindication.
“He’s the bald guy over there.”

“Oh.” She looks and turns away uninterested. “Nothing too exciting yet, huh?”

Kay Harding laughs, overhearing our conversation. “Well, Ashley did some gymnastics for us. Don’t be so modest, Ashley, it was the best thing all night. She tripped all over her own feet.”

I grin and give one of those half-laughs. Arin gets it, and she knows it’s not funny. Even though she’s twenty-four and darling and men bow at her feet as if she’s royalty, I like her anyway. Sue me.

“Ashley fell and spilled coffee, and you all thought that was funny?” Arin asks with almost a Southern drawl to the question.

“Of course it was funny,” Kay explains like a math equation. “You’re too young to remember, but Nancy Reagan was always doing that in her day. The news would play it at night and we’d laugh.”

“I think that’s terrible. Ashley could have been hurt, burned even. Not to mention her feelings from being laughed at. Isn’t this a Christian group?” The cutesy smile leaves Arin’s face, replaced by an angry frown. She has this Rene Zellweger quality. Both guys and girls love her, and despite my history with Seth, I like her, too.

Kay clicks her tongue and goes back to emceeing.

“Ashley,” Arin says loudly. “Let’s sing a song up there!”

I shake my head wildly. “I couldn’t. I have no talent. Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask, hoping to put off the idea of me performing anything other than a patent explanation.

Arin pouts. “The boyfriend is studying. On a Saturday night. Can you beat that? I told him it’s a good thing he’s cute.” She places two tiny fists on her non-existent waist. The last time my waist was as small as hers, I was graduating from sixth grade. I look again. Maybe not even then.

“Come on, Ashley. It will be fun. What do we have to lose? We sing every Sunday.”

“That’s different.”

“The karaoke machine is up there. Come on.” Arin gets up and pulls me out of my seat. Keep in mind, I’m still soaked with coffee and now I’m standing next to a darling, size-two blond. We won’t even mention Seth’s presence.
Mental note: Don’t be so picky
about television entertainment on a Saturday night.

Kay’s clipboard suddenly clears as everyone is mystified by the sight of the young, enigmatic Arin joining our group and heading to the stage. We are The Reasons, after all. She hasn’t a one.

She opens the karaoke book and finds us a song. The music starts, and before I know it, we’re crooning a kissing song by Cher.

“Ooooh Oooh Oooh,” I sing, as Arin goes for the wild part. At the end we break into a pile of giggles, and I realize with total shock that I really enjoyed myself. “Let’s do it again!”

“You pick this time.” Arin and I are still giggling, and our humor is infectious because this crowd of stagnant engineers is going crazy. More so than for Spock’s dying. At this rate, we could outpace
The Matrix
. My ego is soaring by the minute.

“‘The Macarena!’” I yell.

The music starts, and our hand motions are immediate. Who would have guessed this group would have known “The Macarena”? We shimmy and wiggle until the song ends, and once again I can barely breathe from laughing.

“Ashley, I didn’t know you could dance.” Seth is standing beside me.

“‘The Macarena’ isn’t really dancing,” I explain. “Even a patent attorney can do it.”

“Hi,” Seth says to Arin. “I’m Seth Greenwood.”

Arin nods. Even the way she nods is cute. “Nice to meet you. Wasn’t Ashley great? I knew she rocked inside that lawyer front. There’s a wild woman just waiting to get out.”

I swallow past an enormous lump in my throat waiting for his answer. He’s not looking at Arin, but at me, and I suddenly can’t believe I danced and sang in a local Starbucks. Do I have no shame? I start to laugh again at the thought.

“I’ve seen glimpses of her wild side before,” Seth winks. “You should have seen her at the water slides last summer.”

I feel my face burn. “I need an iced tea.” I bolt for the counter.

As I look back, I can see that Seth and Arin actually do make a nice couple. She’s listening to him like his words are pure gold, and I feel my own heart pound at the sight.
God, if this is the part
where I give up what I want so someone else can be happy, umm, can
You rethink that whole idea?

