9. I’m No Good At Tennis Either

Monroe

The problem with being a shrink is you can often, unfortunately, spot the emotions in yourself you'd rather not see. Like jealousy.

I'm actually envious of Juliet. I wish I had this kind of problem with my dad. Sorting matches, rather than dodging insults.

Instead of wallowing in envy, I give all my attention to studying the matches.

Juliet's mother swipes the phone screen once more with enthusiasm and natural skill. She's been showing us man after man.

"Just a few more." She swipes to a photo of a balding Black man with crinkled eyes and an easy smile. "Josiah owns a hardware store, likes to play Scrabble, and believes in being the best parent to his adult children and, get this, his cat." Harriet beams like that detail makes her day. "I like cats."

She flicks to the next candidate—a white guy with a full beard. "Darren here is a short-order cook who believes the best of life is ahead." Next, she swipes to a ginger-haired guy with a pale complexion. "Patrick is a professional photographer, but he's never been married, so even though he's very funny, he might be a player." She screws up the corner of her lips, seeming delightfully concerned about the playboy potential as she scrolls to a guy who looks to be Indian. "Then, there's Raj. He's a divorced dentist who plays pickleball, and, well, I play pickleball." She says it like that's even more wonderful than the guy in the cat fan club. "I always wanted someone to play pickleball with."

"Mom, how many matches do you have?" Juliet asks, gawking at the screen.

With a crease in her brow, Harriet hums. "Well, let's see." She clicks on her notes, where she's listed each man with a checkmark for Monroe, Juliet, and Harriet to rate his potential. She mutters numbers under her breath, counting.

"And the answer is—she can't count that high," I say.

Juliet's mom chuckles, then pats my arm. "I always liked when Sawyer brought you home." She shifts her attention back to her daughter. "Can you help? You two are the dating experts, and I just don't know where to start. How do I even winnow them down? There are so many." She wrings her hands at the quandary.

"Yes, it is a problem," Juliet says flatly, as if she can't wrap her head around her mom's entrance into the dating pool from a ten-meter diving board.

"With only an online bio, how can you tell what someone's really like?" Harriet asks.

Without her saying a word, I know what Juliet's thinking. She's a dating veteran, and even she can't quite tell. "It's hard to work that out," she admits sadly.

Harriet pats Juliet's hand. "Oh right, sweetheart. Whatever happened with the artist? Did you have your ExtraDate?" She sounds hopeful as she sketches air quotes. "But of course you did. You always had such good people skills. You're a great judge of character. When is the third date?"

There's so much genuine hope in Harriet's voice. It's fun to see the tree that Juliet and her sunny disposition fell from.

But Juliet winces, and my heart hurts for her as she says, "It didn't. We weren't a good fit."

She's too nice. Too kind. "He was a jerk," I bite out with a ferocity that surprises me. But the intensity fuels me too. "A cheese douche who didn't deserve your daughter, Harriet. He was a narcissistic, self-centered bad boy whose emotional growth was stunted at the age of two and whose self-improvement ended at potty training."

Harriet growls, going full mama bear as she whips her gaze to Juliet. "Where is this man-child? I'll give him a piece of my mind."

Juliet pushes her hands down toward the table, a sign to let it go. "It's okay. Let's move on. Let's look at your guys."

But Harriet won't relinquish the post-mortem. "Don't let a bad date get you down, Juliet. And do not settle for someone who doesn't deserve you. You deserve the world."

Juliet sighs. "Mom."

Harriet turns to me, determination in her eyes. "Doesn't she, Monroe?"

There's no doubt in my mind. "She does."

But Juliet's had enough, shaking her head and pointing to the phone. "I'm on a dating break anyway. Let's focus on you."

Harriet's not quite convinced. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I've had a million bad dates," Juliet says. "I'm over it."

A million man-children. A million bad boys. A million guys who don't deserve her. That's part of her problem, too, I'm just realizing. She deserves someone who gives his whole heart. Who's open and open-minded. Who's funny and hopeful and kind. Someone who's capable of a big, bold love. Someone who agrees to ride a bike because she knows you want to.

That's why she said yes to the ride into town. Then, she stepped into the uncomfortable conversation with Agatha to prop me up in front of one of my dad's fans. And now, she's not even throwing shade on Mister Cheese Douche, who I sincerely hope slices jalape?os one night then forgets to wash his hands before he jacks off.

No wonder she hasn't met a decent guy. There's hardly anyone worthy of her. The odds are not in her favor.

Because she deserves the best. She is the best. As I watch her from the other side of the booth, a part of me wishes I could be that guy for her.

Just the small, emotional part of me though. The intellectual part knows I can't be that guy and is fine with that. With my dad uninterested in parenting after my mom's death, I learned to raise myself by only relying on myself. Now, I make sure other people have the tools they need for connection, love, and intimacy so they don't have to feel the way I did growing up. Love isn't my thing, personally. I've tried it, have the scars to prove it, but I also have the wisdom I gained. I'm not good at big love, as evidenced by my failed marriage to Elizabeth. But I'm no good at tennis, either, and I'm fine with that too.

"The right guy is out there for you. I just know it," her mom says.

"And for you too," Juliet says gamely, shucking off her earlier surprise. She grabs her mom's phone and waggles it. "Let's do this."

No wonder no one deserves her. It took only ten minutes for Juliet to turn her mood around.

When the ladybug pancakes arrive—chocolate chip, of course—we eat and select Harriet's dates.

She seems tickled pink with the choices. "That's three this week. Who knew online dating could be so fun?" She spears a piece of her pancake and eats it gleefully, like she didn't just emerge from a merely okay marriage. Or maybe it's just that she believes the future is brighter on the other side.

When she finishes chewing, she clicks her tongue, her brow scrunching as she turns to Juliet. "Now, sweetheart. I know you haven't had the best of luck with online dating in the city. Why don't you try it here in a small town where you might meet a nice man instead of one of those workaholic city guys?"

Wait.

What?

She wants Juliet to date a Darling Springs dude this week? While she's living in Eleanor's house with me? While we're working on the cottage together? No. Just no. That can't happen.

Because…fuck.

Because it fucking can't. It can't. That is all.

Juliet offers a thanks but no thanks smile. "I'm fine, Mom. I just need to regroup."

But her mom tuts. "With a love doctor as your co-worker? Please. I bet together we can get you the best matches. Right, Monroe?"

I'm speechless. Because if I speak, I'll spew fire.

Harriet races on down the track. "Let us help you like the two of you just helped me. Monroe and I can find you some matches here and pick the best ones for you."

"I'll be fine, Mom," Juliet insists.

"But if this artist guy turned out to be a jerk, and you aren't getting to that second date, maybe it's time for a new strategy."

Yes. Yes! It is. Thank fuck someone else said it.

Harriet's eyes twinkle. "Just think. You can be my dating wingwoman. We can do it together!"

Juliet stares at her mother like she's gone mad. But as Harriet presses, my mind is whirring with a new idea to solve Juliet's date-picking problem.