Page 105 of Book and Ladder
My thumb hesitates over the keyboard. I’m not ready. But staying home won’t fix me either.
Before I can chicken out, I text him.
Daisy:Hey. Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you. I’ve been busy with work and the festival.
Tom:No problem. As Bertrand Russell says, “The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” How about tomorrow?
Ah yes. I had forgotten Tom’s penchant for quoting books and historical figures whenever he’s nervous. Or maybe it’s whenever … not just in moments of nervousness. Well, as Ferris Bueller said,Here goes nothing.
Daisy:Don’t you want to wait for next weekend? Tomorrow’s a Sunday.
Tom:Sunday’s as good a day as any. Do you want me to pick you up?
Daisy:How about you text me a location and I’ll meet you there.
Tom:If we do meet again, why, we shall smile.
Tom:Shakespeare
Of course it is. I hope Mr. Brainy Quote has some original thoughts tomorrow night.
He’s harmless. I’m probably the red flag in this arrangement.
Daisy:See you tomorrow.
I almost typeparting is such sweet sorrow, but with my luck he’d fail to see my humor and probably think I’m half-way in love with him already, so I leave it at that. Why did I think meeting up with Tom would be a good idea? What I really need is a day off with a stack of good books and copious amounts of ice cream.
I’m curled on the couch watching reruns ofThis Is Uswhen my phone rings.
Carli. I pick up, trying to sound more buoyant than I feel.
“Hey,” she says. “I looked for you at the festival.”
“I was there. By the corn maze, mostly.”
“By the corn maze? Were you volunteering?”
“No. Remember that guy I told you about? The podcast host?”
I fill Carli in on everything that happened since the night I told her about BTTP, ending with, “… so I waited well after sundown and he never showed. The end. Pathetic, huh?”
“Of him, yeah.” To her credit, she doesn’t offer up any excuses as to why he might have blown me off. Instead, she says, “We’re in Waterford. If there had been a major accident, we’d all have heard about it. Same with anything else that might have prevented him from being able to tell you he wasn’t coming.”
Hearing her confirmation draws out another round of tears.
“Why am I crying?” I wail into the phone.
“You wanted him to be real—and dependable.”
Dependable. The word burns like salt on a wound.
“I thought he was. I thought—foolishly—that we had a special connection. Maybe I should go back and reread our messages and emails, just to see if I missed something.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Her tone is adamant.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re right. What good would that do? He didn’t show. Reading through messages from him won’t change the sad reality that is my dating life.”
“What can I do?” Her voice is filled with the kind of warmth I could snuggle into.
