The Reunion (3 page)

T
hey weren’t thirty minutes into the date and Karen Miller already knew she wasn’t eating with Mr. Right. He wasn’t even Mr. Maybe.

Oh, Ken was handsome enough. More than handsome. He had just gotten up and excused himself to use the restroom. As she turned to watch him walk through the restaurant, words from a distant comedy floated through her head. Ken was “really, really ridiculously good-looking.”

The problem was, he knew it.

They were eating at Haverty’s, a fine dining establishment in Southlake, Texas, an upscale suburb in the Fort Worth area. The dining room had several mirrors mounted on different walls to enhance the décor. There were five of them between their table and the restroom. Karen knew this because she’d counted each time Ken had looked at himself as he walked by.

Even that . . . his name was
Ken
. Ken Morrow.

Karen remembered playing with Barbie and Ken as a little girl. Five minutes ago, she’d made a rather nuanced joke about his name, connecting it to that famous male doll.

Karen was the only one at the table who’d laughed.

She lifted her glass of Diet Coke to take a sip, wondering what her friend Gail had been thinking, setting her up on a date with this guy. He had to be in his early thirties, at least ten years younger than she was. Karen had always enjoyed the compliments that followed when someone learned her real age. In the rare moments when she felt good about herself, even she believed she looked years younger than her age.

But she had seen herself walking next to the ridiculously good-looking Ken in at least a few of those mirrors on their way to being seated. Her youthful looks didn’t come close to shrinking the gap between them, and she wasn’t about to become anyone’s cougar story.

Karen looked up and saw Ken returning. She calmed herself with the thought that they both attended a solid megachurch in the Fort Worth area, and he really had been a perfect gentleman so far. There was a better-than-average chance he wouldn’t make any embarrassing moves on her before the night was out. At least there was that.

“The food’s not out yet?” he said as he sat down.

“Not yet, but I think they—”

Ken motioned to the waiter. Karen was about to say that she thought the pace was about right for Haverty’s. It was known for its elegance and atmosphere, not speed. The waiter came over. Ken said something. The waiter nodded and walked off toward the kitchen. She guessed that was supposed to impress her; Ken was a take-charge kind of guy.

“The food should be here any minute,” he said, turning his full attention back on her. “So, where were we? That’s right, we were just starting to get to know each other better.”

We were?

“So Karen, I’ve been dying to know something,” he said. “Your last name is Miller—is that your maiden name?”

“Yes.” What kind of question was that?

“I thought it was. So, you’ve never been married?”

Uh . . . duh
, she thought.
That’s usually what that means.
“That’s right.”

“I just find it hard to believe someone your age, who looks like you do, has never been married, especially in a church as big as ours. How is that possible?”

Was that an insult or a compliment? The phrase “someone your age” certainly stung a bit. “There’s no great mystery behind it. I was in a long-term relationship with a guy named Greg. A ridiculously long time, to be honest. At first, we were both totally wrapped up in our careers. Then at some point, I started pressing the idea of getting married. After the longest time, Greg agreed we should, so we got engaged. Then we were engaged for another ridiculously long period of time, and he kept putting off the idea of setting a date. Then finally, after all that—”

“He left you, right?”

“Yes, for a younger woman.” A woman just about Ken’s age, she thought, give or take a year. Then it dawned on her why Ken wanted to clarify these things. He was making sure she was eligible for marriage in the church. Not that it mattered; Karen had no intention of marrying Ken, let alone going out with him again.

“I’m sure a breakup after all that time was painful.”

“Yes, it was.” His look suggested he had no idea.

He reached over and slid a breadstick out from a basket. “So Miller’s your maiden name. Interesting. I thought your father’s name was Rafferty?”

Ken would likely know about her father. He was a wealthy, influential deacon in their church. “It is,” she said. “But he isn’t my birth father. He married my mom when I was five and pretty much filled the father role for my brother Steve and me growing up.”

Ken looked around the dining room. Clearly, he was hungry. He turned and faced her again. “Why didn’t he adopt you?”

“I think he wanted to,” Karen said. “He said he did a few times. But my real father—well, my birth father—is still alive, as far as we know. My mom didn’t really want us to pursue finding him to get his permission. So we just left it alone. But I think of Mark Rafferty as my dad.”

