1. Twelve Minutes

1

TWELVE MINUTES

ABCDEFU, GAYLE

Livie

Why the heck did I flip that guy off? Being frustrated is one thing but acting out that desperation and the rage is not like me. Walking through the busy sidewalks, I keep repeating the same scenario over and over again. Was I in the wrong? Did he somehow not see me with my blinking lights signaling I was waiting for that spot? On any other day, I would’ve let it slide, but I’m already running late. Running late to a date I don’t want to go on, dressed like a Christmas elf, nonetheless.

My mother is on her quest to pair me up with yet another man she thinks will be the best suitor. The man who will put up with me and who will have me married with children by the time I’m thirty. She keeps setting me up for blind dates and I don’t have it in my heart to let her know these men are not my type at all.

Tonight, I’m going to dinner and a Christmas party with Frank Castro, the son of one of my father’s business partners. I’ve met Frank before; the only reason I said yes was because Frank’s mom saw me at the hospital and told me how excited she was at the prospect of having me date her son. The hospital I work for. I’m not even safe there.

Frank is obnoxiously polite with the personality of a potato. Not a potato. Potatoes are great. He’s more like a ?ame—a bland root vegetable my mom keeps making in different ways to try to get me to enjoy eating it since it has low calories. I love her, I truly do, but she needs to understand that life is more than getting married, having children, and keeping your weight at whatever number society has deemed acceptable.

I walk past the busy corner, making a right and rushing, trying to get to the door of The Salty Gator, where I’m supposed to meet Frank. By the time I get there, I’m going to be a puddle of sweat under this elf outfit. I couldn’t find parking to begin with and to top it off, when I finally did, this asshat honked at me, as if it wasn’t my parking spot he was trying to steal. I don’t care that he was driving a gigantic truck taller than all the other vehicles near me.

“Welcome to The Salty Gator! How many tonight?” the host asks as soon as I cross through the double doors leading to the main floor.

The smell of fried food and the joyful laughter welcomes me in and it helps me breathe easier. Relax, Livie, you can have a good time tonight. Maybe you’ll like Frank. I try to convince myself before looking around and finding Frank, sitting on a corner table dressed like an elf, too. “Thanks, but I’m actually meeting someone and I just spotted them” I reply politely. The host nods and allows me to head into the dining area. There’s some sort of Christmas party happening tonight on Amelia Island but he wanted to do dinner first. Our moms got involved and now here I am, about to have dinner and then go to a party with this guy.

“Hey,” I say as soon as I get to the table. Frank smiles at me but he doesn’t even attempt to stand up.

“Olivia, welcome, grab a seat,” he replies, grabbing his glass of wine and taking a sip. For someone who acts sophisticated all the time, I was surprised he picked this place. The Salty Gator is one of my favorite restaurants on Amelia Island but it doesn’t necessarily scream ‘fancy.’ It’s more like an upscale sports bar with delicious food and good drinks. The atmosphere is fantastic and you can’t beat the marina and ocean view. Sometimes you can even see dolphins swimming and jumping, too.

“Livie, remember?” I say as politely as I can. Olivia is a family name so all the girls in my family are named that. My mom is Do?a Via, my grandma Mama Oli, my great grandma was Mama Olivia and I really don’t like any of them, so Livie it is.

“Olivia suits you better. You’re not a teenager anymore,” he replies.“But it’s not what I like being called, so I would ask that you respect that.” I grab my water cup and drink as much as I can before setting it back on the table. I snatch the menu and pretend to read it, knowing damn well I already know what I want. But I need a minute to settle or I will get up and leave this restaurant.

“Since you were late, I already ordered. I got us a couple of salads and the tuna nachos to share,” he explains, grabbing his glass of wine and taking the smallest sip known to man.

Another thing I hate? Someone not letting me pick. I know it comes from deep within my soul, since my mother always has a say in what I should or should not eat. Which is why I like to order whatever I want, whenever I want it. Strike two Frank—one more and I will leave.

“Bummer, I really don’t want a salad, so you can cancel it or take it to go,” I reply, squinting at him so he knows I’m not playing games. I look around at the restaurant full of happy people. Some share fries at a table with those they love. Parents talk to their children. A group of men are watching the game while laughing. And I find myself completely irritated at the fact I’m sitting with Frank from HR, dressed like a freaking elf.

The waitress arrives with the nachos. She sets them on the table and my mouth waters at the sight. Crispy wonton strips, a side of seaweed salad, queso and guacamole to dip, and seared ahi tuna on top. “Anything else I can get you guys?” the nice waitress asks, handing us both small plates and napkins.

“Two shots of tequila, please,” I answer, handing her my menu. “I would also like to add fish tacos with sweet potato fries.”

“Absolutely, is everything on them good?” she asks and I smile at her while nodding my head. “You got it. And for you, sir?”

“I’m good, thanks sweetheart,” he replies and she rolls her eyes quick enough that he won’t see it but not fast enough for me not to notice and smirk.

We share the nachos in silence, the explosion of flavors dancing on my tongue. I close my eyes and almost moan. I’m so hungry I could eat a cow.

“So, Olivia, remind me what you do for a living?” Frank asks while wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin that should be resting on his lap. But he’s obsessively wiping his mouth, cheeks, and fingers. I’m so distracted by the overuse of the napkin, that I forget I’m supposed to answer .

“I work with children in hospice,” I answer, grabbing my shot that Layla, the waitress, brought and downing it as quickly as I can.

“Isn’t it a waste of time if they’re going to die either way?” he asks. The insensitive jerk. Strike three, Frank. There are so many reasons to hate going on blind dates. But going on blind dates organized by my mother—who is set in her ways about me marrying a man with money and class over anything else—is out of control.

“You know Frank, for someone with years of etiquette classes, you sure don’t know how to hold a proper conversation with a woman—or with anyone, for that matter. There’s no need for you to be a jerk, especially not about children,” I snap, standing up and placing my white napkin on top of the plate with my barely-touched dinner.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think this was enough for our dinner today. Clearly, we’re too incompatible. I hope you have fun at the party.” I grab my purse and turn around, walking toward the exit and leaving the restaurant as quickly as I can.

I grab my phone to text my best friend, Hailey.

Me: 12 minutes

Hailey: That’s a record. Did he smell?

Me: No, he asked me if I worked with children who were going to die either way then why bother.

Hailey: Not the dying children.

Me: FML, I’m so over this. I’d rather end my days alone than go on another painful date like that again .

I put my phone in my small snowflake-shaped purse and speed walk to my car, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. It was a long day and, although Mr. Waffletwat said it so harshly, I do work with children who might not be here next year. Working in the hospice wing of Wolfgang Children’s Hospital is not for the weak, but none of the children are, so I won’t be either. If they can go through days and days of heartache and difficult surgeries with a smile, I can be there to hold their hand and give them strength. No matter how hard it is. I sure as hell won’t let that stupid ass talk about them like they’re not real humans who were dealt the absolute worst hand.

The air is cool this Friday evening and although I want to run for the hills, I walk toward the marina and find a bench right by the sidewalk. At least I can watch the sun setting without thinking about another failed date. You will die alone, Olivia. I won’t be here forever. You need a partner. I hear my mom’s voice in my head loud and clear. I may want a partner to share my life with but not at the cost of losing myself and my values in the process. I’m so tired. Tired of listening to my mom bitch about me not finding a partner. Tired of going on fruitless dates and tired of dealing with self-absorbed men. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, letting the breeze kiss my cheeks and hearing the roar of the waves as they take away all the memories from today.