The Last Single Girl Read online

  THE LAST SINGLE GIRL

  by

  CAITIE QUINN

  * * * * *

  ONE

  DATING TRUTH #1: Just when you've comfortably established a group of single girlfriends, disaster strikes.

  "JONATHON IS EVERYTHING I ever wanted in a guy." Angie spun the cocktail stirrer around her martini. "I can't believe my brother never brought him home before. I mean, they've been best friends since college."

  She said it as if college was decades ago instead of only a couple years. I couldn't help but wonder if maybe knowing his sister would steal his best friend was why he'd never brought Jonathan home. He'd been hiding the poor guy. Caving meant he'd probably lost him forever.

  "Wow." Claire grinned. It made me nervous.

  It wasn't that she didn't like Angie. But Claire's sense of humor was cutting, even if it was right on. She had the wardrobe of Carrie Bradshaw and the wit of Dorothy Parker. Her commentary always felt like it came out of nowhere. Like a summer cold. One day you're at the beach, then—Bam!—you're sick in bed. She kind of scared me.

  "Going home must be the way to find a guy," Claire continued before a drama-pause. "I got back together with Marcus."

  "Really?" Becca pushed her drink out of her way. "How did that happen?"

  Not surprisingly, I was lost. "Who's Marcus?"

  Claire waved down the waitress and pointed to her half-full drink, not bothering to look my way. "I always forget you weren't around for that."

  The truth was, I wasn't around for a lot of things with these ladies.

  Last fall I'd had a lovely group of girlfriends. Just like any group, you had an inner circle of friends and loosely touching outer circles. Like a Venn diagram of relationships. A comfy little life with plenty of friends to go around.

  Until the first engagements… then weddings… then houses in the suburbs happened. Next thing you know, your inner circle is married and there you are. Left with a mish-mash of looser, less cohesive circles. Still a nice little group though. Life was good.

  Until Thanksgiving week.

  "Marcus and I grew up together, but didn't start dating until senior year of college. When we graduated, he moved back to run the family's construction company and I moved here to go into advertising. Can you see me living in the Great American Farmland?"

  No. I really couldn't. Claire refused to let anyone without local celebrity status touch her hair or skin. Just staying groomed would mean monthly four-hour drives.

  "But when I saw him at the football game Thursday, it was like we'd never been apart and… Well, let's just say everything is back on track."

  She sounded so happy—so not Claire—I didn't have the heart to ask how it was going to work out this time around.

  "I can't believe you guys hooked up over the weekend, because"—Becca drew the word out and I knew what was coming. "I met the greatest guy on the plane. He's a lawyer in New York. We sat next to each other. I've never been so happy to be stuck on the tarmac for three hours. He changed his flight so we did part of our return together too. And,"—Becca sucked in an excited breath before finishing in a rush—"he's coming here for New Year's."

  I sat back listening to them gush about their guys—new and recycled—and their trips and the New Year and how great the holiday was going to be.

  "You know what we should do? If they're all coming here, we should change our reservation for New Year's."

  Wait. What? No.

  "We'll just add them to our table."

  "But I thought it was sold out." I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice. We'd planned this months ago. The single girls having a fun night out. No couples making us feel all single-loserish on the second biggest date night of the year.

  "I'll call my ticket guy right now. I'm sure he can hook us up." Claire was on her phone before I could say girls' night. "Hi, handsome. It's Claire. I'm looking for a favor." She laughed her that's-not-funny-but-I-need-something-from-you laugh before flashing our table a grin. "Oh, you're too sweet… I know, right? I need a little help with our table for the Murder on the Rocks party… I know, right? I'm going to look fabulous in my flapper dress. The whole roaring twenties murder mystery is genius."

  Angie and Becca both pushed their drinks aside to lean in, listening over the rumble of the growing bar crowd.

