I know that look well—the spark of interest in his eyes isn’t aimed at me. Andy used to glance at me this way when he was texting my best friend behind my back. Well, ex-best friend.
The unease churning in my stomach tells me I might be right, though I can’t be one hundred percent sure.
But I’m a teacher—persistence is my superpower. If I can keep twenty-three first graders engaged during math lessons right before recess, surely I can salvage one dinner date.
I take another sip of my white wine, letting the crisp, fruity flavor linger on my tongue. “So have you traveled much?” I ask, determined to find another connecting thread between us.
“Been to Colorado for skiing. Mexico once.” Kyle picks up his fork, then sets it down again without taking a bite. “What about you?”
“I backpacked through Europe one summer during college—well, ‘backpacked’ is generous. It was more like dragging an enormous suitcase across cobblestone streets while the locals pointed fingers.” The memory bows my lips into a wide smile. “I spent three days in Paris with a fractured toe after my suitcase rolled over my foot going downstairs in the Metro.”
I meant it as a joke, but he doesn’t laugh, not even a puff of air escapes his lungs.
“That sounds . . . painful,” he says.
“The young doctor who treated me asked me to dinner. My toe was the size of an eggplant, but apparently that’s not a deal-breaker in France.” I can tell from his face that I should’ve left that detail out. “Any weird travel stories?”
“Not really.” His gaze drifts toward his silent phone.
I keep the conversation going to keep him distracted from it. We talk about favorite vacation spots, weird food combinations, childhood pets. He’s nice enough, but the way his eyes keep avoiding mine, and the fact that he’s chugged three full glasses of water already, makes me feel like I’m the side dish and not the entrée.
“Wait, wait—you put ketchup on your mac and cheese?” I ask, feigning horror at his food confession.
“It’s good!” Kyle defends. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I’ll add it to my list of culinary risks, right below ‘gas station sushi’ and ‘mystery meat Monday’ in the school cafeteria.”
His expression turns ponderous before he says, “You’re funny.”
Seems like my sense of humor tends to boomerang over his head. “I spend my days with six-year-olds. You develop a sense of humor, or you perish.”
“Must be fun, though. Teaching kids.”
“It is. I love it. There’s this little girl in my class, Lucy, who brings me a rock every single day. Not pretty rocks, mind you. Just random chunks of asphalt from the playground. But she presents them like they’re diamonds.” My chest warms at the thought. “She has this collection on my desk that looks like concrete rubble, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Kyle nods, but his eyes have glazed over slightly. Our connection is slipping away like sand through fingers.
“What about you? Any pets growing up?” I venture, trying to course-correct.
“Had a dog. Golden retriever named Max.” He rubs his neck. “Typical, I know.”
“I had a hamster that escaped and lived behind our refrigerator for three weeks. We thought he was dead until my mom found him in the pantry, fat and happy after eating his way through our cereal boxes.”
Kyle laughs—a real one this time. “What happened to him?”
“My sister named him Houdini after that, and he lived to the ripe old age of four. He was an escape artist till the end, though. We found him in my dad’s sock drawer once.”
The waiter swoops by, refilling Kyle’s water glass for the fourth time.
“So,” I say, trying to inject a little sparkle into my voice, “what’s your dream? The big one. If you could do anything, what would it be?”
This is my go-to question. The responses reveal more about a person than any small talk about jobs or hobbies. Does he dream of starting a non-profit? Climbing Everest? Writing a novel? I lean forward, genuinely curious.
He shifts in his seat, eyes flitting to his phone again. The muscles in his jaw tense, and he seems impatient. His shoulderssquare, and suddenly he stands abruptly. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Have to use the bathroom.”
And just like that, he’s jogging past the waiter like he’s struggling to hold in pee.
Well, that’s . . . odd timing. My question wasn’t that intimidating, was it?
