Page 131 of Okay, Cupid

It’s an unfamiliar voice, one that I don’t recognize at all.

And yet …

There’s something there.

Something more than the weirdness that I feel from having someone mail me a confession tape with a note asking to meet. All that, and the audacity to make me listen to the Beatles.

“What’s that?” Leah asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Oh, it’s um … nothing.”

“Okayyyyy. Are you ready?”

“I, uh …” Marx Meadow isn’t that far from here. A three-block walk, plus a short jog in the park. I think I know which oak tree that letter was talking about. It’s a big area for people on the weekends, where lots of families will come for cookouts or people will just chill on the grass. “I’ve got to go and grab something.”

“Grab something? All of your stuff is packed.” Leah looks at me, confused again.

“I know, I just forgot something.”

“Jude, what are you talking about?”

I’m already halfway down the stairs, though. “I’ll be right back! I swear!”

“Jude!” She calls out at me from the top of the stairs just as I’m out the front door, coordinating myself to walk south toward Golden Gate Park. The voice on the tape seems so … not familiar, I don’t recognize it at all. But I also do? That doesn’t make any sense. There’s just … there’s something about it. Something warm, comforting almost? Is that possible?

I finally get to the park, walking down a few blocks to find the right entrance that’ll lead me to Marx Meadow, to this tree.

It’s down a long path, and I narrowly avoid the Frisbee from a disc golf tournament going on just a few yards away. For a moment, I wonder if one of the disc golfers sent the envelope. But I don’t recognize any of them, and they all look like grown men, which … ew. Then again, if I’m murdered, I’m the one who followed a random tape that was left on my doorstep. Not that I’m victim blaming, but I could’ve played it safer.

I peer up and down the path, and … there’s no one.

A couple walks by with a baby in a stroller, and an old man walks his dog.

That’s it.

Great.

I sigh, walking over to the nearest bench on the side of the trail, ignoring my phone with the missed calls from Leah.

That’s when I pull the Walkman out of my jacket pocket. I hit play, letting the Beatles finish before Omar Apollo begins to play, and then Mac DeMarco. They’re all soft, sad songs. But they’re also love songs. Soft kisses and hands touching. It’s sweet.

And someone made this for me?

But who? And why?

I hear the shuffle of the gravel in front of me, daring to look up, where a few yards away a boy walks by, staring up and down the trail. Our eyes meet for the briefest moment before he looks away, pacing back and forth before he settles on a bench a few yards away. He might look away, but I don’t, sneaking glances in his direction.

He’s cute. Bold black hair trimmed short, with an oversized sweatshirt and gym shorts. A terrible, lazy outfit that he somehow makes work. The only “odd” thing about him might be the way his arm is covered in a cast decorated in dozens of signatures and drawings of dicks.

Maybe I know him from the neighborhood or something?

Maybe he’s been my barista?

And if he’s the one who sent the letter and the tape, he’d say something, right? Which means we’ve both been fooled by someone. I don’t want to sit here much longer, not if I’m going to be ghosted by some idiot I don’t even know. Plus it’s getting colder, and with every passing minute of ignoring Leah’s calls, I’m sure she’s getting more annoyed with me. We’re already late.

Which means I need to go.

For a moment, I think about talking to the cute boy, but what’s the point? By the end of today, I won’t be in the state anymore. So … I listen to the crack of the gravel under my feet as I walk toward him, back along the trail, my phone in hand, ready to text Leah my apology. I guess I’ll never figure out who sent that weirdo letter.