on the screen.
“I wasn’t too sure if you’d show up tonight. I mean, I figured at your age you probably have kids or something.”
Suddenly Bex is downing the Pappy like it’s water. Under the table, I feel a sharp stiletto bearing down on my foot. Yup, I’m in trouble.
“Oh, right, you know, I did almost forget. That early onset Alzheimer’s is getting to me.” Bex turns to me in a harsh whisper. “What the hell have you done now?”
“It’s fine,” I whisper back, fully cowed. “Just think of it as the last of my matchmaking. Trust me.”
“Do not say trust me, because I don’t,” Bex hisses, then turns back to the table to face Jason and Toby.
“So,” she says to Jason in a fake upbeat voice, “we met on Tinder and here we are in person!”
“I know, cool isn’t it? Hey, what was it like when you were dating at our age? Would people really put ads in newspapers? Like paper newspapers?” Jason seems dumbstruck, and I realize that despite the insensitivity, he’s being serious. I also realize that hot bod of his doesn’t have much of a brain.
“No, we’d send out carrier pigeons with notes attached.” Bex goes to take a swig of her bourbon, then frowns when she sees the glass is empty.
“And what about video dating? My mom said she did that one time. Hired a makeup artist and everything.” Toby says this with a tone of disbelief, like it’d be more believable if his mom had said she’d been kidnapped by aliens. “Whatever, man, I’m just glad we have these apps now, it helps to cull the herd. I’ll get us a round.” Full of largesse, Toby motions for the waiter.
“Finished with the Pappy?” the waiter says to Bex. “Another round?”
“No thanks, man, we’ll change it up and have four Jack and Cokes,” Toby says.
Upon hearing Jack and Coke, the waiter gives Bex a glance as if to say, “For real?”
“Did you fine women want those Cokes to be diet?” Toby looks at Bex and me. God, this was a mistake. I’m surprised he didn’t call us ma’am.
“I’m good, I don’t need another drink.” Bex’s face has turned as hard as stone.
“Go ahead and bring four,” Toby says. “No harm in me having yours if you don’t want it. So,” he turns to me, “what are you on?”
What am I on? Is this guy for real?
“I’ve only had a couple of drinks. I’m not on anything.” I sniff at him, losing my ability to be nice. Why do we women feel like we have to be nice to everyone anyway? These guys are redefining the word jerk.
He laughs and pulls out his phone. “No, I mean like what apps are you on? Seems like you’re up for it, too.” He gives me a sleazy look. “I’m on Tinder, Bumble, Match, The Society. Pretty much everything. I think it’s good to diversify. You know, like stocks.”
Toby is swiping through the photos on his phone. “I met her on The Society, it’s the invitation only one. I think you might be out of the age bracket.” He looks up and intently assesses my face. “It’s very high class, very exclusive. She is total second wife material.”
“Second wife material?”
“Yeah, you know. First wife material is the kind of girl you want as the mother of your children. Reliable, nice, good-looking but not too sexy, so she’ll stay at home and raise the kids.”
“Raise the kids?” I’m in total shock. I can’t believe the words I’m hearing from this jerk’s mouth. If Toby is the future of what it means to be a man, I can only hope that every woman becomes a lesbian. I thought this younger generation was supposed to be past stereotyped gender roles. Toby sounds like he’s straight out of a 1950s misogynist guidebook.
He continues on, oblivious. “Whereas second wife material is the hot girl, the girl every guy in the room wants to fu—”
“Okay, I get it,” I snap.
“First wife—Jennifer Garner. Second wife—Jennifer Lawrence,” Jason chimes in and lays it all out as a simple equation.
“Exactly, bro!” Toby reaches across the table to give Jason an enthusiastic high five.
“Liv, I need to run to the ladies’. Come with me.” Bex grabs my arm.
We both sit there and wait for either Jason or Toby to move out of our way so we can leave the booth. Jason is staring at his phone. Toby finally gets up so we can leave and says with tacky innuendo, “Don’t