I’m turning into a pervert at thirty-two. Or maybe I was always a secret pervert like my barista is a secret psychopath. He’s strangling gerbils, and I’m pretending to fuck my patient via cheap knockoffs mixed with dinner cocktails.
With a sigh, I retrieve my phone and pull up Uber. Thirty minutes is the earliest it can arrive. It seems like all the town’s drivers are waylaid at the airport, picking up early vacationers now that the ski resort has opened this week.
I order one with a sigh. It’s time to deal with Thomas. This is going to suck.
As I push from the bathroom, I remember the look he gave me when I suggested he drop me at home and shudder. Normally, I’d never agree to share a ride for a first date but again, horny haze.
I stride over to the bar and lean on the wood. The entire place is dressed up pretty for the holidays. It’s a rustic charm with pine branches, soft yellow Christmas lights, forest greens, and deep reds against its dim wood interior. Thankfully, it’s not busy, and the bartender is over in the next second.
“I need to grab something from the car and tell the man I was with goodbye. Can you start me a hot toddy? I should be right back.” She looks up from the counter, and we exchange a knowing look. I hate that I'm going to attempt smoothing Thomas’ feelings over when he doesn’t deserve an explanation. But… he has my umbrella in his car. It was a splurge gift that I got myself for my birthday. It’s Italian and has an enameled brass flamingo head on the handle. Handmade, double cloth.
Maybe karma is punishing me for spending so much on something as asinine as an umbrella.
“Five minutes?” The bartender asks. I drag my teeth over my bottom lip as I look at the door.
“Yes, five minutes. Thank you. If I’m not back…” I can’t believe it’s come to this. I’m never downloading a dating app while horny ever again.
“That’s when my break is. I’ll come out and look for you.”
“Thanks,” I sigh. I bundle up in my wool coat and scarf before pushing into the cold. The temperature has dropped even further, and the sun is long gone. The frigid bite on the tip of my nose makes me guess it’s below freezing. I pull my scarf higher, trying to cover more of my face. After a few steps into the parking lot, I notice the snow falling.
Everyone thinks a ski town is a mecca of snow, but this is still the Southern East Coast. Plus, the Appalachia is mild compared to other mountain ranges. This means that most of the time, the snow on the slopes in December and January is machine-made. Snow cannons blast fresh artificial snow over the mountain for skiers while we get to enjoy slick free streets.
This year, the travelers will be happy. It’s the first week of the season, and snowflakes are settling in my hair. I love snow. It’s one reason I traded in my beachy hometown for the mountains.
I spy the running car. The glass is fogged, but I can see Thomas moving around. God, what is he doing? I don’t know, but I’m afraid I’m going to find out.
As I walk over, I make a plan of action. I’ll open the door and grab my umbrella before I say anything.
They’d called for freezing rain, which is why I brought it. This snow alternative is at least one good thing about this date. After I have my precious flamingo umbrella, I’ll say I’ve grabbed an Uber and bid him farewell before quickly shuffling back into the bar before he attempts to kidnap me or run me over.
Okay, that’s extreme… hopefully. I’m not really sure. I should have at least googled the man. There’s something about him that makes me feel unsafe, not just icked.
I get to the car, and the fog is too thick on the windows to see anything inside anymore. What he’s been doing to fog the windows up that bad is probably nothing I want to know about.
I decide to give it a little knock. I’m not trying to traumatize myself by opening the door and seeing him cranking his cock like a faulty Jack in the Box.
Nothing happens. I lean closer but can’t hear a single sound, so I open the door. Thomas is slouched down, his head resting on the steering wheel. Is he depressed? Is that why he acted odd?
Thomas looks terrible. His eyes are puffy; has he been crying? I'm going to soften the blow of finding him repulsive. Islip into the car. The bartender will be out in five minutes, and Thomas looks like he needs help.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. He gives a snort. I look out the foggy front window at the fuzzy restaurant lights across the parking lot. The moment I saw his posture in the car, the professional side of my brain woke up. This isn’t a date anymore. So, instead of getting angry with his snort, I accept his reaction. It’s normal.
“I know, right? A therapist asking if you’re okay is so stereotypical. Is there maybe a reason you wanted to go on a date with me specifically?” This happens a lot. With my job listed on my profile, I get a lot of mini cries for help.
Thomas refuses to answer. I sigh.
“Look, I’ve got an Uber coming. I think it’s best that we end the night here.” I reach down and grab my flamingo umbrella. He remains silent, still slumped over. He’s pathetic all of a sudden, and I can’t leave him like this. I keep business cards for the other therapists in town in my office. I don’t have them here, though. I should, considering how often this happens.
I eye the clock in the car. I only have three more minutes before I need to get back inside. I’m tipping the bartender very well after this. But first, I need to leave this situation without any regrets. He’s not making it easy. He’s barely even moved, not said anything, and won’t even look at me.
“Hey, really, are you okay?” I ask. Finally, I turn, giving him my full attention.
There’s something wrong with him. He’s too still, too slumped. In my subconscious, I know. But I don’t allow myself to think of the words.
There’s a bright red line across his throat, and his eyes aren’t puffy; they’re bugging. His tongue lolls out of his mouth. My fingers are shaking around my umbrella as my eyes dip to hischest. I hold my own breath as I wait for his chest to rise and fall. It doesn’t.
My breathing picks up. The shake in my fingers is spreading. I tell myself it’s the cold. That it’s worked its way into my bones.
