Summer

“Here’s a pic of my new Porsche.”

“Last week I ran the Cap 10 K at a 5:20 pace.”

“I just made partner in my firm.”

“Not having fun,” I text my parents while my last potential suitor rotates to the next seat. “What were you guys thinking?”

“Hang in there,” my dad texts.

“Ask the next one if he can male a pie crest,” my mother, the thumb-fumbler, texts.

Recently, I made the mistake of confessing loneliness to my parents. Mom and Dad sprang into action, asking all their friends if they knew anyone eligible. Mom’s bestie, Taylor, suggested today’s Dating Round Robin, a monthly event held in a trendy downtown restaurant reputed to attract some “real hotties” (Taylor’s words, not mine).

“Hey, I’m Apollo.”

I smile at the latest person to take the seat across from me, a hunky guy who looks like he could carry a W10 I-beam up a hill and not break a sweat. I’d read the bar scene was dying and dating apps and events were exploding in popularity, but surely a guy like this didn’t need help?

“Hey, I’m Summer,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tell me about yourself,” Apollo says, but he’s already checking out the modelesque girl at the next table.

“I’m a belly dancer.” His gaze swings back to me. “Kidding. I’m a civil engineer.” And away again. “I just got back from a project rebuilding docks in Roatan. Honduras? Scuba diving?”

Apollo perks up. “You scuba?”

“No. I don’t like salt water. Dries out my skin, plus I burn really easily. You?”

“Gone on over 100 dives. Lead exhibitions in my spare time.”

“You look really fit.”

“I can bench 220.”

So not an I-beam. “Wow. What do you do? For work?”

“I’m a personal trainer. Ever been to CrossFit?”

Once. “I tried it. Wasn’t much on flipping tires.”

“You should go back. Best way to train. I’m at the one on Fifth Street. Here’s my card.”

An invitation to a joint workout? A sort of date?

“I charge $90 per hour. Totally worth it. You’ll drop ten pounds in two months, guaranteed.”

A waiter brings my deep dish pepperoni pizza. Apollo eyes the cheesy, saucy goodness and continues, “I can work on nutrition with you too. Create some low carb diet plans. $100 flat fee.”

By the time the bell rings, I’ve heard more than I’ll ever want to know about full vs. split regimens and creatine. 

I try offering the next three contenders a slice of pizza. Zero takers. I’m about to tuck into my third slice when one more potential date slides into place across from me. 

Hmm. Here is someone else who seems to have wandered into the wrong room.

“Want some pizza?” I say.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

Like me, this guy is from the planet of the normal. He’s a little on the short side. His very nice, dark hair recedes a bit. His nose is a tad big. But his clear enthusiasm as he bites into his slice and unwavering focus on me are refreshing.

“I’m Stevie,” he says. “Steve, Stephen. Man, this is legit. I’ve been starving.”

“I’m Summer. Ever done one of these events before?”

“Nah, my ma made me. Wants grandkids.” He ducks his head. “Probably I shouldn’t have said that.”

I chuckle. “It’s okay. Are you close with your parents?”

“Dad died when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. But Ma is great. Raised me and my sisters alone. She’s a happy lady. Always says she’d rather be grateful she had him than sorry he’s gone.”

“Sweet.”

“That’s my ma.”

“How many sisters?”

He holds up four fingers. “I can promise you one thing. I know to put down a toilet seat. Every time. What’s your story?”

“I’m a civil engineer.”

“Like working on bridges and infrastructure? Cool. You work on anything here in town?”

“You know the new rest stations along the lakefront? Benches, water fountains, toilets?”

“Heck yeah. I pee there all the time on my runs. Super modern. Airy.” 

Candor. Refreshing. “You’re a runner?”

Stevie laughs. “I’m an accountant. I run on weekends. Not gonna win any marathons. But wait until tax season, and you’re gonna love me. I’m a numbers guy.”

“I like numbers.” 

Something about the way I say this seems to strike Stevie. “You do, huh?” We beam at each other for a few seconds like two people do when they find a conversation with a stranger to be a joy rather than a chore.