  "Well, we'd like to get a few more people seated with us. Is there anyway we could shuffle them in? Uh-huh… Yup… Absolutely. I can make sure you get on the list for that opening… Of course. Well, we need three more."

  "Wait." Angie waved her hand in front of Clair. "What about Sarah?"

  Everyone turned my way and I was tempted to tell them I was engaged and getting married on New Year's Eve if they and their newly found plus-ones were available.

  "Oh. Sarah, did you meet someone too?" Since the beginning of time—otherwise known as Julie's wedding four years ago—Claire disliked me on sight. Her competitive nature seemed to triple around me. Only I didn't really know what we were competing over, so I just tried to stay out of her way.

  I thought about lying, but knew faking a boyfriend would lead to all kinds of social pitfalls I couldn't navigate. Plus, I'd seen The Wedding Date. That was so a path I didn't want to walk down.

  "No. Not really." I dragged the really out hoping they'd read something into it I didn't mean—like maybe there was a guy I'd been holding out on them about. An amazingly hot guy who owned a small, undisclosed island off the coast of a certain wealthy country. Obviously I couldn't talk about him for security reasons.

  "Say four," Angie whispered. "I'm sure Sarah won't have a problem getting a date."

  Claire cocked an eyebrow at me as if she not only knew how doubtful it was, but she expected me to back her up.

  Oh, no, Claire. Don't ask for a fourth seat. We all know no one would ever want to go out with me, let alone give up one of the best party nights of the year to hang out with a nerdy museum curator.

  Right.

  Instead, I just smiled.

  And thought nasty thoughts.

  Claire tilted her head as if she could read my mind and smiled in a way that clearly said, Oh. You poor thing.

  "Why don't you make it four? That's a full table, right?" Claire grinned and nodded. "Just put it on my credit card. We'll take care of splitting it on our end."

  Great. Way to kick yourself in the rear, Sarah. Exactly what makes the holidays shiny. Paying for an empty chair.

  TWO

  DATING TRUTH #2: No man will ever understand and love you like your best friend does.

  "THIS IS JANE. I'm either lugging around my beautiful daughter or hanging out with my gorgeous husband. Or I'm lying and cleaning the toilets. Either way, leave a message after the beep."

  BEEP.

  "Hey Jane. It's Sarah. Just calling to chat. Hope your Thanksgiving was great. Give me a ring." I paused, about to hang up, then rushed on before I could cave. "Also, I'm emailing you something right now. If you could look at it, not show Matt, and not tell anyone, that would be great. Okaythanksbye."

  I hurried through the last words, hanging up before I could change my mind.

  I was feeling panicked. I knew this happened. Knew someone had to have the honor. But I never thought I might be the last single girl.

  It felt like a title.

  Maybe I should have business cards made.

  Or…maybe not.

  It wasn't just the idea of being the last single girl. It was everything that went with it. The things you weren't invited to because people thought you'd be uncomfortable alone. The way Certain Women always reminded you they had someone… and you didn't. The feeling of loneliness you sometimes felt, even with your best friend because you knew you were no longer her best fri
end.

  And so, like any emotionally cornered woman, I did something extreme.

  I joined eLove.com to try to find someone special—or not horrible—for New Year's.

  The internet had found me everything else of import over the last few years: An apartment, a job, a car… that Kate Spade bag. So, yes, I had some confidence in the internet.

  But as I glanced over my ad, I knew there was no way around it. Jane was going to have to be my voice of reason. Every time I reread it, all I could think was any sane person would assume a golden retriever puppy was looking for a date.

  I'd actually said I liked sunny days and enjoyed a nice hike before curling up in front of my fireplace for a cozy night in.

  Why didn't I just add a picture of my favorite chew toy?

  Of course, I was a golden retriever with very expensive shoes and a condo in town, but still.

  I hit send and tried to pretend my best friend wasn't somewhere looking at her iPhone and laughing hysterically.

  It took a lot more effort than I wanted to admit.

