I’m also very much alone, and my apartment feels emptier and colder than it ever has before. Because I need a connection to others, no matter how slim, I get my phone. Surprisingly, I have two messages from Quan.
Hey, I hope you’re ok.
Did you make it back in one piece?
Biting the inside of my cheek, I reply, At home. I feel so horrible that I did this to you. Thank you for checking up on me.
Don’t feel bad. You looked like you were having a rough time. I don’t really get it, but I get it, if you know what I mean, he says.
Against all odds, I find myself laughing. I don’t know what you mean.
I mean I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I know there’s something and I’m not taking it personal.
Something about his words makes my eyes water with tears even as I smile down at my phone. I’m trying to figure out what to say in response when I get another message from him.
I’m grabbing Mexican for dinner. What are you having?
The same, I say, but I’m not excited about it. It’s the last quarter of a giant super burrito that I’ve been slowly consuming over the past week. I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance it’ll give me stomach cramps, but I hate to waste food and there’s no way I’m leaving my apartment again today—unless there’s a fire, or a puppy stranded in the middle of the street with a truck barreling toward it, or a family emergency, something like that.
I’ll be home in about 30. Want to watch something with me tonight? he asks.
I cover my mouth as I process his unexpected invitation. It doesn’t make sense to me. But I like it. A lot. I can’t go out tonight, but I can do this.
I don’t really understand why you want to stay in with me, I tell him.
Why do you say that? he asks.
Because you’re . . . you. I saw you. You’re extremely attractive and good with people. If you go to a club or somewhere like that, you’ll have a date in minutes. Isn’t that what you’re looking for?
I think I could say the same about you, he says with a winking emoji.
I’m NOT good with people, I reply, pressing the send button with an extra-hard jab of my thumb. After what happened at the bar, that’s glaringly obvious. I don’t think I’m “extremely attractive” either, but I know from past experience that pointing that out will just make him insist otherwise and I don’t have the patience for that nonsense. Objectively speaking, I’m average in the looks department, and I dislike people lying to me about it. If someone’s going to lie to make others feel good, it better be me.
Scratch that, I’m not supposed to do that anymore either.
You don’t think it’s possible that I get cold feet too? he asks.
I frown at the phone in my hands. I forgot about his health issues and surgery. He didn’t look injured in any way at the bar. He looked like a man in his prime. It’s difficult to wrap my mind around the idea that he might not be as confident as he seems.
I guess it IS hard for me to believe that you can be anything like me. We’re so different, I say.
Not that different. We can watch that Our Planet documentary. It looks good, he suggests.
I liked that one a lot.
Lol, have you seen all the documentaries? he asks.
Yes, but I don’t mind rewatching them. Then, after a short hesitation, I add, We can watch something else if you want.
Is this a yes to watching nerdy TV with me tonight?
Trying not to smile, and failing, I reply, Yes.
SEVEN
Quan
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say as I jump in between the two tinies whacking each other to death in the middle of the kendo studio and pull them apart, getting hit several times in the process myself. “Run after you strike. None of this standing and bashing. If these were real swords, you’d both be armless.”