Page 23 of Error Handling

I collapse onto the bench at the bus stop. Thankfully the rain has stopped; however, water is still puddled on the bench. It soaks through my hip-hugging jeans. Normally this would bother me.

I let my forehead fall to my hands.

The moment I saw Chris in the foyer, I felt that electric shock and lost feeling in my legs. The squirrel, henceforth known as Alvin... No, Alvin is a chipmunk. How about Earl? Earl the Squirrel.

When I saw Chris, Earl the Squirrel woke up from his slumber and started gnawing on abigwalnut. Big as inginormous. And then everything went downhill from there.

I replay the conversation in my mind and press pause at “real job.” That’s when Chris’s half-smile dropped to a thin line. I touched a sensitive nerve. I didn’t mean anything bad by it, the words just tumbled out as I struggled to stay composed on my numb legs.

It’s something my mom might say to imply that blue-collar work isn’t real work, even though it’s generally more strenuous than sitting in a comfy chair, sipping coffee, and petting a cat while reading an American classic. I’ve heard that daughters turn into their mothers, but is it supposed to happen so soon? I haven’t even hit thirty yet.

Regardless, he didn’t have to counter with jabs at my educational and career paths. He could have been the better man and given me the benefit of the doubt. Yet, he chose to lash out. He may look perfect on the outside, but inside, he has some work to do.

It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m certainly not going to date him now—as if it’s even an option since he doesn’t have my phone number. But if he did have my number, I wouldn’t answer any of his texts. I don’t need an emotionally volatile man in my life. I have girlfriends to fit that bill.

I sigh and peer down the street. Cars pass at an even clip, spraying water onto the sidewalk, stopping just shy of my boots. The bus is nowhere in sight.

I sigh again and grab my phone from my purse. Christopher’s text still waits for a response. Thanks to Cassie. She does have a good matchmaking record. That’s why she started MatchAI.

I pull up Christopher’s text and chew on my lip while I read and reread it.

Finally, I type,I’d like to try again. Just tell me where and when.

Chapter 6

Sarah

I turn right off Rivers Avenue and pull into the parking lot. This far from downtown, Charleston is like any other city subject to the monotony of urban sprawl. I could just as easily be in Columbus, Ohio, at Easton Town Center where I worked as a barista at Starbucks during my junior and senior years at Ohio State. Nearby, Charleston’s Northwoods Mall offers similar retail venues as Easton Town Center: JCPenney, Planet Fitness, Express, Aeropostale.

When did builders and architects stop caring about aesthetics, character, and longevity, and trade those virtues for practicality, thrift, and convenience? Now anyone can buy a plot of ground, put up a steel-framed eyesore, and surround it with a parking lot.

However, parking lotsdomake life easier, hence my suggestion to meet Christopher at Joe and Go’s northern location versus their downtown flagship restaurant. I don’t want to risk a repeat and inadvertently stand up my date because I can’t find a place to park.

I turn off the access road and meander over to Joe and Go, pull into a spot and throw my dull gray Nissan Cube into park. I bought The Cube while working at James and Sturgess. It was the first “new to me” car purchase and at over 150 thousand miles, it still runs like new except for a slight vibration whenever I hit sixty-five.

I keep telling myself I’ll fix the car soon, and “soon” is looming larger and larger. After graduation, I have to find employment, which might involve a commute, which means this thing will need a tune-up.

Thoughts of my uncertain future send my stomach into a puzzle of knots. I’ve spent three years ignoring reality, putting off the inevitable. I have to get another big girl job. Painting won’t save me.

I cover my face for a moment to reset my brain. I’m not here to fret about my uncertain future. I’m here to fret about having to talk to a stranger for an unspecified amount of my valuable time.

I should have stayed home and popped popcorn.

“Why did I let Cassie talk me into this?”

A knock on my window startles me. A man is bent at the waist, staring at me through the glass. I tumble backward into the passenger seat. The man, now startled himself, waves his hands frantically.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” The glass muffles his voice. “I’m Christopher. Cassie told me you drive a Nissan Cube.”

I rest my hand on my chest. It doesn’t calm my pulse, but a few deep breaths do. I press my other hand to my forehead and laugh. “Yes. It’s me. Sarah. I drive a Cube.” I grab my purse and open the door.

“I’m sorry,” Christopher repeats after I exit.

His name is Christopher. He’s my height. And he knows Cassie. I feel confident I have the right guy this time.

“I should have gone inside and waited for you,” he continues, “but you looked upset. I thought you were crying.”

“Oh, no.” I laugh again. “I was just resting my eyes.”And fretting about meeting you.