  While I waited to hear back, I did what any logical woman would do—I went to the library and got every book on dating written in the last four years.

  Yes, I used the self-checkout line.

  I skimmed through them all, glancing at 'rules' and making notes about profiles. I created lists of what were Must Haves and No Ways and then crossed half of them off after every book added you couldn't be too picky.

  Most of the books had dual personalities like that.

  Part of me wanted to ignore the phone when Jane's ringtone sounded. She'd gotten back to me about four hours faster than expected. Obviously my message—or personal ad—warranted a fairly immediate phone call. That couldn't be a good sign.

  I hit the answer button and started before she could. "If you laugh, I'm hanging up, moving out of state, and you'll never see me again."

  "I'm not laughing. I've been married less than two years. I remember how much it stunk trying to find the right guy."

  I knew she did. She never pulled any of that married crap. That, Oh, just wait and the right guy will show up OR If you just did fill-in-the-blank you wouldn't be living your life alone.

  "Honestly, I'm glad you sent it to me. I made a bunch of changes." Jane made a soft cooing sound. I could only assume it was for the baby. Although, if I were being honest, it was an oddly reassuring noise. "Who knows you better than I do, right? I may be partial, but I love you and I'll kick anyone's rear-end who doesn't appreciate you the way he should."

  My eyes teared up. I held the phone away from my head and sniffed, not wanting her to know how much her words affected me.

  "I just sent it. You should get it in a second." More cooing, then a soft splash. "I'm giving Dahlia her bath. Or she's giving me a bath, one or the other. Tell me, why the sudden urge to e-date?"

  I didn't want to own up to my impending spinsterhood, but she probably saw it coming anyway. I filled her in on our New Year's plans and how everyone magically came home from Thanksgiving weekend with a boyfriend. How girls' night out had become the third—make that seventh—wheel fiasco.

  "So, The Alphabet just changed all your plans and expected you to hang with them and their new boyfriends?"

  Jane had been calling them The Alphabet since before she'd gotten married. The three of the—Angie, Becca, and Claire—had known each other the longest. As the single girls fell to the wayside, Claire had scooped up her compatriots and made herself Alpha-something-else-that-starts-with-B.

  I think they'd been surprised to find me among their ranks. Maybe if my name had been Deirdre….

  "Yup. Claire got four seats added to our table."

  "I never liked her." Jane was, among other things, fiercely loyal. "And it's not just that she treats you like an afterthought. She's never kind to anyone. Kittens couldn't melt her."

  "Well, the girl has connections. There's no party she can't get us into."

  "Right. Because you've always been such a party girl. I know how those museum curators are. Crazier than rock stars."

  "You totally underestimate the rock star'ness of some of my sistren."

  "Why don't you just come here? You know you're always welcome. You don't need a guy to get into my house."

  The best part of the statement was I knew she meant it. It wasn't a pity thing, or a because-we're-friends-I-have-to-say-this thing.

  "I know. And thanks. But I have to have a life outside the museum, and occasionally visiting you and Michelle." I choked back the rest of the words about how I was starting to feel left behind and how I was afraid of being alone—not just with no boyfriend, but with no free girlfriends.

  "There's no sense in being miserable on New Year's just to prove you can. We're having a game night. Michelle and Roger are coming over. Our new neighbors Mitch and Emily will be here. We hired a neighborhood girl to babysit."

  "Wow, you got a babysitter?" That involved letting Dahlia out of her line of vision.

  "Um. Well, yes." Jane made a small coughing noise.

  "What was that?"

  "I said… she's going to babysit in the back room."

  "Jane, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't bother to tell you you're one TIME Magazine cover away from being that Mom."

  She laughed, which was good. Even as we built different lives, we still got each other.

  "Sarah, she's four months, not four years. I'm getting better. I let Matt's mother take her the other day and didn't even call to check in—even when she was ten minutes late. I'm sure she did it on purpose. You know that woman doesn't like me."

