How to Build a Boyfriend from Scratch. Sarah Archer

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      “Oh, fine, that’s all right then,” Carl grumbled. Kelly gulped on her chicken. How did Clara do that? How did she always say the right thing?

      But she was quickly distracted by the inevitable question. “So, Kelly,” her mom asked brightly, “have you met anyone recently?”

      “Well, a boatswain from the Philippines just asked me to connect on LinkedIn, so …”

      “You know what I mean, a man!”

      “No, Mom, since you asked me last week, I have not found a husband.”

      “No need to be snippy. I just want what’s best for you. After all, you are already twenty-nine; I would think you would gladly take my help in the situation. And luckily for you, I met someone!”

      “Congratulations, dear. Will I be invited to the wedding?” Carl asked, not looking up from his salad.

      “I mean for Kelly, obviously.”

      “Mom, I don’t—”

      “Oh, is this the one you were telling me about?” Clara interrupted Kelly excitedly. “I think you’ll actually like him, Kel.”

      “Please don’t—” But Kelly failed again.

      “Give it a try. Worst that happens is this stranger murders you on the first date, and then at least you’re not dying alone,” Gary said, slicing food for two of the girls across his own untouched plate. His expression was so straight that few people but Kelly would have been able to tell he was joking. And even she wasn’t convinced.

      “I really don’t want—”

      But now Diane cut across Kelly. “Will everyone please just let me finish?” Oh, how rude of me, Kelly thought. “His name is Martin and he’s Donna’s sister’s neighbor’s son. He’s a realtor and a tennis player and just adorable and best of all, he’s the same height as Gary, so everything will be symmetrical in the pictures!”

      “What pictures?” Gary asked.

      “At the wedding, obviously.”

      Kelly couldn’t let this go on. “Mom, I don’t care how good this guy looks next to Gary, I’m not marrying him.”

      “Not your wedding, silly. Though who knows! I mean for Clara’s wedding. Oh, and I almost forgot. He has a cocker spaniel.” Diane sat back, satisfied. The man had a cocker spaniel.

      “It’s perfect, right, Kel?” Clara beamed.

      “Wait, so you guys just went and found a plus one for me?”

      “I know how you dread these things,” Diane said. “Now you don’t even have to worry about it.”

      “What makes you think I don’t already have one?”

      “Well, you don’t—do you?”

      Kelly spluttered. “That’s not the point! I don’t want to go to my sister’s wedding with some tennis-playing jerkoff I don’t even know.”

      “But you will know him. I set up dinner for the two of you. You’ve got almost two months to get to know each other.”

      Kelly looked to her father. “Dad, you’ll pose next to me in the pictures, right, so everything looks good? I don’t need a plus one?”

      “I would, but I probably wouldn’t live up to your mother’s standards. She’s never called me adorable.”

      “Gary? Is anyone going to stand up for me or is my whole family happy to just pimp me out to a strange man off the streets?”

      “Honestly, I’d be thrilled to have another guy at the family table,” Gary admitted. “My doctor said if I don’t start exposing myself to people other than Gina and the girls, I will lactate.”

      “Kelly, this is ridiculous. You have to bring someone,” Diane insisted.

      “Why? Who cares?”

      “Who cares?” Diane set down her fork. Kelly sensed that she had asked the wrong question. “A wedding is a house of cards, Kelly. If you mess up my seating arrangements, all hell will break loose. And all of my friends, my family, my industry colleagues will be there. The eyes of the Bay Area are on me. I am a bridal professional and this is my daughter’s wedding! This is my Triple Crown!”

      “Wait, so are you the horse in this scenario?” Kelly couldn’t resist asking.

      “I think she’s the jockey.” Gary caught her eye before looking away, masking a grin.

      “Please, just give him a chance, Kel,” Clara said. “It’s one dinner. I think you’ll have more fun at the wedding if you have someone to talk to, and I won’t have to worry about whether you’re having a good time. Please? For me?”

      Kelly sighed. Clara’s sweet tone was much harder to say no to than her mother’s quasi-mania. She had a feeling she was about to meet a cocker spaniel.

       two

      

      Kelly wondered, as she prepared for her blind date the following Saturday, why other girls seemed to love the getting-ready process. In movies this was always a snappy montage that involved trying on various colorful outfits and throwing them off over your head like a jovial idiot who doesn’t understand how hangers work. Instead, there she was, in her drab apartment, staring sadly into her closet. It was like Eeyore shopping for a quinceañera dress.

      Well, drab may be a little harsh—Kelly had a perfectly nice (for Silicon Valley rental prices) one-bedroom with square, modern lines, granite countertops mottled with black and sienna brown, and broad windows offering views of the small, flat park across the street, where dogs ran through the cropped grass and kids played soccer. Her IKEA décor was neutral and tasteful, if rather plain. She tended to choose items in neat, geometric shapes, pieces that had no possibility of clashing with each other or cutting the space in the room into any of those awkward, too-small-to-have-a-function wedges of unfillable air. It was easiest to go basic, she figured—safest. Pick out something inoffensive and you didn’t have to devote any time and energy to thinking about it, or worrying what other people would think. There was no way you would look back at that rectangular beige couch and think you’d made a horrendous mistake. She couldn’t imagine a world where home décor served any higher purpose than to do no harm.

      The same philosophy extended to the wardrobe she was now peering into as if she expected it to offer her some magical, glamorous outfit she had never actually bought. She might as well have been looking for the portal to Narnia. Kelly owned very little in the way of going-out clothes or even casual clothes, because she did very little going out or casual-ing. Most of her items were work oriented: blouses in cream or taupe, skirts and trousers with simple lines. In actuality, her office was rather forgiving of the “artist/techie/genius СКАЧАТЬ