He asks me how my day was. He asks it in the casual way of someone who expects a regulation-style answer. We’ve only hung out a few times, always on Fridays, so he doesn’t really know things about me. Like how my sister’s dead and like how my personality is different on a Tuesday than it is on a weekend.
Our drinks come and I take a kind of large sip.
He recently broke up with a long-term girlfriend and she knows he’s dating again. This I know because he told me unprompted over dollar beers and tacos. But he didn’t actually use the word “dating.” He said “hanging out.” I think his exact words were, “She knows I’m hanging out with another girl,” or something like that. Girl wasn’t plural. This information made me feel oddly proud.
I tell him my day was fine and he talks about his. I don’t really understand what his job entails. He says he works for a for-profit company that does non-profit work. He is in charge of “a team.” I try to picture him in an office – giving orders and having inside jokes. He smells like sandalwood.
Published by Apiary Magazine