Page 89 of Experiments in Offline Dating

“Which is totally. Like, it’s one hundred percent my fault. I know that. I’m sorry, Tadhg.” My voice was getting louder again. I was making a total fucking disaster out of this, and the recognition twisted my stomach, but I couldn’t stop. I had to push it out. “You didn’t even do anything. I just, it was so rainy, you know, which was not your fault, but your shirt was all wet and it was hot and I just threw myself at you! Standard operating procedures went out the window! I wanted you so badly that I couldn’t see straight.”

“All right, Maya. Do you think you can keep this between us, though, before all of Dingle hears ye? You’re fine. You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I totally do, though!”

He took a long sip of his drink. “You don’t. Yesterday was . . .” He ran a hand through his thick chestnut waves and let out a big lungful of air. He looked like he was in physical pain. “You don’t owe me an apology. I think”—he sucked in a breath—“I’m the one that owes you an apology.”

“No, I—”

He grabbed my wrist and cut me off. “Hold on,” he said softly. “Give me a minute to get this out.” He closed his eyes, then tipped his pint back and finished half of it in one long, telling shot. “I’m not any good at this. Any of it. You’re here looking for a husband, and, you see, well, I don’t want to take advantage. I’m not.” He sighed again. So much sighing added percussive accompaniment to the timpani pulsing in my ears. “I happen to have it on very good authority that I make a terrible husband.” I tried to contradict him again, but his hand, still on my wrist, gave a little squeeze, and I shut my mouth.

“I’m not good with women. Or anyone, really. I’m moody. I’m always saying the wrong thing. I insult people when I don’t mean to. I forget that people can be sensitive. And I get into my own stuff, so focused that I forget there are other people who want my attention, who deserve my attention.”

He’d let go of my wrist and was looking down, playing with the coaster, rubbing a thumbnail against a line in the table. Clearly wishing he were anywhere but here.

“My ex-wife, she used to try. She’d get all dressed up and cook us some fabulous dinner, and I wouldn’t even notice—grab a bowl and head out back to the barn. Or I’d say something careless and send her into floods of tears. I’m just—I’m an asshole. I’m selfish. I’m not good for anybody. I get too caught up in my own work.” He let out another huge sigh, as if he’d resigned himself to this frank conversation even though it might kill him. “And I don’t know if you even thought of me as a candidate or not, maybe you were just hoping for a holiday fling, but I’m not really too sure that a fling would be a good idea either. So I’m really sorry, Maya, if I did something to lead you on or confuse you, but I should take myself out of the running.”

“What running?”

He finally looked back up, and his face was contorted in awkward pain. “You know. For a husband.”

I laughed. Maybe it was rude, I wasn’t sure, but either way I couldn’t help myself. His brows drew in confusion, or maybe annoyance. I tried to stop, but that just made me laugh more. Then his shoulders began to shake, and I realized that he was laughing with me, and all the awkward pent-up stress evaporated from my bloodstream and left my mouth in breathy, tired gusts.

“I don’t want a husband, Tadhg.”

“What? That’s why you’re here.”

“Yeah, no. I’m very happily single. Is that what you thought? No wonder you were so nervous!” I laughed again and took a sip of my beer.

“But then why . . .? Ahhh, your podcast.”

“My podcast!”

“You’d do all this? For a podcast?”

“Well, not just one episode, a whole season. But yeah, I’ve done much worse than this. I went dumpster diving for a date once. At a strip mall behind a Mexican restaurant.”

“What? How is that a date? No, don’t answer that.”

“There was a lot of guacamole.”

“But why? Why this? If you’re not looking for a partner, how did you even get into a dating podcast in the first place?”

“Data collection.”

“What?” He leaned forward as if he had misheard.

“I go on so many dates to collect data on them. Then I get nerdy about stats and talk about it on my show, and for some reason, people like it. I just want to understand it better.”

“Understand dating?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

I scoffed. “The results speak for themselves.” He laughed and I soaked it up. “But yeah, can’t complain, honestly. I love my job. And while dating still makes zero fucking sense to me, treating it like an experiment, and hearing all the horror stories that the listeners call in with, makes me feel normal. Less like I’m broken.”

His eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean, broken?”