This short story was just published in the 2026 issue of AMERICAN WRITERS REVIEW.

 

 

Amy Talked About Settling

Stephen A. Geller

 

 

Amy talked about settling since her thirty-fifth birthday.

“I don’t care about how much hair he has or if he’s put on some weight. I just need a nice guy, somebody I can talk to, somebody kind. A shoulder for when I’m sad. Good sense of humor. Warm feet in my bed. I’m not that fussy.

Amy was engaged in her mid-twenties to a man she met at Yale. He was a law student and she was getting a graduate degree in political science. She thought about law school herself but, after they broke up, she abandoned the idea. The only one she told about the engagement, after it was over, was her best friend, Charlotte.

“He never wanted to come out to San Diego to meet my family, my friends or anything. He was a control freak and said we would have the wedding in New Haven and honeymoon in the south of France and what not. He had it all planned but never wanted me to quote, trouble myself, end of quote, with details. The hell with that. I woke up one morning and knew it wouldn’t work. And the sex wasn’t that good, he would come almost before I was finished kissing, if you know what I mean.”

“I know, Ame,” Charlotte grinned and nodded her head, ” I know all too well.”

“So, I asked myself if I really need this guy. His two degrees from Yale weren’t going to do me any good. His mother had something up her ass-what is that expression, Charl?”

“I don’t know that one. Sorry. Do you mean a bee in her bonnet?”

“Maybe. Saying a bee in her bonnet is nicer, anyway. She didn’t like me. Not good enough for her son and that sort of thing. So, I’m lying there, fingering myself while he’s heading to snoozeville, and, without my thinking that much about it, he was history.”

Neither Charlotte nor any of the others could remember his name a year later.

All Amy would say about the breakup to the other girls is that the longer she knew him the less they seemed compatible.

“I’m really happy that we recognized this before we were married. We wouldn’t have made it.”

Amy had more than her share of social activities. She was a senior adviser at a political consulting firm by the time she was thirty, getting increasingly active in national, rather than only local, politics. There were countless receptions and parties. She didn’t have trouble finding people to date but, after three or four times, she would dissolve the relationship.

“I don’t know, Charlotte, none of them —and there have been a lot of nice guys-none of them seems like the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. You know?”

Charlotte  murmured, “Of course,” although most of her own dates recently were for just the one time, sometimes twice. “I definitely understand.”

“I don’t think I’m so fussy, and some of the guys have a lot going for them, but I never felt that chemistry, you know? You need that chemistry, don’t you?”

Two years ago, she brought Dave Nichols to the annual New Year’s Eve party at Holly’s, a restaurant near the water where Charlotte’s and Amy’s friends gathered every now and then.

Good-looking with a boyish face and a full head of straight brown hair, there was no dandruff on the lapels of his navy-blue blazer. His teeth even and bright white. His breath sweet smelling. An M.B.A. from the Wharton School, he owned two computer businesses and was part owner of one of the best new restaurants in La Jolla. He had a sailboat that could sleep six and he was a good cook. Even-tempered, Dave had a warm, easy smile. All of Amy’s friends liked him a lot.

At the New Year’s Eve party, Margie, after one or two drinks too many, asked him to dance with her and held him closer than he wanted, telling him that she would love to see him when he and Amy broke up. It was a few minutes before midnight and he excused himself, saying, “I hope you don’t mind, I want to be with Amy when the ball drops.” He didn’t tell Amy about Margie’s offer, excusing it because of the alcohol.

He took Amy to Paris for a week for fun and to Hanoi for six days on a business trip. Their hotel in Paris was near the Luxembourg Gardens. They stayed at the Metropole in the bustling center of Hanoi, in the room next to the one Graham Greene once occupied. They had sex four times during the night before they were set to fly home.

“It was so great, Charl,” Amy said. Then she laughed and added, ” I don’t just mean the sex. It was a great trip. I loved Vietnam.”

Amy was probably the brightest of their group. She had an exquisite, even elegant, face and a beautiful body. Dave was crazy about her. He proposed on Christmas eve. They were having dinner at one of his restaurants and he got down on one knee as soon as the table was cleared and before dessert was served, the wait staff standing by with a bottle of champagne.

The folks at the nearby tables watched with curiosity until Dave pulled the red velvet ring box from his suit jacket pocket and opened it for her, and then they all applauded. There was even a loud wolf whistle from a few tables away. Those sitting close could see that it was a beautifully cut diamond in an elegant, understated, antique mount. The ring had been his mother’s and her mother’s before her, but he had put in a new, larger stone while having the original diamond made into a matching necklace. A woman at a nearby table whispered, “Elegant,” when he slipped the ring on Amy’s finger.

Amy called Charlotte the next morning before she called her mother.

“Am I lucky or what?”

“Amy, Dave is wonderful.” She was waiting in line at Starbucks for her mid-morning latté. “Can you hear me? It is very noisy here. I can’t tell you how happy, really joyful, l am for you. You are going to be so happy.”

“I told him I had to think i t over for a little while. I’m having crazy thoughts.”

“Think about what? Amy, call him right now. Tell him that you’ll marry him. Right now.”

But Dave was at least two-maybe even three-inches shorter than Amy and she said she couldn’t wear high heels when they went out, although he told her so many times that he didn’t care, that it just didn’t matter to him. “Amy,” he told her, “I’m not that short, i t doesn’t bother me at all. It’s just that you have those wonderful long legs. You’re tall and you’re beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. ” I don’t care how tall you are. You can wear nine-inch spikes if you want. I love to look at you and I am perfectly comfortable. I love your legs. Just don’t think about it.”

Amy was never able to say “yes” and she split with Dave the day after the girls’ mid-February get-together, where she told her friends, ” I know it’s crazy. I don’t understand what it’s all about.” She shook her head and looked as if she was about to cry. ” I just can’t do it.”

Charlotte and most of the others, married and unmarried, cajoled Amy, yelled at her, screamed that she was crazy. They said that Dave was one of the best fish in the ocean, that she should grab him and not look back. Even Margie shouted at her, “Don’t let go of this guy, Amy, he’s the one for you.”

Only Lisa sided with Amy. “Look, they all get tired and bald. But they don’t get taller, do they?” and then every one yelled at Lisa.

Seven months later, the announcement of Dave’s engagement to a thirty-three-year-old Scripps Clinic pediatrician was in the newspaper. They would marry in January.

She was a pretty woman.

In the newspaper photo she looked a lot like Amy.