Dating 102

We meet at a wedding, and the chemistry is instant. We both hated American Beauty and loved the last Steven Seagal film. We both read horoscopes, but not because we actually believe them. It's clear that this could be a foursome.

Stephanie and I aren't swingers — we're just entering dating phase two. Dating phase two occurs after marriage. It involves all the complications of dating phase one but twice the number of people.

We sit in tux and gown considering this couple as though conducting black-tie interviews. She mentions that they have a ten-month-old son, winning a few points with Steph. He declares that baseball is a better invention than the wheel, winning a few more with me. By the end of the groom's speech, we feel like we've known these two for years.

At the sweet table Stephanie asks me if we should get their phone number. I tell her as long as we don't go all the way on the first date. Now I'm alone at the sweet table.

We don't have enough time for our current friends, of course; it will be tough to accommodate two new ones. Or do they count as one? We can always make time, Steph and I tell each other. It is an interesting thing to tell each other, since we agreed two days ago that every moment of leisure in our lives had officially gone the way of M.C. Hammer.

Soon Steph returns with a number scrawled on a napkin. She's grinning as if the quarterback has just asked her to the prom.

Three nights later, they call. Steph answers casually, trying not to sound too eager. She gives me a thumbs-up, signifying that a date has been scheduled. For a moment I feel as though I'm watching my sister talk to the guy she likes in high school. Suddenly I'm ready to beat the hell out of him.

We go to a movie with the new couple. We pretend we like the movie more than we do because we don't want to be the kind of couple that doesn't like things. We go for a drink and joke about how we never go for a drink. We make fun of people we know in common.

At the end of the night, we pass the litmus test — the crossover-goodnight kiss — as though we were the ones who invented it. Most foursomes accidentally converge in the middle of an ill-formed X, prompting at least one awkward joke and a possible collision. But with the new couple it comes off like a ballet.

After we break from the crossover, the two girls decide they have bonded enough for a hug. This takes him and me completely by surprise, since we've completed our handshake and have no moves left. I ask him what he thinks of the Jays' chances this year. He feels they could go all the way if everything falls into place. I nod; seems reasonable. The girls have stopped hugging but still have each other by the shoulders. Finally they separate.

The next evening I pick up the phone to call the new couple and tell them how much we enjoyed ourselves. Stephanie grabs my wrist, insisting that we wait a couple of days. We don't want to seem desperate, she says. I skim my bookshelf just to confirm that women are still from Venus. They are.

A few weeks go by without word from our new friends. This causes us to analyze ourselves. At the dinner table Steph asks me if I think they're avoiding us. I tell her we should pass them a note in biology class to find out. Now I'm alone at the dinner table.

They call later that evening. We learn that they'd been away on vacation. We make plans for some Saturday in the back of my Dayplanner. Steph asks me how we could have been so insecure.

Later, I watch her sleep. I stroke her hair, smiling to myself, relishing the moment. I consider the irony of thinking I'd left the dating scene behind only to become part of a new one. As I lie beside her, I'm still smiling, because I'm thinking about the one thing that makes this phase entirely, eternally different.

I always get to come home with her at the end of the date.

The Globe and Mail 

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I.J. Schecter
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© I.J. Schecter 2003