His smile is mixed with, I can’t tell what. “That makes a lot of sense. You’re probably right. It’s your adventure, you get to choose what to do, and you’re not being tricked or manipulated.”
I find myself gasping. “Yes, exactly.” The chip I’ve been holding snaps between my teeth. I get a warm feeling in my chest that counterpoints the salt of the chip. I feel like a weight has been lifted. “That’s why I needed your help. I wasn’t sure I was thinking straight. I’ve never done this before.”
“Well,” he sighs, “You should download the app. Once you do, what next?”
I look back at the cover page. It doesn’t say. I slump back in my chair, which wobbles on the uneven terra cotta tiles. “I think… wait,” I sigh.
“I think you’re right,” he says and smiles, carefully lifting another chip out of the salsa bowl.
When our meal comes, I’m slightly comforted. Every time we come to El Chaco’s I always order the same thing and it always comes the same way. Today is no different. Martin always orders something he’s never had before, which I think would eventually become difficult at a Mexican restaurant, but it appears he’s succeeded exceptionally as his plate arrives with an entire fish, complete with eyeballs and scales. I vacillate between horrified and inspired, even experiencing a pang of jealousy until he asks, “Would you like to try some?” when inspiration fully gives way to horror and I’m glad to be back with my comfortable, predictable, faceless burrito. I think Martin laughs at me under his breath, but I don’t care. I’m laughing too, on the inside.
I’m glad to be eating with Martin and trust his advice even with the extra set of eyeballs watching us from his plate. It might even be possible that I forget about the stolen book on the table and just enjoy life as-is for a moment.
After paying, we thank the waitress on the way out and head for the parking lot, which is growing dark in the dwindling daylight.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Martin asks quietly, not making eye contact as we walk.
“Sure.” I respond without thinking.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
I look at Martin, wondering where this is going. “Anything. Ask.”
“Why have I never seen you with anyone? I never hear you talk about people you’re interested in,” he says softly.
I kind of chuckle a little, which causes him to lurch slightly. I point at him and say, “I could say the same about you!” I’m still chuckling. I think he wanted this to be a serious conversation, but I’m not seeing it that way.
“I, um,” he stammers, “Well…”
“No, it’s okay,” I interrupt. “I’ll answer the question.” I turn to him and smile. “I don’t really know the answer to that. It’s just my life.” We arrive at my truck and stand near the tailgate. It’s nearly dark and the nearby intersection murmurs, the passing headlights sweeping across us in slow intervals. “I’ve never found the right person. I dated some in college, had one long-term relationship that ended badly, and watched as other couples fell in love and got married, but I never did. I just never clicked all that well with people and relationships never seemed like something I should force.”
He looks at me, then turns and leans against the tailgate. I continue, after a breath, “If you really want to know the truth,I think I’m just one of those people that think the right person is out there. Like, one day I’ll meet that person and it will just happen, and it will be surprising and magical.” I exhale slowly. “I probably sound pretty stupid, like I’m wishing for some crazy perfect fairy tale or something.”
The traffic purrs at the intersection as the traffic light switches.
Looking at him, I say, “You’re the closest friend I have, so you know me pretty well. I feel like I have the ability to get along with anyone, but I don’t ever really click with most people. You’re the only person I think I’ve ever clicked with.”
I feel a surge of heat running up my neck. I’ve overstated, or misstated, or… “I mean, what I mean is…”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too,” he interrupts. “I guess I get it. Finding a relationship that just clicks is pretty rare.”
I rub the back of my neck to dissipate the heat, then slouch against the bumper. I notice Martin’s eyes are flickering against the strange yellow lights of the parking lot as they begin to come on.
“So what about you?” I’m serious about knowing and I hope my tone matches.
He lets out a hiss and laughs. “Where do I start?” His laugh is short and then he pauses a moment too long.
I wave my hand at him to stop. “You don’t need to answer that. Everyone’s got their own thing, right? Let me ask you a different question: Would you follow a scavenger hunt if some secret admirer…” I have to stop myself. I’m standing upright now, gesturing wildly. “That is the dumbest term! We need to change it! I don’t have an admirer. I’m not being admired. I’m banning that word from our vocabulary. It’s my secret person. Hopefully they are a person!”
Martin laughs.
“Would you follow a scavenger hunt like this?” I ask.
“From a secretperson?” He smiles through his chuckling.
I nod.
“I think it’s different for me,” he says, shaking his head.
