Page 22 of More Than a Match

“Other things?”

“Look, this is a conversation we obviously need to have, but I’ve got to go. Plus, we should probably talk in person.”

“This doesn’t sound good.”

“No, I know how it sounds,” I plead. “But please. Let’s talk about this later?”

“We will.”

“Ok, I’ll talk to you after dinner.”

I hang up with Alex and steady myself against my doorframe before heading into what will surely be the lion’s den, with my mother primed and ready to pounce.What do I tell her?

I sink back on my bed and sigh. Dinner could have gone worse, but it definitely could have gone better. Mom pressed for information about Alex, and I was forced to lie.

Was I forced though, or did I choose it?It doesn’t really matter,I realize.At the end of the day, I lied.Papa didn’t seem to have much to say, letting Mom dominate the questioning. She asked about his family, his work, his appearance, his life goals. She left no stone unturned, and I made sure she found the treasures she was seeking, even if it was all just fool’s gold. The only truths I told were about his personality and looks. Everything else was just a charade.

My phone dings, and I already know who it is without looking. It’s Alex.

I don’t know what to tell him. There’s so much I need to say, but I don’t want to say it at the same time. This is a conversation for later. My reply is brief.

I press send and my heart aches, imagining the look on his face as I seem to brush off our conversation. I can’t think about that right now.

I flick on the TV and settle into my bed, hoping drowsiness overtakes me soon.

Work was long, and I’m tired. It’s starting to rain lightly, and I peer through the dim twilight for my ride. A car pulls up, the ride-sharing logo visible in the window. A scruffy middle-aged man rolls down the window.

“Mina?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” I glance at my phone for the make and model of car, and in the darkness, everything seems correct. I climb into the backseat.

“How are you?”

“Good. Tired.”

“I bet!” The stranger chuckles as he pulls out of the hospital parking lot. “Must work some strange hours in there.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter, resting my head against the window. The rain is coming down harder now, and I close my eyes, listening to it spatter against the glass.

I’ve taken the trip from the hospital to my house enough times that when the car turns left unexpectedly, my eyes snap open. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, the GPS is indicating a slow-down on the original route. It’s taking me around it. Must be an accident. Wouldn’t surprise me in all this rain.”

“Oh, alright.” The answer makes sense, but I feel a growing sense of dread as he continues for a few blocks, then turns left again. We’re getting farther and farther from my house.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I see that it’s an alert from the rideshare app, letting me know I’m severely off course and asking if I’m in danger. A knot settles in the pit of my stomach and my hands begin to tremble.

I glance at the driver profile and an icy feeling pricks at my neck as I make a horrifying discovery. The driver is supposed to be a woman, about my age, not whoever this man is. I glance at the front seat and my blood runs cold. There’s a gun on the seat, partly covered by a jacket. On the sleeve of the jacket is what appears to be blood spatter.

I was so tired when I got into the car I didn’t do my due diligence, but I’m on high alert now. I return my attention to my phone and press ‘yes’ on the rideshare app alert. The stranger’s voice makes me jump.

“So, what do you do at the hospital?”

“I’m a doctor,” I manage to croak out. I decide to be bold. “Why are we still heading away from my house?”

“Detour,” he replies gruffly.

Enough is enough. If I call him on his bluff, maybe he’ll let me go. “I’m uncomfortable and would like you to pull over and let me out.”

---