She wished the ridiculously good-looking Ken would drop this line of questioning. It didn’t feel like they were trying to get to know each other better. It felt like an interrogation, like he was running through some kind of checklist, seeing if he approved of her pedigree. Then she remembered, Gail had said Ken was an attorney. A handsome young attorney.

Technically, it wasn’t an exaggeration.

“So you don’t know where he is?”

“Who?”

“Your birth father.”

The waiter showed up with their main entrée. Karen whispered a quiet
Thank you, Lord
. “Oh look, our food.”

The waiter now enjoyed Ken’s undivided attention. Moments later, the food on his plate did. Karen was glad. And she was glad that he’d been raised right and would never talk with his mouth full. So for the next fifteen minutes, except for Ken’s occasional delighted moans, she ate her spinach-stuffed tilapia with fire-roasted tomatoes in peace, while he ate his porcini-crusted filet mignon with herb butter.

She tried to think of questions she could ask when this chewing match was over. Not that she wanted to know him better; she just wanted to shift the focus off her. She wouldn’t have minded it as much if he’d asked questions about her favorite movies or what kind of books she enjoyed. Maybe her favorite music, what she liked to do in her downtime. She didn’t really want to tell him such things, but it would have been nice if he’d asked. No matter. After tonight, he wouldn’t get the chance to know her better. She had just thought of a way to make sure this would be their first and last date.

“So Ken, I’ve got something I’d like to ask you.”

He waited a moment, swallowed the last bite on his plate. “Yes?”

“Maybe you can help me understand something about dating. Something I’m having a hard time understanding lately.”

“Oh? Uh . . . I guess I could try.”

“What is it with guys nowadays wanting to go out with women way older than they are? You’re a guy, I thought maybe you could explain it to me. Because I don’t get it.”

Ken’s look was priceless.

“You seem really intelligent,” she continued, “so I’m guessing you’ve figured out I’m at least ten years older than you are. Being so old, I can remember a time not too many years ago when this kind of thing hardly ever happened. I mean, you’d see older guys dating younger women, but not the other way around. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m really just curious. Why would you want to date someone so much older than you are? Someone like me.”

He gave her the look she was hoping for. It said, “I don’t think I do want to date someone like you anymore.” He looked around, clearly trying to find the waiter. She guessed it was time to order dessert. Ken wanted food in his mouth badly.

“Care for another breadstick?” she said, holding up the basket.

Tomorrow, she and Gail would be having a chat. Gail Washburn was her partner in a recovering real estate firm. Gail meant well and she was a great friend, but seriously.

She was a lousy matchmaker.

T
he next morning, Karen drove through the hectic morning traffic from her subdivision in Southlake to another subdivision in Keller, Texas, where she worked. Both were in the suburbs of Fort Worth. Fortunately, she only had to deal with the tail end of the rush hour, since she and Gail didn’t start opening the model homes until 9:00 a.m. Even then, they generally didn’t see many interested buyers till it got closer to lunch.

There was only one other car in the parking area: Gail’s blue SUV. Gail lived closer, right there in Keller. Gail’s first duty of the day—and they both believed her most important one—was to make the coffee. As she did, Karen would walk through the three model homes, turning on all the lights and, on this cold November morning, the heat as well.

A biting wind blew in from the plains north of town, making it feel fifteen degrees colder than the thirty-four degrees Karen had seen posted on a digital bank sign. The wind was supposed to die down in a few hours. She hoped so; they didn’t need another excuse for customers to stay home. She opened the door of the nearest model home, which also served as their office. Thankfully, Gail had already turned the heat on.

Karen set her purse on her desk. Gail was already making the coffee in the kitchen.

“How’d it go last night?” Gail asked over her shoulder.

“Let me get the other models set up, and I’ll come back and tell you.”

“I can’t wait to hear,” Gail said.

“Actually, you can.” Karen let that one linger in the air as she closed the front door and hurried to the home next door. As she walked through the other models, flicking on light switches and thermostats, she was freshly amazed at how beautiful these homes were. It was hard to fathom how low the prices had dropped. Buyers were starting to sneak back into the market, but it was nothing compared to the glory days a few years ago. Back then, they’d have lines stretching around the block and back if they’d let houses go at these prices.

