Page 28 of Take This to Your Grave

I do the only decent thing left to me. I turn around and walk away. I don’t look back. I give her the gift of a dignified retreat, letting her believe this moment of tech-induced chaos will not be replayed later in my head with alarming fondness.

I get into my own car, shut the door, and sit there for a beat.

The engine turns over and the parking lot comes back into focus. My reflection stares back at me from the rear view mirror.

Simon turns his head slowly, dramatically.

“That,” he says, “was the worst meet-cute I have ever witnessed.”

I keep my eyes forward. “What in the literal fuck is a meet cute?”

He scoffs. “Please. Don’t pull that shit with me.”

He’s never going to let me live down the fact that he found my collection of erotic haikus. It turns out when your job involves choosing every word carefully, even desire in the midst of celibacy starts to demand structure.

Unfortunately, structure does not prevent you from sounding ridiculous in retrospect.

I stand by the intent, if not the execution.

“You watched that happen like it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever witnessed. And then you fled the scene,” he recounts.

“I didn’t flee.”

“You absolutely fled.”

In my defense, staying to help felt significantly more dangerous.

REMOVAL OF NONESSENTIAL MATERIAL

SERENA

Lila: Did the town finally reclaim you?

Calla: She’s probably elbow-deep in a ribcage right now, Lila. Give her a minute.

Serena: I am currently staring at a water stain on the ceiling that looks like a fractured scapula.