Page 36 of Hate Mail

I watch him as he looks over the menu. I’ve been here enough times that I know what I’m going to order, but I open my menu anyway and pretend to look it over. The waitress comes back to take our order. She asks him what he wants first, and when he asks a question about the menu, she giggles and leans down, putting one hand on his shoulder while she points at the menu with the other. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“So,” he says after the waitress leaves. “Did you figure out which city has better beaches?”

I sip my coffee while I think about my answer. “It’s a toss-up,” I decide. “The sand is prettier here in Miami. So is the water. But there’s so much seaweed on the beaches here lately, and there wasn’t nearly as much in San Diego. It’s cooler in San Diego, too, which as you can tell from my sunburn, makes it easier to stay out in the sun longer, but the water was also a lot colder. The waves were better there, so I guess if I was a surfer, I would choose San Diego.”

“That’s good to know.” He stirs a little cream into his coffee and then takes a sip. “I haven’t been to any of the beaches here yet.”

“Seriously? How long have you lived here?”

He shrugs. “About six months.”

“How do you live in Miami for six months and not go to the beach?”

He picks up an unopened creamer cup and stacks it on top of another. “I spend most of my day in the water,” he says as he stacks a third cup on top. “I guess the last thing I want to do when I get home is get back in the water.”

I think of the scrubs I’ve seen him wear a few times, making me wonder what he does for work. I had assumed he was a dentist or a nurse, but now I’m even more confused.

“Why do you spend all day in the water? Are you a water aerobics instructor, or are you just addicted to taking baths?”

He snorts, then clasps his hand over his mouth to keep from spitting out his coffee. “I’m an aquatic veterinarian,” he says.

“Aquatic veterinarian? What does that even mean?”

He smiles. He stacks a fourth creamer cup on top of the other three, then looks at me. “What does it sound like?”

“I imagine you do underwater surgery on dogs and cats.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t seem put off by my dumb jokes. “Close. I majored in marine biology before going to veterinary school. I work at the aquarium.”

“Oh. So, like, sea turtles and stuff.”

“Yep. Penguins, walruses, dolphins. All kinds of fish, too.”

“Now I feel like a jerk for making fun of you.”

“I’m not offended,” he says. “So. Tell me what it’s like to have a career that fuels the small talk of millions of Americans.”

“Wow. Okay. I see how it is. Well, your small talk cost me four years at the University of Oklahoma.”

“Hey, I never said it wasn’t an important job. I take it that’s what you actually went to school for, then. You don’t just go on camera and recite someone else’s weather predictions?”

I shake my head. I pick up a jelly packet and balance it on top of his creamer tower. “I’m at the station by three every morning to get my reports and graphics done in time to go on air.”

“That’s early.” He stacks another jelly packet on top of mine.

“I don’t have much of a life considering I’m usually in bed by the time everyone else is eating dinner.”

“At least you see more of the day than most people do. You’re always at that coffee shop across the street around noon. Is that when you get out of work?”

I nod. “I always see you there too. Do you have weird hours at the aquarium or something?”

“I get a couple hours off for lunch,” he says. “I use that time to go home and play with the kittens.”

I raise both eyebrows. I’m suddenly a lot more excited than any reasonable person should be. “You have kittens?”

“Two foster kittens.” He pulls his phone out, taps on the screen, and then holds it up to show me a photo of his kittens. I lean over the table to get a better look. He leans closer too so that we’re looking at the photo together. His face is so close to mine that if I tilted my chin just the right way, I could reach his lips. My eyes land on his mouth. I have to pull my focus back to the photo of the kittens before he realizes that I’m not paying attention.

“They were feral,” he continues. “Someone found them on the street and handed them over to the pound. I volunteered to take care of them and get them used to human interaction. They’re ready for their new homes now. I’m supposed to take them to an adoption event next weekend.”

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