Page 34 of Accidental Blind Date

“Than be in the car with me?” I ask.

“Correct.”

“Ouch,” I say. Then, after thinking about the things Kai told me (jacked up marriage because the guy was a shallow tool bag), I decide to go yet another direction. Conversationally speaking of course. “So, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

Libby’s eyes dart over to me, her face making no effort to hide her suspicion. “And what foot was that?”

“I mean I think it’s obvious. We met at a cantina bar–”

“Online,” she corrects me.

“I’m sorry?”

“Online. We met on the dating app. But it must be hard to keep up with who you met where.”

This time I’m the one with the odd look on my face. “Right. Anyways…we met under different pretenses and now we are…contractually bound and–”

“Do you always talk like that?” she interrupts again.

“Do I always talk like what?”

“Like you’re trying to impress someone. Like if you use big words and make it sound professional, the other person will have to listen to you and agree with what you’re saying.”

“Alright, fine. We met, we fucked and now, because I am buying your family business to keep it from crashing into theBoston asphalt, we aren’t fucking anymore. We’re just fucked. Is that better?”

“Yes.”

“How?” I blurt out.

“Take a right,” she points. “Because it’s honest. It’s real. There’s no mask to it. Ignoring how unideal our situation is isn’t going to make it less terrible.”

“Again, ouch. I didn’t know being around me was that bad.”

“You’re taking away the only thing in my life that matters to me, Dax. Of course it’s terrible.”

Usually when people shoot insults at me, I am good at batting them away or even spinning them around. A ricochet effect if you will. But with this, with her, I don’t do that. I let it hit me, salted bullet and all. I let it sink in. And then I flick it aside like the tail end of a cigarette.

“This is me,” she says as we approach an apartment complex. They’re old, brick and have a main door at the street that leads to the hallways.

“Which one?” I ask and Libby points.

“Top floor. The one with the light on.”

I squint up at the yellow tinted window. There’s macrame hanging in the window too instead of blinds and what looks like a couple plants.

“You have roommates?” I ask.

“No. Just me. I do make enough to have an apartment.”

I hold up my hands in defense. “I was only asking because you left the light on.”

“I always leave the light on.”

I think about that and even though I don’t get it, I nod. Libby starts to undo her seatbelt, and I follow.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Walking you to your door,” I state the obvious.