“Ah.” Arjun nods in understanding, but I see the flash of disappointment in his eyes. This is not a surprise. I’ve been on enough first dates to realize that a lot of guys think that no alcohol equals no fun (aka no sex), which is irritating but also a pretty useful litmus test. This one guy I went out with last month kept pushing meso much to order a drink that I wound up faking an emergency call to get out of there.
Arjun orders a beer for himself and the waitress smiles and disappears.
I take a steadying breath and lean forward with a determined smile. I’m not going to sit here like a lump just because I’m having a bit of an off day. “So,” I say cheerfully, “do you like your job?”
“Oh, yeah. How about you?”
I hesitate. “It’s okay. I’m still trying to find my dream job.”
“Dream job.” Arjun chuckles. “Like being famous or something?”
“Er—no. I mean, not that I would be against it!” I laugh. “But I just want to find something I’m more passionate about, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Arjun says. “I thought about doing chemical engineering for a while, but then I was like, nope, way too boring.”
I smile. “You know, I have to admit, I’ve never actually understood all the different types of engineering.” (Or even exactly what an engineerdoes, but I won’t mention that right now.) “Like, I’ve heard of chemical engineering, but I don’t actually know what it means.”
“Oh, right.” Arjun nods. “So, chemical engineering is like treatment plants and things, super boring, but civil engineering—”
“That’s what you do?”
“Yeah, it’s way more interesting. Like, right now I’m a project engineer for this huge company Traho—you’ve probably seen their buildings in Charlottetown, plus they’re really huge out west—”
He keeps talking about his company for a while. So long, in fact, that my attention starts to flicker. I swear I’m trying to be polite and pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering back to Wordle.
F, R, A.
R, A, F.
RAFFS. No, that’s not a word.
RAFTS? That’s a word, but the A isn’t in the right place.
REAFS. Like, coral reafs?
No, I’m pretty sure it’s spelled “reefs.”
“You know what I mean?” Arjun says.
Crap.
Do I know what he means aboutwhat?
I open my mouth to give him some vague nonanswer, but the waitress saves me just in time, arriving to take our orders. I pick something randomly from the menu and force myself to focus properly after she’s gone. I ask Arjun where he went to school and listen attentively as he tells me a few stories about university, but after a half hour or so, I can already tell that he and I are just not meant to be. He’s friendly enough, and he doesn’t say anythingwrong, exactly, but we don’t have the same sense of humor, and he doesn’t ask me any questions about myself, not even when I intentionally let the silence stretch out to see if he’ll speak first. I end up pitching question after question at him like I’m a late-night TV host or something. He seems to enjoy it (everyone loves talking about themselves, I learned that about fifty first dates ago), and while he talks, I tuck into my meal, a lobster roll and fries.
When he steps away to go to the bathroom, I immediately take out my phone.
FRAYS, I type.
Hmm. The S is yellow, so that’s something, but I can’t think of a single word that has an A, R, S, and F in it. (Besides FARTS, which I really need to get out of my brain.) My mind is totally stuck on words that start with FR, even though I already know that’s wrong.
“Everything okay?” Arjun asks as he returns to the table.
“Oh, yeah.” I force a chuckle and show him my screen. “I’ve been doing this Wordle app thing, but I can’t figure out today’s word.”
“Bummer.” Arjun drains the last sip of his beer and then pulls out his own phone. “I’ll Google it for you.”
“No!” I cry, as he starts typing. A woman at the table next to us jumps half a foot.
