The Paralyzed Girl Was Rejected on a Christmas Blind Date—Until a Little Girl Asked “Can I Hug You?”
A Frosty Date and Shattered Dreams
The restaurant was decorated for Christmas with white lights twinkling around the windows and candles glowing on every table. Outside snow was beginning to fall dusting the city streets with the first real snow of the season.
Inside the warmth and soft music created the kind of atmosphere that was supposed to make people feel romantic and hopeful. Rachel Morrison sat at a corner table, her wheelchair positioned carefully so as not to block the aisle.
She wore a red off the shoulder dress that her sister had insisted she buy for this occasion and her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. She’d even put on makeup, something she rarely bothered with anymore.
She was 32 years old though she sometimes felt much older. The car accident had happened 3 years ago and in those 3 years Rachel had learned more about human nature than she’d ever wanted to know.
She’d learned who her real friends were when some of them stopped calling after she came home from the hospital. She’d learned about pity and awkwardness and the way people’s eyes would slide away from her wheelchair as if disability were contagious.
Most of all she’d learned about loneliness. Before the accident Rachel had been a dancer.
Ballet had been her life since she was 5 years old. She’d danced with a small company, had dreams of maybe making it to a bigger stage someday.
She’d been engaged to a man named Derek who she’d thought was the love of her life. The accident had shattered her spine and her dreams in one terrible moment.
A drunk driver running a red light, Rachel in the crosswalk. And then everything changed.
Derek had stayed for about 6 months playing the part of the devoted fiance. But Rachel could see the strain in his face.
The way he looked at her legs with something like grief or maybe revulsion. Eventually he’d admitted that he couldn’t do it, couldn’t imagine a future with someone in a wheelchair.
He’d left and Rachel had spent a year building walls around her heart that felt impenetrable. Now two years later her sister Jessica had convinced her to try a blind date.
Just dinner Jessica had said, a nice guy from her husband’s office who was single and successful and according to Jessica really kind and open-minded. Rachel had her doubts.
She’d been on a few blind dates since the accident, all set up by well-meaning friends and family. They always went the same way.
The man would show up see the wheelchair and his smile would falter just slightly. He’d be polite through dinner checking his watch occasionally and then he’d thank her at the end and promise to call.
He never did. She understood.
Dating someone with a disability wasn’t what most people signed up for. There were practical complications and lifestyle adjustments.
She would never be the woman who could hike with him or dance at their wedding or play with their children in ways that involved running and jumping. But understanding didn’t make it hurt less.
Tonight’s blind date was with a man named Aaron Mitchell. He was supposed to meet her here at 7:00.
It was now 7:15 and Rachel was beginning to think he’d looked through the restaurant window, seen her in the wheelchair, and kept walking. It wouldn’t be the first time.
She was debating whether to give him another 5 minutes or just order dinner for herself and salvage some dignity from the evening. A man in a dark navy suit approached her table.
He was handsome in that polished way that suggested money and success. Dark hair, confident bearing, expensive watch.
“Rachel?” he asked and his smile seemed genuine. “That’s me,” she said trying to match his smile.
“You must be Aaron.” “I am. I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible with the snow starting.”
He sat down across from her and Rachel waited for it. She waited for the moment when his eyes would drift to the wheelchair.
She waited for when his expression would shift, when she’d see that flicker of disappointment or pity or discomfort. It came about 30 seconds into their conversation.
She saw his gaze drop, saw him notice the wheelchair for the first time. His smile didn’t falter exactly, but something changed in his eyes.
Something closed off. “So,” he said his voice perhaps a bit too bright, “Jessica tells me you work from home doing graphic design.”
“That’s right,” Rachel said recognizing this tone. It was the tone of someone who decided this wasn’t going to work but was too polite to leave immediately.
“I used to dance professionally but after my accident I had to find a new career. Turns out I’m pretty good at design work.”
“That’s great,” Aaron said, but he was already glancing at the menu. He was already mentally planning his exit strategy.
Rachel could read it in every line of his body language. They ordered.
Aaron asked polite questions about her work, her family, and her apartment that had been modified for wheelchair accessibility. But he didn’t ask about her dreams or her passions or what made her laugh.
He didn’t lean forward with interest or make jokes or do any of the things people did when they were genuinely engaged. He was going through the motions of a date with someone he’d already written off.
