He Objected to My Expiration Date

My mom tricked me into a blind date on my thirtieth birthday.

As cons go, it was lazy work.

I'd told my family I was skipping birthday dinner this year. Big deadline, I said. The truth was, I knew exactly how that dinner would go.

At ten to six that evening, Mom texted me: "Aunt Carla fell. We're at the ER. Come now."

My heart dropped into my shoes. I grabbed my keys, called an Uber, and was halfway down the block before it occurred to me to call my aunt.

She picked up on the second ring, loud and cheerful. "Tessa, honey! I'm at the salon getting my highlights done. What's up?"

I was quiet for three seconds.

"Nothing. Enjoy the highlights."

I hung up. Mom's next text was already waiting.

"Well, since you're out anyway, come to Vitale's. The whole family's here for your birthday. And there's someone we'd like you to meet."

I stared at the screen until I started laughing, the kind of laugh that's mostly rage.

I typed: "Mom. Does Aunt Carla know she's in the ER?"

She answered instantly. "She signed off on it."

Great. A family crime ring.

I wasn't going to go. Then she sent one more.

"Your father's here too."

My eye twitched.

My dad stays out of my life. When he does get involved, it means the topic has been simmering in the family for months and has officially reached the stage of Tessa's thirty and still single. Is something wrong with her?

I don't mind blind dates. What I mind is a table full of relatives using one as an excuse to put me on trial.

The charges never change. Thirty is too old to be this picky. A great job won't keep you warm at night. Don't wait too long. Who's going to take care of you when you're old?

As if a marriage license came with a retirement plan.

By then I was already in the Uber, and the expressway ahead of us was one long line of brake lights. I sat in the back seat seriously considering jumping out.

The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "You in a hurry?"

"Sort of. My family set me up on a blind date."

He thought about that. "Then I wouldn't rush."

Even the Uber driver knew. This was not worth a speeding ticket.

I got to Vitale's thirty minutes late. The hostess smiled and led me past the bar toward the back room, the one my family books for every birthday, graduation, and funeral lunch. The closer I got, the more clearly I could hear voices.

Aunt Carla first.

"Thirty minutes late. I'm just saying, that's not a great look. Our Tessa's a wonderful girl, she really is. She just works too much. And she's picky."

Then Aunt Denise.

"She had a perfectly nice boyfriend once. Dumped him because he didn't make enough money. And now look at her. Thirty, and she still acts like she's twenty-two."

I stopped outside the door.

Wonderful. The appetizers weren't even out yet, and my sentencing hearing was already halfway done.

I reached for the handle. Then a man's voice I didn't recognize cut through the room. Calm, steady, almost lazy.

"So she's thirty. And?"

The room went silent.

Aunt Carla must have been caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"She's thirty and single," the man said. "Is that costing you something?"

Her voice climbed. "Young man, I don't know who taught you to talk like that. I'm her aunt. I worry about her."

"Worrying about someone and running them down are two different things," he said. "You just spent four minutes establishing that she's too old, too picky, too busy, and too strong-willed. Then you wrapped it all up by saying it's for her own good. That argument doesn't really hold together."

I almost laughed out loud.

Who was this? My mystery date?

Aunt Denise wasn't giving up. "We're just being realistic. Once a woman hits a certain age, it's harder to find someone."

"Is it easier for a man?" he asked. "Or do only women come with an expiration date?"

Aunt Denise choked on whatever she'd been about to say.

"If it's harder for everybody, that's just life," he went on. "If it's only harder for women, then the problem is whoever's doing the judging."

Dead silence.

I stood in the hallway and realized I was in no hurry to go in.

I have sat through more family dinners than I can count. This was the first time anyone had ever made my aunts stop talking.

Finally, my dad spoke up. "Graham, they don't mean anything by it. They're just blunt. Don't take it personally."

"I don't take it personally, sir," the man said.

I let out a breath.

"But I'd guess Tessa does."

And just like that, my dad went quiet too.