Kristan Higgins - Just One of the Guys

“She got one,” Elaina translates. “Oh, sure, Mamí. Here she is.” She passes me the phone and takes a handful of Doritos from the bowl I so thoughtfully put out.

“Yes?” I say.

“So?”

“So what, Mom?”

“So read the damn thing! You only got one, right?”

“Um, well, I just finished my profile about five minutes ago.” I take some Doritos, too. “When did you do yours?”

“Good! I finished mine a half hour ago.”

“Great. And do you have any hits?” I ask.

“Well…um, yes, I do.”

I can tell by her tone, which has become suspiciously gentle and kind, that she’s hiding something. “How many?” I growl.

“Well…more than one. Don’t take it personally, Chastity. I’m sure you’ll have twenty-three pretty soon, too.”

“You have twenty-three hits, Mom?” Buttercup growls in her sleep.

“Holy shit!” Elaina exclaims. “Let me have the phone! Mamí, are you kidding me? Oh, my God, you know? That is so great! Any keepers?”

While they’re talking, I look at my message, blandly entitled “hi.” What the hell. I click on it.

Dear GirlNextDoor,

I really liked your profile. It seems like we have a lot of interests that are the same. Check out my profile, and if you’re interested, drop me a line.

— husbandmaterial.

Well, the name is promising, anyway.

“You’re joking!” Elaina squeals. “Chastity, your mother has four dates lined up already! Can you believe it?”

“I can’t believe it,” I mumble. I click on husbandmaterial’s profile as instructed, glancing impatiently through the list of attributes. Attractiveness—he’s given himself a six-point-five out of ten…I wonder what that will translate to. Gollum? Freddy Kruger? Jason of the Freckled Legs? Well, moving on… Loves outdoor activities. Great. Enjoys good food. (Honestly, is there anyone alive who doesn’t?— I enjoy bad meals and the intestinal distress that follows…). I forgive him and move on. Athletic, great. Family-oriented, cool. He sounds pretty good, actually.

Elaina hands the phone back to me. “Oh, look, here’s another one!” my mother crows in my ear. “‘Dear Olderand-Wiser, I’d love to meet for coffee. I live in Thurman and would be happy to come into Eaton Falls and see if you can possibly be as great as you sound!’ Oh, Chastity, isn’t this fun?”

“Oh, yes,” I lie.

“I got another one! I can’t believe I waited this long to dump your father. How many have you got now?” she demands.

I check my listing. “Um, still just the one.”

“Well, honey, don’t worry. All it takes is one, right?”

My phone bleats in my ear. “Mom, I have another call. I’ll call you back, okay?” I push the button for the next call. “Hell—”

“It’s your father. Did you know your mother registered on some crazy Web site? She’s going to get herself killed! I mean it, Chastity. You are not to encourage her. Oh, gotta go. We just got a call. Bye.”

Sighing, I hang up. “I’m hungry,” I tell Elaina. “Shall we make something for dinner?”

“By we, do you mean me?” she asks, preening.

“Yes, Elaina. Would you care to whip up something fabulous from the meager offerings of my kitchen? Please? Pretty please?”

“Sure, baby. I’d love to.” She ruffles my hair, does a neat leap over Buttercup and sashays into the kitchen. She does love to cook…incomprehensible, but convenient for me.

I glance back at husbandmaterial and decide to e-mail him back. Right now. What the heck, right?

Dear husbandmaterial,

You sound really nice. Tell me more about yourself. What do you do for work? Does your family live around here? What kind of sports do you like? You’re not a Mets fan, are you?

I hit Send, pleased. I’ll let him reveal more about himself before I do. I’m a little wary over the six-point-five, but this is just a trial run. Besides, men have no idea how to rank themselves. Jason, after all, considered himself too attractive for me. I ranked myself a seven, which I felt was quite honest. Once I get my hair cut, I may upgrade to seven-point-five.

The phone rings again. Glancing at the caller ID, I see that it’s the Eaton Falls Fire Department. Must be Dad again.

“Hi, Daddy,” I say.

“Hi, Porkchop.” There’s a smile in the voice, and the voice is not Dad’s.

“Trevor?” I press a hand against my suddenly hot cheek. In the kitchen, Elaina is singing.

“Hi. Sorry. Yes, it’s Trevor. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Is it possible that I, who hold a master’s from Columbia University, can think of a wittier response? “Great, I mean. And you?” I close my eyes. “I thought you guys went out on a call.”

“Oh, just the engine went. I’m tails on the ladder this week.”

“Oh.” Another captivating response.

He pauses. “I’ve been instructed by my captain to find out if Mom is really going on a date,” he says in a low voice. Trev’s called my mother “Mom” since he was about sixteen years old. And his captain is my father, of course.

“Yeah. I guess she is,” I answer. My shoulders drop a little. I should have known he wouldn’t call for purely social reasons.

“It’s hard to believe she’s really looking for a boyfriend,” Trevor says.

“Yeah.”

“Well. Okay, Chas. I better run. See you around.”

“Okay. Thanks for calling. Bye. Take care.” I sound like a jerk.

Luckily, my computer dings softly. You have one new message, GirlNextDoor. Hooray! Husbandmaterial is back!

Dear GND (We’re on nicknames already—fantastic),

I’m a Yankees fan, not to worry. I have a big family. As far as sports and hobbies, I like to hike, mountain bike, kayak a little. What about you? Hobbies? Pets? What makes you the girl next door?

“Dinner in ten, sweetie!” Elaina calls, rattling some pans. “Chicken quesadillas!”

“Angels bless you, Elaina! Be right there. Just answering an e-mail.”

Husbandmaterial sounds…well, great. Friendly, kind of sweet. I immediately write back. I also have a big family. I like hiking and rowing (single scull). Have lots of nieces and nephews. Love animals. I have a big dog who slobbers, and I worship the Yanks. I hit Send and wait.

Thirty seconds later, bing! You have one new message, GirlNextDoor. Yippee! I click immediately.

Chastity?

Oh, my God! Husbandmaterial knows me! Shit! Or is it good? Yes? I type back.

It’s Matt.

Clapping my hand over the shriek of laughter (or is it horror?) that bursts forth, I snatch up the phone, dial Matt’s cell. “Hello?” he chokes. I can barely wheeze back. “You’re disgusting,” he says. “Checking out your own brother. Gross.”

“You wrote first, pervert.” I wipe my eyes and try to control myself, but it’s no use. We laugh in mutual horror for a good two minutes. “You are to tell no one about this, Matthew.”

“Right back at you, Chastity,” he says, still laughing.

“I find it hard to believe that you have trouble meeting women, Matt,” I tell him when I’ve calmed down. “Oh, and you’re a ten, by the way. A six and a half? Come on! You look like Mel Gibson!”

“Ew.”

“Well, okay, not the drunken, sun-damaged mug shot Mel. Young, wholesome Mel. Road Warrior Mel. You’re a good-looking guy, Mattie.”

“Well, you know, it’s weird to fill out all that stuff,” he says. “I do meet plenty of women, but you know. Haven’t met the right one. I figured I could cut through some crap. This single thing’s getting old. I don’t want to live with my sister for the rest of my life. No offense, Chas.”