Page 3 of Letter for Two
He set the glass bowl of broccoli on the table. “I did steam these from fresh. That’s impressive, right?”
“Sure.”
Sophia Davis was in his house. At his table. Smiling at him.Don’t mess this up.
“How was work?” he asked. “Did the computers behave themselves?”
“They always do.” She dished herself some lasagna. “Computers only do what we tell them to.”
He spooned broccoli on his plate. “And if my computer runs slow and freezes up all the time?”
Sophia laughed a little. “You’re sending it mixed messages. Or you seriously need an upgrade.”
He pointed at her with his empty fork. “Computers really hit their stride in the late 90s. Why would I replace a classic?”
“Please tell me you don’t actually have a thirty-year-old computer.”
He kept his expression naïve. “Why, would you recommend something newer?”
“As a general rule, the age of your computer should be single digits.”
Ethan shook his head, pretending to be frustrated. “If only I’d known this twenty years ago.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Her serious expression was exaggerated to the point of being comical. “I am a professional, after all.”
Ethan poured her a glass of water; he had nothing else to offer. He always made a desperate grocery run at the end of his three days.
“How was your day?” Sophia asked.
“Not too bad,” Ethan said. “One patient was finally discharged after a long, tough few days. It should have been a simple recovery.” He shrugged as he swallowed a bite of lasagna. “Sometimes you just don’t know.”
Sophia nodded, not pressing for more information. He’d explained once, during one of their first mail exchanges, that HIPAA laws and privacy rules prevented him from saying much about his patients— nothing specific, and no names. She’d accepted that without question or complaint. He appreciated that. His last girlfriend— not that Sophia was his new girlfriend— had resented that, insisting he “didn’t want to talk to her” and heavily hinting he was hiding something.
“A five-to-five shift?” Sophia asked. “That sounds brutal.”
He nodded, swallowing another mouthful. “My second of three. I do three days on and three days off. Tomorrow's going to be killer.”
“I’m surprised you had the energy to pull the lasagna out of the freezer.”
Ethan shrugged. “I do what I can.”
They laughed and talked through dinner without a single awkward pause. Sophia was easy to talk to. She didn’t ever seem bored by talk of his work. And he enjoyed hearing her talk about what she was working on— he didn’t understand all the technical aspects of it, but she got so excited explaining it all that he listened, mesmerized.
When they were done, she helped clear dinner and rinse the dishes before he loaded them in the dishwasher. It sure beat doing it all on his own.
“Where’s your ancient computer?” she asked when they’d finished. “We have a letter to research.”
“Living room,” he said.
"Can it even get on the internet?” she asked as they walked out of the kitchen. “I'm told that was pretty new stuff back in the nineties.”
“It sends telegrams.”
A minute later she was sitting on his couch, his laptop— the one he’d bought only a couple years earlier— on her lap. Ethan tried to act nonchalant as he pushed a dirty sock under the couch with his foot. He sat next to her, telling himself to not be a complete loser.
“So how do we find out who was living here in 1966?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Google open on the screen.
“Census records?” Ethan suggested.
