Romantic Comedy(56)
This is all a （very very） long way of saying that after being married to a guy who didn’t like what made me me, and then being friends with a guy who adored me but didn’t want to make out with me, I don’t trust my own instincts. Both those situations scrambled my brain, and I know it’s a small sample size, but I decided to be done with that shit. And now our emails are scrambling me again.
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:41 AM
subject: Actually
This might sound corny, but thank you for telling me all of that. I’m glad I know it.
There are tons of things I want to respond to, but the one that feels the most urgent now is why are our emails scrambling your brain?
from: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
to: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:43 AM
subject: Actually
At the risk of destroying my favorite hobby of quarantine, because I’m in danger of confusing the romance of emailing with the romance of romance.
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:44 AM
subject: Actually
Why wouldn’t this be the romance of romance?
from: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
to: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:45 AM
subject: Actually
Because of the Danny Horst Rule?
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:46 AM
subject: Actually
Didn’t I tell you in 2018 I don’t believe in that?
from: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
to: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:49 AM
subject: Actually
I actually don’t think I’m particularly insecure about my appearance. For both our sakes, I’ll refrain from inventorying my face and body and just say that while of course I have some criticisms of myself, I feel lucky to be healthy, and never more so than now.
I’m also pretty sure it would disrupt the space-time continuum for a world-famous singer who looks like you to get involved with a TV writer who looks like me.
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:51 AM
subject: Actually
Sometimes, and this is one of your charms, it’s hard for me to tell how much you’re kidding. But I’m really attracted to you, and I have been since that pitch meeting in Nigel’s office.
from: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
to: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:52 AM
subject: Actually
Sometimes it’s also hard for me to tell how much I’m kidding. But you didn’t look so bad at that pitch meeting, either.
from: Noah Brewster <[email protected]>
to: Sally Milz <[email protected]>
date: Jul 26, 2020, 12:52 AM
subject: Actually
I realize this also might disrupt the space-time continuum but can I just call you right now?
CHAPTER 3
August 2020
At the Hampton Inn in Albuquerque, New Mexico, halfway between Kansas City and L.A., I checked in while needing to pee so badly I couldn’t stand up straight. I was the only person in the lobby other than the man behind the desk. He and I both wore cloth masks—mine featured strawberries, his was plain blue—and I said, “How full are you tonight?” and he said, “Not.”
In the room, as I finished washing my hands, my phone vibrated in the side pocket of my leggings, and after I dried my hands （were the towels clean? Was anything?）， I pulled it out.
LMK when you’re at hotel, Noah had texted.
Then: Have I mentioned I’m super excited you’re coming here?
Then: I’m super excited you’re coming here!!
I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink and tried to figure out what expression a woman driving 1,600 miles to visit Noah Brewster would make. It would be sultry, right? Which was a problem because with effort, I could do friendly, and I could always do smirky, but I wasn’t sure I was physically capable of sultry.
A week had passed since Noah and I had first spoken on the phone; twelve days had passed since I’d received his first email; and thirteen hours, counting stops to refuel, had passed since I’d pulled out of Jerry’s driveway. I’d borrowed Jerry’s sister’s Hyundai, loaded up with a suitcase, a backpack, a purse, and an open cardboard box containing a water bottle, a twelve-count case of protein bars, four apples, three separate containers of 33.8 fluid ounces of hand sanitizer, and a bunch of masks inside a gallon Ziploc bag. Once I’d decided I was driving rather than flying, I’d calculated that I could make it in two very unpleasantly long days or three moderately unpleasant ones. Because I hoped （but was not sure） that I was on my way to have sex with Noah and because I wanted to have sex with Noah as soon as possible, I’d opted for two.
Presumably, after accepting Noah’s invitation to visit, I ought to have been wonderstruck by the human capacity for connection even during the darkest times. And I was! But also I was preoccupied with how and when to address the disheveled and hairy state into which I’d descended during the pandemic. During our first phone conversation, he’d said that maybe the next day, we could facetime, and the minute we’d hung up, even though it was after three in the morning, I’d zealously tweezed my eyebrows and bleached the hair above my upper lip with the same possibly toxic cream I’d been using since middle school. But the following night, he’d called again rather than facetiming, meaning that I’d been denied the opportunity to pretend I was spontaneous and denuded and spontaneously denuded.