Blind Date

I fidgeted at the mirror with my dress. "Relax," I said, trying to calm my nerves. "He'll be fine."

I have social anxiety, and never dated in high school, and barely in college. My experience comes almost completely out of dating apps, and always end in disaster. I can't seem to connect with any of the guys I meet, and I'm attractive enough that I know they're only after one thing. And even at twenty-three, I don't feel ready.

It's not that I don't want to, it's just, I was raised to save it for marriage. Or, at least, for the right moment. But I don't know if that will ever happen.

So now, I took up a new "Blind Date" dating app to connect two souls on the basis of personality points only, who might otherwise never interact. My date will be meeting me shortly at the new pasta place in town.

I arrived first, always too early was my curse, as I sat at the corner table trying not to fidget too much and look pretty. I watched the men and women come in, some enjoying each other's company, some going through the motions. A couple families, lots of old folks, a couple loners. Interesting slice of life. And then he entered.

I hadn't seen a photo of my "John Doe" - the company's name for one's blind date - just some shared messages to set this up and keep our anonymity. He was tall, very tall, but also a bit slovenly. His dress shirt was partially untucked and not buttoned up correctly at all. His hair was mussed, and he looked a little tired. But he smiled when he saw me in my designated spot.

"Jane Roe?" he asked, as I smiled in appreciation, attempting to get out of the booth before he signaled me to stay put.

"John Doe?" I replied, and he nodded and laughed.

"You can call me Kevin."

"Cassie."

He was almost as awkward as I, but we got a little bit of conversation in. He seemed to be between jobs, because of a medical condition that makes it tough to work, but he didn't go into details. He seemed to walk okay. I was surprised to hear that he was only 19. He looked much older, and here I was, a college grad, robbing the cradle.

"Maybe I should go," I said, after learning of his youth.

"No. Stay," he rested his hand on mine, our first personal moment, as I blushed. I agreed to stay and he seemed relieved. That's when I noticed the first peculiar thing.

He got up and whispered to a waitress, and she agreed. Then they both retired to the back area. I assume he went to the bathroom, but I'm not sure why she followed. It was several minutes until he returned, his shirt on straighter this time.

"Marigold says our food will be here shortly," he said, a bit chippier than before. That must be the waitress's name. What a cute name. They must know each other.

"Where are you from?" I asked, remembering how the YouTube video I studied to keep a good conversation going.

"Uh," he was being evasive, "I'd rather not say. Out of state."

We were served our food, as I sat a little annoyed or perhaps worried about his answers.

"It's just that," he was a little tongue-tied himself, "I'm a little bit famous, locally, and I don't want you looking me up. Because of my medical condition. You might get the wrong idea"

My eyes grew wider, as I whispered quietly to Kevin. "Is it- is it AIDs?" I don't know if that was something you could ask someone, probably not on a first date, but I was getting the suspicion that it was something sexual. And if that was the case, I needed to know ASAP.

"What? No, God no. The exact opposite of that. Believe me. I couldn't get AIDs if I tried." He seemed to sink into himself as my mind circled over the possibilities.

The opposite of AIDs? The way he was acting? Locally famous? Wait... he took the waitress, Marigold, to the backroom with him. He was disheveled when he came here, but he had cleaned himself up, when he went with Marigold. I looked around the room, and noticed other women, and some men, giving Kevin some doe-eyed, come hither looks. I even felt ready to go further with this relationship than ever before, just by my fear of bringing up sex as a possibility so soon.

...

I dropped my fork.

My date is an EDP.