“How have your meets been so far?” I say.

He grimaces. “Kind of boring.”

“Boring, how?”

“Well, they either dismiss me because I don’t look like him …” Stevie jerks his thumb at Apollo who gazes starry-eyed at the modelesque girl. “Or they do their pitch.”

“Their pitch?”

“You know. I went to this impressive school, started this business, worked out for this many hours already this morning, make this much money, have this many followers on social media.”

“Most of these people are really good-looking. Why do they feel the need to brag so much?”

“Come on. Good looking doesn’t equal secure.”

“True. What’s your pitch?”

“Mine?”

“If you don’t mind. Practice on me.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“You’re nice. You’re smart. You got good taste in pizza. I’ll pitch you for real.”

I flush, but not out of embarrassment. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”

Stevie glances around, like he wants to be sure this moment will just be for us. “You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Unfiltered?”

Something flutters in my stomach. “Please.”

“Then here goes.” He grips both sides of the table. “I don’t play the guitar, the bass, or the drums. I don’t speak French. If I whip off my shirt, you won’t find a six pack. I geek out in furniture stores, and I occasionally forget important dates. But I know not to talk over your favorite part of a song, won’t interrupt when you’re talking, and won’t be emasculated if you make more money than me. I believe muscles you build in the gym are no good unless you also use them for hauling mulch and helping your friends move. I believe being kind is better than being cool, and I’m suspicious of people with perfect fingernails. I will never disrespect your family. If at some point we end up having sex, I won’t be thinking how lucky you are to be with me. I’ll be thinking about how lucky I am to be with you. And no, I won’t be ready for another round after only five minutes, but I know you might be and won’t mind spending the time before I am ready making you feel good.”

I’m stunned. Stevie sits across from me, breathing a little fast, but resolute. No stammering, no apologies. He’s not backing down. I open my mouth and ask the only obvious question. 

“Can you make a pie crust?’

He cracks up. “Hell yeah. With real butter. None of that Crisco crap.”

“You’ve clearly watched Bull Durham.”

“Was my Dad’s favorite movie.”

“Wow. My Dad’s too.”

“So there’s that. Now you go. It’s only fair.” But Stevie’s expression is warm, borderline affectionate, and I know he’s playing versus testing me.

“Okay. Uh. I don’t have anything as awesome as that ready to go. But let me try. I can fix a leaky toilet. I know how to put air in my tires when they’re low?” Stevie nods. “I give killer foot rubs, and I love old horror movies. Michael Myers rocks. Vacation planning is my jam. If you join me on a trip, everything will go smoothly, barring a natural disaster, and you’ll see the places the locals see, for real. I admit I do burp and fart on occasion. All people do, you know, no matter what they say.” Stevie laughs again. 

“Oh, I’m allergic to cats. I believe french fries, corn bread, and cheesecake are too delicious to ever give them up completely, and I’m suspicious of people who do. I believe in the words of the great Bill Watterson, that ‘if your knees aren't green at the end of the day, you oughta seriously re-examine your life.’” I take a breath, but Stevie gave me unfiltered so I will too. “I’m not averse to sex in public places as long as it’s a little on the down low. I like when someone bites my neck. And I swallow. I don’t love doing it, but I don’t hate it either, and if I like the guy, it’s a fun gift to give. Smearing it with chocolate first helps.”

Now Stevie appears stunned. He swipes a hand over his jaw. “You read Calvin and Hobbes.”

“My mom’s favorite comic. Don’t tell me it’s your mom’s too?”

“No. It’s mine.” He pauses, then, “Chocolate? Really?”

I shrug. “Chocolate, pizza sauce, queso. Anything I can slather on works.”

“Summer,” he says. “Would you go out with me? I’m not sure about the queso, think it might be a little too hot, but all the rest of it sounds pretty awesome. My toilet leaks all the time. Michael Myers rocks hard.”

The bell rings. 

Stevie and I don’t move.