Arin joins me at the counter without Seth. “He seems like a nice guy, Ashley. Have you ever dated him?”

“Seth? No, I haven’t. I’m not really a big dater, actually.”

Arin tosses her hand. “Me neither. What’s the point?”

I shrug. “Don’t you want to ever get married?”

“Ha!” Arin tosses her blonde, healthy, youthful hair. “Not in this lifetime. Well, not before I’m thirty-five, anyway. Not unless I could find someone who wanted to travel the world. Someone who relished life and wasn’t content to just have a day-to-day job like all the robots here.”

“Wait until you’re thirty to say that. Those feelings will change.” I sound like the Scrooge I have become.

“No, really. I’m going to Costa Rica next month on a short-term mission. Then I want to do Africa and a safari. Kevin is too into his work for my tastes, and I’ve really enjoyed my time with him, but if we were both honest, we’d admit we’ve just been keeping each other company.” Arin’s little features crinkle under the dim Starbuck’s light. “Besides, he’s too serious for me to take seriously.” She laughs, a lighthearted tinkling sort of laugh.

“You’re in Silicon Valley, Arin. Everyone’s serious.” A serious, handsome doctor. Maybe she’ll toss him my way.

“I know. And isn’t that the problem? When I was in Italy last summer, people actually took the afternoon off to have a little wine and antipasto. Here, people barely remember to eat. I don’t think I’m cut out to be here.”

“I think I am. But lately I’ve been wondering,” I admit. “I don’t mind working twenty-four/seven. At least, I didn’t used to mind.” I look over at Seth who’s laughing with Sam about his
Star Trek
performance. I have a longing I just don’t care to feel, and Arin’s indifference to him—her focus on the future, the beyond—only reminds me I’m not comfortable in my own skin. It hasn’t been so long since I’d said the same thing about marriage. And now, according to my brother, and the men of First Community Church, I am bus bait. That Arin still has options about getting married ticks me off.

“Someday my prince will come . . .” she sings.

Ah, to be that naive again. Must change subject before I hurt her.
“So, Costa Rica? What are you going to do there?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the rain forest and this mission provides the opportunity. With the economy being what it is, there are no jobs—not that an English Lit major is hot property in this town—so it’s not like I’m missing out on anything.” She blows her long bangs from her face. “If I’m going to be unemployed, I might as well do some good.”

Ah. If only my brother Dave had had her gumption . . .

“What’s to do in Costa Rica?” I ask.

“I met up with this group of dentists who just need hands. I’m going to be helping them work on the locals who live near the coast. I’ll get to go into the rain forest and see the monkeys and the birds . . . we’ll cover quite a bit of territory.”

“Wow,” I say, truly in awe. Here I thought I was adventurous going to the movies without prepurchasing tickets on the Internet.

“You’re lucky this kind of life makes you happy, Ashley.”

I look at Seth who’s still laughing with Sam. “Am I?”

7

I
have spent this Sunday morning in meditative prayer. With fasting,
the whole bit. I have discerned God’s will for my day, and I am
ready to handle anything—peace like a river and all that. I am so
darn pacified, I’m positively comatose.

Like driftwood floating on the surf, I feel my melancholy history
pass away. Maybe I’ll now be the life of the party like Arin. I have
released bad memories from my body into the abyss of my ocean. I
leave them on the altar of God’s throne and move forward. Today is
the first day of my new faith. I will live without upset. I will not be
anxious for anything, but in prayer and petition, I will present my
requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding,
will guard my heart and mind in Christ Jesus. Life is good,
and I feel alive.

The phone rings.

“Hello,” I say breathily to show off my new-found pacifist attitude. What good is having it if I can’t share it?

“Ashley, it’s Mom.”

Breathe. This is my first test.
“Hi, Mom!” I have vigor. Throw it at me! Tell me I’m old, tell me I’m bus bait, tell me I’m too smart, I can handle it all. I am swathed in prayer, baby!