the same crowd but, unfortunately, Jake Doyle did not have eyes for me. I wasn’t ugly, but I was no Stephanie Campbell, Jake’s tall, blonde, blue-eyed (this was L.A. after all) girlfriend.
We lost touch after high school, but at our twenty-year high school reunion a couple years ago, Jake and I ended up next to each other at the bar. He looked at me, then down at my hideous yearbook photo name tag, and then again at my face and said, “Gracie Roseman. No way! I had the biggest crush on you in high school!”
GraceMay: You had your chance.
JakeDoyle: ouch!
And then I don’t know what comes over me.
GraceMay: Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anyway.
JakeDoyle: say it isn’t so gracie! trouble in paradise?
GraceMay: No.
JakeDoyle: what did mr fancy investment banker do?
Seriously, Grace? Why are you doing this?
GraceMay: Nothing.
Good girl.
JakeDoyle: that’s convincing-need me 2 break his legs?
GraceMay: Of course not!
JakeDoyle: not going 2 try and read into it but any guy who would do anything 2 u is crazy
GraceMay: You think?
A little flattery never hurt anyone.
JakeDoyle: ur a catch gracie, i was blind :-)
GraceMay: We were young.
JakeDoyle: ur still as pretty
GraceMay: Almost 40!
JakeDoyle: like a fine wine
JakeDoyle: gotta run but if things don’t work out with u and mr fancy call me
GraceMay: You got it.
Yeah right.
JakeDoyle: i’ll catch up with u soon, what’s ur email address?
I give him my email address and say goodbye, giggling out loud. I’m surprised by all the tingling in my body. It feels like soda is rushing through my veins—all popping and bubbling. I feel like I’m sixteen again, when I used to wonder whether Jake would like me better in the blue oversize sweater with shoulder pads or the green one. Not that he ever noticed, but thoughts of him did go into my daily wardrobe selection. I wonder if flattery from thirty-nine-year-old Jake Doyle might even be better than attention from sixteen-year-old Jake Doyle.
I grab my coffee mug and see the photo of Darren and me on my desk. I return to reality and realize I might be guilty of Facebook Flirting, an epidemic sweeping the nation. Usual onset of the disease happens to thirty-eight-year-olds at their twenty-year high school reunions. The afflicted are often long past the honeymoon phase in their current relationship when everything was new and the sex was exciting, and most are not getting the adulation from their spouses that makes them feel attractive and desirable. Along comes the reunion and with it, fun encounters—usually accompanied by sexy outfits and tequila shots—with long-lost crushes who make said afflicted feel sixteen again. Upon returning home, the disease flares up when the afflicted become “friends” on Facebook and engage in flirty repartee. This can quickly lead to an outbreak of symptoms that include inappropriate emotional and often physical interactions. The natural progression of the disease results in ostracism, regret, and in severe cases, divorce. The only known treatment is Facebook abstinence.
That’s so not what I’m doing, I think and log off of Facebook. It was just a short, friendly, unsolicited exchange with Jake Doyle , I convince myself. So why are you blushing, Grace? I can’t help myself so I Google Jake to see if there are any recent photos of him floating around. His Facebook profile photo is of a surfboard. There are a few listings of articles from art journals about his latest opening, and a search result that leads to his own website, which I click on. I’m taken aback by photos of his art—beautiful, vibrant, large-scale canvases in the abstract expressionist style, which is my favorite. And I’m even more taken aback by the photo I find of him. He’s standing on the beach, his dark hair is longish and blowing in the wind, and his face looks a bit weathered, but the unmistakable resemblance to Rob Lowe is
We lost touch after high school, but at our twenty-year high school reunion a couple years ago, Jake and I ended up next to each other at the bar. He looked at me, then down at my hideous yearbook photo name tag, and then again at my face and said, “Gracie Roseman. No way! I had the biggest crush on you in high school!”
GraceMay: You had your chance.
JakeDoyle: ouch!
And then I don’t know what comes over me.
GraceMay: Marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be anyway.
JakeDoyle: say it isn’t so gracie! trouble in paradise?
GraceMay: No.
JakeDoyle: what did mr fancy investment banker do?
Seriously, Grace? Why are you doing this?
GraceMay: Nothing.
Good girl.
JakeDoyle: that’s convincing-need me 2 break his legs?
GraceMay: Of course not!
JakeDoyle: not going 2 try and read into it but any guy who would do anything 2 u is crazy
GraceMay: You think?
A little flattery never hurt anyone.
JakeDoyle: ur a catch gracie, i was blind :-)
GraceMay: We were young.
JakeDoyle: ur still as pretty
GraceMay: Almost 40!
JakeDoyle: like a fine wine
JakeDoyle: gotta run but if things don’t work out with u and mr fancy call me
GraceMay: You got it.
Yeah right.
JakeDoyle: i’ll catch up with u soon, what’s ur email address?
I give him my email address and say goodbye, giggling out loud. I’m surprised by all the tingling in my body. It feels like soda is rushing through my veins—all popping and bubbling. I feel like I’m sixteen again, when I used to wonder whether Jake would like me better in the blue oversize sweater with shoulder pads or the green one. Not that he ever noticed, but thoughts of him did go into my daily wardrobe selection. I wonder if flattery from thirty-nine-year-old Jake Doyle might even be better than attention from sixteen-year-old Jake Doyle.
I grab my coffee mug and see the photo of Darren and me on my desk. I return to reality and realize I might be guilty of Facebook Flirting, an epidemic sweeping the nation. Usual onset of the disease happens to thirty-eight-year-olds at their twenty-year high school reunions. The afflicted are often long past the honeymoon phase in their current relationship when everything was new and the sex was exciting, and most are not getting the adulation from their spouses that makes them feel attractive and desirable. Along comes the reunion and with it, fun encounters—usually accompanied by sexy outfits and tequila shots—with long-lost crushes who make said afflicted feel sixteen again. Upon returning home, the disease flares up when the afflicted become “friends” on Facebook and engage in flirty repartee. This can quickly lead to an outbreak of symptoms that include inappropriate emotional and often physical interactions. The natural progression of the disease results in ostracism, regret, and in severe cases, divorce. The only known treatment is Facebook abstinence.
That’s so not what I’m doing, I think and log off of Facebook. It was just a short, friendly, unsolicited exchange with Jake Doyle , I convince myself. So why are you blushing, Grace? I can’t help myself so I Google Jake to see if there are any recent photos of him floating around. His Facebook profile photo is of a surfboard. There are a few listings of articles from art journals about his latest opening, and a search result that leads to his own website, which I click on. I’m taken aback by photos of his art—beautiful, vibrant, large-scale canvases in the abstract expressionist style, which is my favorite. And I’m even more taken aback by the photo I find of him. He’s standing on the beach, his dark hair is longish and blowing in the wind, and his face looks a bit weathered, but the unmistakable resemblance to Rob Lowe is
Similar Books
Return to Winter: Russia, China, and the New Cold War Against America
Douglas E. Schoen, Melik Kaylan
