The Blind Date

than the average social media influencer, and my style is rather in-your-face sunny with my trademark yellow knee socks, white Doc Martens, and a halo of blonde waves held back with big yellow sunglasses. Eli is gorgeous, to put it lightly. He’s six feet tall, broad-shouldered, tanned, and dresses like a Ralph Lauren ad. Today, he’s wearing a slim-tapered navy Italian suit and chestnut brown loafers with no socks. He’s every preppy-lover’s dream come true. And Arielle is a stunner with dark hair pulled back in a carefree ponytail, thick, dark lashes, and red lips. Her work scrubs do nothing to hide her luscious curves.
We look as though we would have absolutely nothing in common. A business guy, a no-nonsense medical field worker, and a flower child who never grew up. But we couldn’t be closer.
Years ago, we met at the mall, of all places, each of us holding down jobs at various stores there. We’d walk in at opening, out at closing, eat in the food court, and over time, the head nods of recognition became our own little world of friendship. Ultimately, we created a group called “The Crew” comprised of us musketeers plus a few others we met at the mall. But today, it’s only the three of us for lunch.
As we tuck into our burritos, Eli drops a bomb. “I had a date on Friday.” It’s not that Eli’s dating is a surprise. It’d be more of a shocker if he hadn’t gone on a date, but Arielle’s right brow lifts the tiniest millimeter.
Eli’s more than good looks. In fact, he’s very smart, one of those types of people who knows a little bit about everything. It makes every time we meet up a fun time, because Eli’s interests are always unpredictable. He can talk at length about everything from photography to politics to the Police Academy movies, and often without ever quite explaining why he’s doing so or where he gleaned the varied knowledge.
But he’s usually careful to not throw out too much dating detail in front of Arielle. They’ve had a super-casual, friends with benefits situation off and on for years. They’re ‘off’ right now, neither of them having an itch to scratch, but their dating lives aren’t something we usually discuss together.
“He or she?” I ask, thinking maybe that has something to do with the hook Eli’s dangling, and Eli laughs. That’s another thing about Eli. He’s all about ‘hearts, not parts’ and dates based on connection, not genitalia. His conversations about sex can be very eye opening, and I’ve learned quite a few things from Eli.
“She,” Eli says matter-of-factly.
A thousand questions go through my head, each wanting to jump off my tongue at once. But Arielle is glaring fiercely at Eli, though he is blissfully oblivious. He’s usually not tight-lipped with me, but he seems to have said his piece, and Arielle has nothing to say for a change. I decide that I really don’t need to know details right this second, especially if it’s going to hurt Arielle. I would never do that, though I’ll definitely ask her what’s up with the reaction later.
Instead, I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction. “And the bank?”
It’s part of Eli’s charm and intelligence, his ability to be so multi-faceted and yet achieve so much so quickly. At twenty-five years old, he’s a branch manager with Metro Savings & Loan despite not having an MBA. Or at least not having one yet, but he’s working on it online.
“Making million-dollar moves,” Eli says with a shrug. “I mean, it’s a bank, babe. Trust me, unless someone shows up with a shotgun, which I hope I never see” —he pauses to kiss two fingers and hold them to the sky in either a prayer or a wish— “it’s pretty much the same thing on a daily basis. Check this, sign this, balance that. But you’ve been making a few million-dollar moves of your own. Or more precisely, half a million follower moves.” He gives me a polite golf clap and a warm smile.
Still amazed, I shake my hands and kick my feet, stomping my boots on the green grass beneath the picnic table. I’ll never be a cheerleader, but it’s my best cheery celebration because it’s true. When I started my path of becoming an influencer, I had a series of signposts that I wanted to achieve. A thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand . . . now a half-million followers.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking a bite of my burrito to keep from squealing loudly. “Mmmph, these are so good!”
Eli cuts his burrito with a knife and fork as he nods in agreement. I’d give him shit for it, but I can only guess at how much his shirt cost, and I know that when he’s in non-work clothes, he’s the first to snatch up a slice of pizza and shove the whole thing in his mouth with zero cares about manners, so I’ll let this slide.
“So, what’re you going to do to celebrate?” he asks.
“Well, first off, the next time we get The Crew together, it’s all on me,” I assure him. Arielle raises her hand like we’re in elementary school, and I add, “And I need to do a thank-you post for my followers—“
Arielle is done being ignored and slaps her palm to the table, making our water bottles jump. “I know!” she exclaims, getting both Eli’s and my attention. “You need to date.”
“Date?” I repeat dumbly. “I date.”
“No, you don’t,” Arielle argues.
Eli sends a look Arielle’s way, quietly communicating something, and then, a bit softer, asks, “How long has it been?”
“Fine. Too long,” I admit, smiling that they care enough to have even noticed. It has been a while, but I’ve been so busy. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“That’s no surprise. You never complain about anything,” Arielle declares.
“But I’ve been really focused on building the Sunshiner brand.”
“And it’s paid off,” Arielle tells me, softening her approach now too. “You deserve to do something for yourself.