(My date withJohn.)
Every time she pauses for breath, I tell her loudly that I have to go, but she just barrels on like she hasn’t heard me. If she really can’t hear me, then I guess I’m a horrible person for thinking it, but if she’s pretending... well, it’s kind of genius, isn’t it?
Finally, I give up and just back out the door. “I’m really sorry!” I holler. “I’ll hear the rest tomorrow!”
I swear I hear her snicker as the door swings shut.
Back at home, I spend a half hour restraightening my hair, which has gone all limp and tangly at work, and put on some dark eyeshadow that I think makes me look sort of cool and flirty but probably actually just looks like normal eyeshadow.
Normally for a date I’d put together a pretty outfit—for my date with Arjun, for example, I wore an A-line dress and strappy sandals—but knowing John, he’ll show up in jeans and a T-shirt and I’ll look way overdressed by comparison. I pull on a pair ofdark jeans that an ex once said made my butt look good and a black T-shirt and slim-fit bomber jacket. I’m toeing on my sneakers when bright lights swing through my living room. A few moments later, there’s a knock on my door. I shove my phone, credit card, and money in my pocket, smooth down my hair one last time, and open the door.
John is dressed in a T-shirt and jeans (I knew it!), but he somehow looks nicer than normal, like he’s done his hair differently or something.
“Hey,” I say, my voice a little high-pitched from nerves. “Er—how’s it going?”
He looks amused. “Good. You?”
I shrug casually. “I’m cool.”
(I’mcool? Good lord.)
John snorts. “You’re cool?”
“Oh, shut up,” I say, shooing him off the doorstep. “I say stupid stuff when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous, are you?”
He looks way too pleased. I glare at him. “Not aboutyou. Just about the state of the world. Climate change. Rising oil prices. The inevitable heat death of the universe.”
He laughs. “Of course. Your house is really nice,” he adds, as we walk to his car.
“Isn’t it?” I say, walking backward to admire it. “It’ll look even better in a few weeks, when all the flowers are out.”
“Do you own it?”
I grimace. “I wish. Who can actually afford a house these days? The market is awful.”
I explain how I wound up in the house as we drive to the highway. He says “mm” a few times and nods once, but when I stop talking, silence falls. I glance around the car, looking for something to say.
“Isn’t PEI pretty?” I ask finally.
“Mm.”
I point out the window. “Ooh, look at the cows.”
John glances over but says nothing.
“John,” I say sternly. “You’re being too quiet.”
He laughs. “I don’t have anything to say. And I’m not chatty. You know that.”
“Yeah, but this is adate,” I say, swiveling in my seat to face him. “Conversation is supposed toflow. We’re supposed to talk for hours and hours without noticing the time pass by.”
“That sounds awful.”
“John!”
He grins. “What? Wouldn’t it be nicer to just chill and enjoy the drive? You can hook your phone up to the speakers if you want to listen to music.”
