Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(9)
They’re all intimidatingly beautiful with their perfectly shaped eyebrows, button noses, pouty lips, and blown-out hair…. The type of femininity where no one would dare look at any part of them and say, “She must take after her father.” I’m sure none of them even grow hair above the knee.
The only time I really start to question my appearance is when I compare myself to them—the kind of girls that Jonathan wants. I’ve always thought that the slight curve of my nose and my wildly curly hair add character, but when I scroll through the Instagram feeds of these women, I realize Jonathan’s not looking for character. He’s looking for perfection.
Simply put, I don’t think I’m his type.
And sometimes, when I let myself wonder if there’s a chance of us ending up together, I find that disappointing.
3
By the time Nora shows up, we’ve already won three rounds of trivia and backed out of the fourth. Jonathan insisted on giving another team a chance at the free drink tickets, the prize for the winners of a round. Meg’s made great use of our collective earnings, and recently returned to the booth with another tequila shot. I’ve lost track of exactly how many she’s thrown back, but that’s okay. It’s good, actually. Meg spends so much time thinking about other people, it’s nice to see her let loose and enjoy herself, especially given her circumstances. That being said, if Teacher Phoebe were on the clock, she’d be reminding Meg to use her indoor voice right about now.
After taking a few shots in solidarity, Jonathan and Nora sip their beers while Alex nurses his signature cosmopolitan with a lime wedge. Jerry once confessed to me that it’s not technically a cosmo at all but actually Tito’s mixed with two packs of an off-brand cranberry Crystal Light. No one’s had the heart to tell Alex that his Carrie Bradshaw–inspired cocktail is a knockoff vodka cran at best, and a one-way ticket to prediabetes at worst. While everyone else works on their buzz, I trace little hearts into the condensation building up on the glass of my school night Diet Coke. I’ve learned the hard way that even the smallest of hangovers is lethal when you have no choice but to exist in a room full of four-year-olds all day.
My mind wanders to the letter in my dresser drawer while Nora fills the group in on her latest Hinge date, and I push the thought away before it gets the chance to ruin my night. Don’t think about the letter, I tell myself. Focus on Nora’s story.
I pivot my entire body toward her, hopeful that whatever she’s about to say is juicy enough to hold my attention. Knowing Nora, I’d say the odds are in my favor.
“He wasn’t as cute in person.” She pauses for a second to apply a thick layer of shimmery gloss to her full lips. “And he had a boring personality to match. We ended up staring at each other in silence until I had no choice but to whip out Meg’s ‘questions to ask on a date’ note.”
Meg claps. “Told you that would come in handy!”
“So I sat there conducting a formal interview until the check came, which we split.” Nora spits out the last word like she just tasted something bitter.
Gasps sound from around the table.
“Oh my god, that sounds terrible,” I say, hoping my face doesn’t betray the smidge of relief I’m feeling. I know I should find no pleasure in Nora’s misery, but I can’t help but be comforted by dating stories like this one. They make me feel like I’m not missing out on anything too great.
“It really was. And he’s terrible in bed.” Nora shudders.
Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Nora closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. While she never shies away from sharing the details of her latest hookups, I get the sense that she’s completely exhausted by the dating scene. I want to reach across the table and shake her. Don’t you know that I would trade places with you in an instant?
“The sex itself wasn’t even the worst part!” she continues. “When I was trying to get him to leave, he got himself a glass of water, placed it on my nightstand on my side of the bed, and tucked himself under the covers.”
“Oh god,” Alex says.
“It gets worse,” Nora goes on. “Right before he turned off my lamp, he asked if I”—she pulls out air quotes for this—“?‘would mind keeping an eye on his breathing throughout the night.’?”
“For any particular reason, or…?” Alex asks.
“He has sleep apnea or whatever it’s called and has to sleep with one of those giant machines.”
Jonathan chimes in. “There’s no way this story doesn’t end with him realizing he has to go back home to sleep with his robot, right?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Nora takes a big swig of her beer. “Instead, he reached over, turned off the light, and asked me to wake him up if I noticed any ‘unusual breathing patterns or sounds.’ What am I, an EMT?” She’s joking, but deep down, I know Nora’s disappointed by her recent string of unsuccessful dates. She’s remarkably sure of herself and fiercely independent, but at heart, she’s just a big softie who wants to find love as much as the rest of us.
Meg slams her empty shot glass down on the table.
“There’s no fucking way!” she exclaims, and every head in the bar turns toward the commotion in the center of the room. Meg raises her empty glass to the onlookers.