NOVEL NEXT Chapter 96: Moving on
––––––
Claire: There are other fish in the sea, Karen. Other people who could love you.
––––––
[days before. . . .]
Wednesday, November 17th, 2090, about 10:36 am MST, Montana City
Karen hadn't dated in years. Not dated dated—not in a real, brick-and-mortar restaurant, with a real person on the other side of the table. She had gone steady with Adam, sure, but he'd been a deeply private person. Most of their relationship had unfolded while rock climbing, hanging out at his place, or jogging in the park. Going on an actual date, in public, with an actual human being. . .well, it was overdue. There was no two ways about it.
Going on an actual date, in public, with someone she didn't already know? It was overdue. There was no two ways about it.
Karen knew herself too well to pretend she could just forget Gordon. Or forget the vague, gnawing mix of dissatisfaction and embarrassment and frustration that came from him never really reciprocating—despite everything she'd risked by being honest with him. Despite everything she'd offered.
She needed a distraction.
And if she was being honest, she needed to move on.
She had her dignity to consider.
She'd been turning people down for years. The stream was popular–––❖–––not so popular that people recognized her face without looking her up, elsewhere, but the professors liked to bring it up during the meet-and-greet classes. Every now and then, someone would come up and ask her about it. Ask what it was like to live so much of her life in VR. Try to start a conversation about fitness or shared hobbies. Most attempts were fairly respectful, but she hadn't been interested.
She did wonder, though—if she went back to the same places, would someone try again? And this time, maybe she could say yes.
In the end, it wasn't that hard.
The campus gym had a little cafeteria that sold fruit smoothies, yogurt bowls, and other fruit-adjacent treats—shaved ice with mango, stuff like that. She recognized the guy behind the counter—not by name, but by posture and smile—and walked over to say hi.
Apparently, that was all it took. He shot his shot immediately.
–––❖–––
The guy behind the counter looked up and grinned. Tallish. Broad shoulders. Warm brown eyes and forearms covered in faded geometric tattoo sleeves.
He took her order, expertly diced a fresh pear into a packet of frozen ingredients, and put it in the smoothie maker. Out came the cards.
"Lovely lady," he cajoled. "Help me hone my craft. Pick a card, any card. Um. actually . . .two or three. . .lets go five. Any of these five cards."
Karen had seen him do this before, at a distance. She'd always been a bit curious.
He fanned the top five out on the counter between them. "Don't tell me, just choose your favorite."
Queen of hearts. Queen of diamonds. Seven of diamonds. Two of clubs. Three of spades.
She chose.
She nodded.
He scooped up the cards and did an aerial riff with credible skill. The smoothie maker cut off.
"Looks like I'm just in time," he quipped. He did a clumsy stage-magic flourish, a hand plucking the air behind her ear and revealing the seven of diamonds.
She nodded. "Forced choice?"
"Yup."
"Seven's the least obvious card, huh."
"A magician never reveals his secrets. Though we've been in all the same advanced psych classes, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
She nodded. "I like a challenge. So. . .You do this often?"
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
"I keep my hand in. Especially for interesting people such as yourself."
"Tell you what. I pick your brains for secrets over a drink after work?"
The pickup was clumsy, but it was the best she had.
"I get off at six," he said. "There's a sports bar down the block. I'll be the one with the extra drink."
He tapped his temple. "I'm seeing. . . .hmm. . . ."
She smiled. "Long Island iced—"
"That's not how mind-reading works. We'll practice later," he told her cheerfully.
–––❖–––
She showed up.
Walking in, she caught her reflection in the darkened window of the sports bar. She'd worn her favorite jeans and what had started as a simple blue sweater she'd found on ebay with an oval cut-out meant to show off belly button piercings. Her attempt at "casual date" was starting to feel like a costume. She'd let her hair down, and blond frizz was already sneaking out of her wet-brushed waves. She looked, she thought, like someone trying very hard without very much success.