After finishing the last house, she thrust her hands in her coat pockets and hurried back to the office. She found Gail sitting behind her desk, drinking her coffee. She’d already poured Karen’s into her favorite mug.

“So . . . I’m guessing things didn’t go so well with Ken last night.”

Karen stirred her coffee and walked into what should have been the garage area of the home. “Let’s say we maintained an attitude of Christian charity by the evening’s end . . . and parted as friends.”

Gail shook her head. “Am I going to be in trouble with Bill?” Bill was Gail’s boyfriend. He and Ken were close friends.

“You shouldn’t be,” Karen said as she sat down. “I’m not sure how Ken will describe the evening. I certainly wasn’t mean to him. At least, I tried not to be.”

“You weren’t
mean
? It sounds even worse than I was thinking.”

“It wasn’t a terrible date.” She paused. “Well, I guess it was. For me, anyway. I’m not sure how Ken will rate it. But I did my best to keep in mind he was Bill’s friend, while also making it clear this would be our one and only date.”

“He was that bad?”

“Oh, he’s nice to look at. You certainly had that part right. But we had no business being out together. Other than attending the same church, we have nothing in common. Starting with our age.”

“Did Ken make that an issue?”

“No, I did.” She set her mug on the desk. “Gail, we’ve been friends for what, five years now?”

“Five or six.”

“And I’m at least ten years older than you.”

“At least,” Gail said, smiling.

“In our friendship, it doesn’t seem to matter that much.”

“I don’t think it does.”

“But I really don’t want to be going out with guys your age. It just feels . . . awkward. I’d say Ken is a very young thirty-three and I am a very old forty-four.”

“You don’t look forty-four,” Gail said. “You don’t even look thirty-five.”

“Thanks,” Karen said. “But looks can be deceiving. The point is, I
feel
forty-four.”

Gail sat forward, her eyes lit up. “But that’s why I wanted you to get out, Karen, start seeing some guys. It’ll help you feel young. Our church is full of them. I always see them look at you, even the younger ones. But you don’t seem the least bit interested. I know Greg hurt you terribly, but it wasn’t your fault, and it was four years ago.”

The worst year of my life
, Karen thought. It was the year Greg left
and
the year her mother died. “But Gail, we’ve been friends all this time, and my dating life hasn’t been an issue before. You haven’t even dated that much until recently.”

Gail sighed. “That’s just because . . . I wasn’t getting asked by the kind of guys I wanted to be with. Not guys like Bill. A year or so ago, I started really praying for the right man to show up.”

“I didn’t know that. But . . . I’m real happy you’ve found Bill. You guys seem great together.”

Gail looked up, her eyes beaming. “I am happy, Karen. I think he might be the one.”

“Well, I really am happy for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. It’s just . . . I want you to be happy too. And I’m a little worried, to be honest.”

“That I’m not happy?”

“Yes, but not just that. I’m concerned about what’s going to happen to our friendship if Bill and I get more serious. I know you would never go out by yourself with Bill and me, and I’m starting to spend a lot more time with him.”

“So . . . you’re trying to set me up with someone so we can still be friends . . . as couples?”

“Well, we’ll still be friends no matter what. We’d just get to spend more time being friends if you were . . . you know . . . with someone. Besides, I hate seeing you alone.”

“Gail, that’s very sweet, but I doubt any of Bill’s friends would be a good match for me. And neither of you probably know a guy at church my age.”

“None that aren’t already married.”

“Exactly.”

“You know, Karen, plenty of women are married to much younger men, and they’re perfectly happy.”

“I’m sure that’s true.”

“But it bothers you.”

“It looks like it does,” Karen said. But she didn’t really know why. Maybe it had something to do with Greg leaving her for someone so much younger. She sighed. Why did all the men in her life end up leaving her? Her biological father left when she was five, leaving her only a meaningless last name. Then Greg. She’d be spending yet another Thanksgiving and Christmas alone. Sure, she had her brother and his family. And the dad who raised her, Mark Rafferty. They loved her. But it wasn’t the same.

“Are you going to be okay?” Gail asked.

The front door opened. The wind rushed in behind whoever it was. “Hello?” a woman’s voice called out.

“I’ll get that,” Gail whispered.

“No, let me,” Karen said. “I could use a distraction right now.”