  See? Right there? A reason it was better to be single.

  Mothers-in-law.

  "I think I'll try Plan A first."

  "You only have four weeks till New Year's. How are you going—Dahlia. No. Don't drink that. That's shampoo. Yucky."

  I laughed as the splashing got louder. When Jane had first had the baby, we'd have hung up and hoped to talk later. But over the last few months we'd learned better.

  "Sorry about that. So, the plan?"

  "I'm going to narrow it down to my top five guys in the first week. I'll spend the second week getting to know them. Then the few days before and after Christmas I'll do meet-ups and see how it goes. That gives me a little squishy room before New Year's."

  This met with silence. Even the splashing had magically stopped.

  "Well, see what you think of my notes. Also, I expect you to send me your username and password so I can check these guys out." Jane sucked in a breath. I could picture her working up the nerve to say something. "You know it doesn't matter if you're dating someone or not. That was girls' night. If they screw it up, that's not on you."

  I shouldn't have needed to hear that so badly, but all the same….

  "Thanks. Really. Thanks."

  "Don't forget… username and password."

  "As long as you don't start masquerading as me."

  "I make no promise."

  Of course she didn't.

  THREE

  Downtown Doctor – I work at a large medical center downtown. It takes a lot of my time, but I'm looking for someone to share those other moments with. Someone who enjoys museums, movies, music, and a good meal. I'd love to find an independent woman who still lets me spoil her a little.

  DOWNTOWN DOCTOR—OR TREY—was scheduled to meet me at one-thirty. We'd been emailing almost since the beginning. Obviously, he had me at museum, but I was looking forward to seeing if that spark was there. From his profile, he was exactly my type: Tall, good looking, successful. He understood having a career that was not only very involving, but a passion.

  On Jane's command, we were meeting at a neutral location—a coffee shop I'd found online.

  The cafe was about half a block away from the train, tucked down a side street. At the sight of it, I sucked in a little breath. It was the most magical looking coffee shop ever.

  It was as if someone had taken an Irish cottage and set it down among the ta
ller brownstones of the neighborhood. Green shutters stretched out around black framed windows, and gas lamps flickered on each side of the entry.

  Talk about romantic meeting places.

  I pushed through the heavy oak door and stopped, surprised to see the inside matched the outside. Instead of ugly wooden IKEA chairs and sterile metal and wood tables, cozy looking mix-and-match chairs nestled under oak tables of different sizes and shapes. At the far end of the room, a fireplace crackled away, framed by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Several stuffed chairs and a heavy looking coffee table cornered them off.

  But the best part was the art.

  An obviously well planned collection graced one wall, but the exhibit itself needed work.

  All the right information was there, but the lighting was off and the placards poorly paced. The work would never sell like that, no matter how talented the artist.

  "Do you like it?" The deep voice rumbled behind me, not at all what I expected in such a quaint setting.

  Hopefully it was Trey because there was no way anything less than hot could be connected to a voice like that. I turned, expecting to see perfectly polished, six-foot-two, suited professional hotness. That wasn't what I met at all and I was seriously beginning to question eLove's search engine capabilities and men's profiles.

  He wasn't hot. And he wasn't tall. He definitely wasn't polished. To be fair, he was taller than me at five-ten, but I like my men towering. And I guess he was good looking in an approachable way. Lean with wide shoulders where I liked my men built. But his hair… His hair made me want to smooth it down—too long to tame, too short to lay flat.

  This had definitely better not be Trey.

  "The artist obviously has a lot of skill. I like the series. Cathedral naves? Not a lot of people would think to paint such a small detail from such a large space."

  "I know. That's what drew me to it. It's very… safe feeling, right?" He stared at the paintings a bit longer before turning his warm brown eyes on me. "I'm John."

  I took his offered hand, trying to be polite while I moved things along. I suspected hanging out with some random guy when your date came in was not the best first impression.