Blind Dates | 8 November 2021

I walked up to the door with a quiet confidence that was lost to me just last week.  “I can do this.  I will do this.”  I thought as I closed my fist and knocked on the glossy wooden door.  I heard footsteps approaching and took a deep breath.  “This woman needs to know how I expect my son to be treated.”  I thought to myself, and then I froze.  The man that answered the door – the man who clearly lived here – was the same man I met last week on a Tinder date.

BNR Response

“And then she said, ‘Now that’s a chocolate starfish!” Travis guffawed, his face turned inward toward the house, as he fully opened the door.  “I’m sorry,” he sighed, eyes closed, turning to face me.  As I recognized that this man was Travis, my Travis, sex-on-the-first-date Travis from last Friday, I momentarily lost all sense of mission.  The part of me that had come to confront my son’s stalker ex-girlfriend was now blurring with the part of me that had wanted to appear carefree, cool, and sexy to the guy I hoped I’d snag a second date with.  Then, righteously, the sum of my parts began to piece together why he was answering Felisha’s door…and I realized I had to quickly try to speak actual words comprehended by English speakers.

“Who the fuck is it?”  I hear Felisha bark from inside, still laughing from Travis’ joke. 

“Uhhhh…” A look of surprise covers Travis’s face as he searches for words to understand why his one-night stand is on his doorstep and how I might know where he lived.  Felisha is banging pots and pans in the kitchen so loudly I wonder whether she’s cooking or practicing ringing in the New Year. 

“I’m Sydney’s mom, Constance.  I’m here to see Felisha.”  I state firmly, still not knowing whether to acknowledge Travis or pretend we haven’t met.  At this point, Travis still having said nothing, Felisha makes her way to the foyer, aggressively grabbing the door out of his hands to reveal me on the stoop. 

“Oh my godnessssssss,” Felisha hisses, wiping her hands on the worn dishrag in her hands.  I feel my chest get tight, my cheeks hot with anger.  I’m seeing for the first time that this woman is my age.  “You’re Sy’s mommmmWOWWW,” she inhales sharply, then exhales in a way that reminds me of LaMaze breathing, as if trying to blow out candles on a birthday cake, “Ummmm, what are you doing here?” she chokes out in a whisper.

“I came to talk to you about the situation with my son, but I think we three have more to discuss now.  I really don’t want to come into your, uh, snake pit of a home, so would you both please join me in the driveway?”  I feel myself switching from freeze to fight as my inner survivor mobilizes to manage this curveball.

“I’m not sure how I am part of the equation, so I’ll just leave you two ladies to it,” Travis says, trying to retreat from the foreground into what I remark is a sea of teal Chintze-upholstered furniture and a large display of Hubble dolls in the interior.

“Travis!  COME.”  Felisha snaps her fingers and points to her heel like you do with a disobedient cocker spaniel.  They join me at the foot of the steps.

“Ok, let’s get caught up.” I clap my hands together like a coach giving a final directive to a losing team about to hit the field with a little left on the clock, “Felisha: Travis and I went on a Tinder date on Friday and he banged my brains out in the back of his Chevy in the parking lot behind the Cliff House.  Travis: Felisha had been ‘dating’ [I use air quotes] my son for the last three months until her behavior took a Fatal Attraction turn.” Felisha’s face is ashen and I’m relieved to see that the bitch may have some sense of propriety in recognizing that the sordid jig is up.  Travis is unmoving and silent, slack-jawed like an idiot.  I continue, “Prior to coming here, my primary grievance was with you, FeFe,” I aim my two ‘church is the steeple’ pointer fingers a bit too close to her face, “and that your infatuation with my son has crossed the line into stalking.  I wanted to personally notify you that we have alerted the authorities.”

Felisha turns to Travis and simultaneously tries to cobble together an explanation to the two of us.  I can see her tiny brain is having trouble reconciling seeking Travis’s forgiveness while realizing that he also needs to seek hers.  Travis, yet to respond in any meaningful way at all, is proving to be much less the savvy and adroit businessman that first attracted me to his online profile.  To add insult to injury, I now notice that the dullard is wearing pleated trousers.  I gag.

“I actually don’t think I have much more work to do here.”  I say, “Felisha, an order of restraint has been placed against you, but for some reason I think you’ll have your hands far too full with Trav here to be concerned with my boy any longer.”

I turn on my heel and fire up my car.  I hear Felisha and Travis start to squabble in what sounds like a desperate dog dance as I begin put my car in reverse.  Savoring the view ahead of me and chuckling to myself, I am jolted by a sudden impact from behind.  Sheeeeiiiiit.  As the airbag deflates, I turn my head to see who has hit me at the entrance to the driveway, and notice it is my ex-husband Scott.  What the ever-living fuck is this bag of dicks doing here?!  Apparently, this story is just beginning to unfold.