Page 15 of Error Handling
He furrows his prominent brow.
He’s impossible to read, with his half-smiles, and his unexpressive lips. Why did I think he might be the one? Not the one to marry. The one to kiss.
That sad face. I’d thought it was endearing, but now I realize it’s trouble. Faces like his tear a girl’s heart out and stomp all over it. Most likely, he has a dozen girls fawning over him, girls he doesn’t even know, waiting and ready to call him their own. I need to find a normal, not gorgeous but pleasant-looking guy,who ticks all the boxes. Fake Chris is close, but with that much competition, I don’t stand a chance.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say, trying to remember my social cues. So much idle chatting. My brain is starting to hurt.
His nod finalizes my decision to make a quick escape. He doesn’t even accompany it with a half-smile.
Chris
I watch Sarah Wilkins walk away. Iallowher to walk away. Why? Why didn’t I open my stupid mouth and say,I’d like to continue our date? Why is my brain so slow on the uptake?
I look at Sarah Ramsey’s text again.
Thanks for standing me up. I sat in Jumbo’s for an hour waiting. By the way, I had a nice time chatting with another guy named Christopher. The yeast rolls were great too. I hope they give you diarrhea.
Still in blue-screen-of-death mode, I drop to the bench. My brain can’t compute what just happened. So, instead, I watch a barge piled with shipping containers propel itself through the harbor. It blasts its horn at a passing ship, kind of like two passing motorcyclists waving at each other on the highway.
While talking to Sarah, the blanket of clouds above us separated into large puffs of heavy cotton. Midwestern autumn clouds. They have no business being in Charleston.
The observations somehow reboot my brain and allow me to reflect on the strange events that just transpired. First, I got an unexpected, rude text that wished diarrhea on me, and I simultaneously realized I was on a date with the wrong woman.The two events—the rude text and the mistaken identity—collided head-on in my brain and knocked the wind out of my vocal cords.
For the second time this evening, I allowed the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen walk away.
I lean against my knees and rub my face.
I don’t have her number.
Why didn’t I ask for her number?
Our initial meeting was somewhat awkward. She stared at me silently, her eyes roving over my face. Did I seem standoffish? Aloof? Disinterested? Is that why she was so quick to walk away? Because she was searching for an excuse?
I thought I pulled myself together. I thought our conversation went well.
But she walked away, her hair bouncing with each confident step, and I’m sitting here staring at Sarah Ramsey’s rude text.
Sarah Ramsey thinks it’s appropriate to make fun of people’s autoimmune disorders.
Sarah Ramsey wouldn’t have walked over to the palm tree to protect me from gluten.
My date with Sarah Ramsey was a bust, even though it never happened.
My mistaken date with Sarah Wilkins ended too soon.
And now I have a date with my couch and Chinese take-out.
Gluten-free Chinese takeout.
Chapter 4
Sarah
“How was I supposed to know it was the wrong Chris?” I holler from the reception desk at Old Towne Ghost Tours’ only office which doubles as the home base for MatchAI.
“I told you,Christopheris your height,” Cassie, my boss, hollers back from her desk around the corner.
“Give or take a few inches?”