He shakes his head slowly, “Maybe. It’s not convenient. Before you came along, my life was
exactly the way I liked it. And now that you’ve stomped into it, I can see how empty it used to be.
And that pisses me off a little bit.”
The consternation in his voice startles a laugh out of me. His answering grin ignites a little flame
of hope. “So…what does that mean?”
“Whatever we want it to mean, I guess. Do you…are you. Shit.” He groans and yanks on the hair
at his temple, then dives forward and pulls something out of the seat pocket in front of him and
hunches over it. I can’t see in the dim light, but I hear the tearing of paper.
Zach reaches for my hand, carefully uncurling my fingers and putting a piece of paper in my palm.
He doesn’t say a word, just watches as I bring it to my face, tilting it until the lights from outside
illuminate the words.
“Will you go out with me? Tick yes or no.” I look over at him, and he’s silently holding a pen out
to me. I slide it out of his fingers, and a world of possibilities pass between us. What I do next may
very well change the course of my entire life. Do I check the box that leads to more of the same? The
solitary nights, the loneliness, the predictability. Or do I check the box that leads to anxiety and thrills,
and heat and awkwardness, and heartbreak?
Slowly, carefully, I put pen to paper, then fold the paper tight, pressing it into his waiting hand.
I don’t take my eyes off him as he tightens his fist around it before carefully, deliberately
unfolding it.
And I don’t miss the slow, satisfied smile that curls his lips when he reads my answer. He traces
his thumb over the paper, then tucks it into his jacket pocket next to the now limp pocket square.
“Oh,” he says on an exhale. “Ok.”
I saw a movie once where a woman woke up, and the whole world was different. She was
desired by everyone and had everything she ever wanted. Subtly, carefully, I pinch the side of my leg,
and yep, it hurts. Good. Totally not dreaming. This is very, very real.
Oh hell. This is real.
“I’ve never been on a date,” I blurt. It’s easier not to look at Zach as I stew in a mixture of panic
and embarrassment, so I stare at the back of his driver’s head instead. Other than a polite smile, he’s
been completely focused on driving so I nearly forgot he was there. Maybe this is just a regular
Friday night for him. Maybe Zach has women in bathrobes in his car all the time.
