Page 60 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“So you’re freshly dumped then, eh?”

“I’m single,” I correct him. “By choice, more than anything. I’m too busy to sift through flattering-but-misleading pictures of finance bros who just want to get drunk and hook up and not necessarily in that order. What about you?”

“Drunk finance bros aren’t quite on the radar for me, either. But I have been on a few Tinder dates with some girls. All of them were…weird.”

Weirder than a girl who makes a living selling smudge sticks on the internet?

“How so?” I inquire.

“Manufactured. Unoriginal. Caked on makeup. Inflated lips. Foreheads that don’t move. Eyelashes three-inches long made from some kind of animal fur. Addicted to boozy seltzers, allergic to calories, dabbling withOzempic.”

“Yeah, that is weird,” I concur at the exact moment I jam two fries into a cup of cheese sauce before promptly depositing them into my mouth.

I certainly don’t claim that he and I are a match by any means, but the more he describes what he isn’t interested in, the more I can’t help but realize Icouldcheck a lot of his boxes.

“And another thing,” he says. “They all want to have sex right away. Or put a label on something after going out one time. If you couldn’t tell, I’m sort of a tough nut to crack. I’m not really operating at warp speed, you know? I’m thirty. My parents didn’t get married until they were thirty-five. My mom had me at forty. The way I see it? I’ve got some time to find someone and settle down.”

“Heard,” I say, taking mental note he’s a decade away from getting serious about his love life.

“How about you? What kind of guys do it for you?”

“I don’t really know. I have a bad taste in my mouth about men from the time I lost my house, my job,andmy boyfriend all in the same day. Before you ask…about any of that…just know it’s a long a story, I don’t want to get into it, and yes, I’m fine.”

“Think you’ll ever go back to California?”

“That’s the plan,” I say. “When I have the time and money.”

Yas told me if you want to manifest something you have to speak it confidently into the universe. Here’s to hoping that was convincing enough.

“Well, look at it this way: if your business orders are all dependent on the moon doing what the moon does on a monthly basis, then you’ve got some pretty reliable job security and should be back to the Pacific Ocean in no time.”

Hearing Ollie explain in his own way that my work is lucrative and has purpose relaxes my shoulders a bit. This would have been the perfect moment for him to remind me that what I do is a silly waste of time. Instead, I take what he says as pure encouragement and feel relief in knowing he hasn’t revealed himself as a total Esteban or Ted 2.0 just yet.

“And even though I don’t know anything about the spiritual world, I think it’s cool that you know who you are and what you have to offer at twenty-six. I was the same way. I knew from a young age that I had an unquenchable thirst to understand building mechanics and work each day on them. So, acrystal”—he pauses and sends a nod my way to ensure I pick up on the spiritual-world pun-on-words—“clear life mission is one thing we have in common. The other? Both anti-cat.”

“When did I tell you I am allergic to cats?”

“I remember it from your TV interview.”

“You watched that?”Color me shocked.

“Not by choice. Mr. Macnider made us all watch a recording of it during one of our morning meetings.”

Mr. Macnider, my number-one fan.

“What else do you remember from my TV interview?” I ask before munching on another salty fry.

“I remember thinking: maybe I’m not as bad at faces as I thought. Granted in the time that elapsed from you being Broom Girl at the yoga studio to BroomstickGirl on TV, you looked a bit different. Darker lipstick, paler skin, big black boots, and a voice a pinch raspier than the time you were promising me my yoga class was just a Swiffer Sweeper away from starting. I also remember the dress you were wearing.”

“Please spare meThe Addams Familyjoke.”

“Well, actually, I was going to say it was cute. Looked good on you.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is Ollie’s way of flirting with me, reinforcing the potential of my Exexveei vision to come true.

A double cheeseburger, an order of cheese fries, and a chocolate shake later, I wipe my fingers on the last of a stack of brown paper napkins and tap out of our fast-food extravaganza.

“Good call on this combo” he says, using a rogue crinkle cut fry to scoop up what’s left of his shake.

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