Earnest was already seated, chips and queso on the table, two drinks present, his own half-finished. The bar was loud but not packed. A college place, clean enough, slightly overpriced, but it took meal plan bucks.
"Hey," he said, getting up slightly, then sitting back down with zero pressure. "Before anything else—coolest thing."
He produced a coaster with a color-changing strip down the center, then flicked a drop of his margarita onto it.
Nothing.
"Anti-roofie strip," he said. "Color changes if anything sketchy's in the glass."
Karen raised an eyebrow.
"Just thought—if you didn't want to bring one, I'd bring two."
She smiled a little. "Thanks." She dropped a splash of her Long Island iced tea on the second coaster. Also clean.
She didn't feel judged. She liked that. He'd made safety inevitable without making it a performance.
_
Ten minutes later, they were halfway through the chips and halfway through the second round of drinks. Earnest had a very . . .genuine and forthright way about him that made her feel like she was talking with a trusted friend. He also, importantly, didn't seem intimidated by her or bothered by friendly silences, which were both significant wins in her book.
The chips arrived.
"Talking is thirsty work," he commented. "But, now that I'm sufficiently fortified—You've been in all my psych classes since I was a freshman, but then I haven't seen you in a single class for two years. I thought you'd dropped out. What a waste, I said. Ask anyone."
Flattering.
"No, just dual mastering," she said. It felt performative, but he did ask. "Neuroscience too—I've been mostly taking higher maths and electrical this semester."
He nodded, busying himself with the queso. "Sounds nasty. I've got NO head for numbers, I'll have to ask you to calculate the tip."
"You tip, too. You just check all the boxes, don't you?" she asked.
Her portable buzzed.
She glanced down.
Gordon: "Made it safely. Don't wait up."
She stared at it. Asshole. The thought was a little affectionate and a little frustrated. He'd been scheduled to arrive hours ago.
She didn't reply.
"Your body language completely changed just now," Earnest said, gently. "Everything okay?"
Karen blinked. "Weird to say it, but. . .I have a friend who just traveled to Mars."
Earnest took a quick gulp with apparent enjoyment, then sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. Then he nodded. "Ah. A 'friend'of yours happens to travel to Mars—Gordon, then."
She looked over, suspicious. "How did you—"
"I lurk," he said. "You're pretty good."
Karen made a face. "You got it in one."
"And," he said, leaning back, "you're not really here for my charming sleight of hand, are you?"
She looked at him quizzically. "I meant to be?"
"I mean, sure," he continued. "I trust you. But I think you also meant to not be thinking about Gordon tonight. And here we are."
Her face burned. She hadn't realized she was showing that much.
He smiled faintly. "Listen. You've helped my social cachet immeasurably—people saw you walk in with me. But this probably isn't a good use of the evening for either of us."
Karen blinked. "I—"
"You've been excellent company," he said sincerely. "And I mean that. You didn't stare at my tits once."
She snorted.
It was exactly like something she would have said.
"It's a joke," he said quickly. "Because I am a man and do not have those, instead being blessed with manly man muscles."
He flexed, barely, and gave her a ridiculous eyebrow waggle. She laughed a little, genuinely. The tension was gone.
The twinkle in his eye showed that that was the intended effect. "I tell you what," he said, "how about I hold my hand out like this—"
And he held out his hand towards her.
"—Okay, now you hold yours up like . . .yes, that. No, palm flat. Right. That's it."
She matched him. He clasped her hand in a firm, dry shake.
"Hi. I'm Earnest—as in 'importance of being.' I'm a great friend to have. You can find me at the smoothie stand. I'll take care of you."
Karen smiled ruefully.
"I'll see you around," he said, left a crisp $20 on the table, winked, and left.
She watched him go.
Later, walking home alone, she thought about the seven of diamonds. The vibes were great. . . .
Damn, she thought.
If I weren't hung up on Gordon. . . .