Stella? He wrote when I didn’t respond right away. That’s a really beautiful name.
I typed a short reply, erased it, tried again, and erased it once more. At last I sent: It means star in Italian.
He sent a star emoji.
My dad loves Italy, I wrote. He’s actually kind of obsessed.
Chris sent a thumbs-up.
Italy is sweet. Cinque Terre, Tuscany, Liguria.
I sent a yawn emoji in response.
The bubble with three dots let me know he was typing again, but no text showed up. I squeezed my phone. At last it appeared.
Did you know that when people are asked on their deathbeds what their greatest regret is, they never regret the things they did but what they didn’t do?
What did he mean? Was this how twenty-nine-year-olds flirted?
I’m not planning to regret a fucking thing, I wrote.
He sent a smiley face.
I think we’re the same, he wrote. We’re the kind of people who are never at peace. People like us have to find our way to one another to survive.
He was trying to analyze me. I hate people who do that.
You don’t know a thing about me, I wrote.
He responded: I bet I know more than you think I do.
This guy was just too much.
For example, I bet you sleep naked.
What? I read it three times.
I wanted to be furious, but I couldn’t help being tickled. It was so unexpected.
Gotta go to bed now, I wrote.
He answered: Sleep tight, little star.
* * *
I called Amina right away. She sounded depressed.
“Do whatever you want,” she said.
“Forget it, I’m not interested.”
Even I could hear how much it sounded like a lie.
“I’m just so tired of how nothing ever happens,” I said. “It’s so fucking boring here.”
“You’ll be out traveling soon.”
“Soon?” Amina and I have never experienced time in the same way. “That’s months away. If I even manage to go.”
“Of course you will,” said Amina. “Time flies.”
I lay down in bed with my computer. A few days earlier, I had found an American site about psychopaths that turned out to be a real gold mine. A ton of researchers and psychiatrists wrote long, interesting entries for it. I read that psychopaths are sometimes described as predators who manipulate those around them with their exceptional charm and charisma. Those who encounter the seductive flattery of a psychopath seldom realize they’re being manipulated until it’s too late. Psychopaths lie often and without guilt. Psychopaths lie for their own gain, to improve their self-image, and to get ahead in life.
I’ve always been a master at telling lies. Was that a psychopathic trait?
Psychopaths know they’re lying. And so did I. And sure, sometimes I lied for my own benefit. I wasn’t sure that I always felt guilty when I lied. What did that say about me?
I read about a woman whose whole life was ruined when she met a man who cheated her out of everything she owned. I felt sorry for her, of course, but at the same time I couldn’t help but feel some disdain.
* * *
On Friday the sun came out. The city emptied quickly, everyone on their way to the coast or a park. I was at work when I saw Chris’s message. I never check my phone when I’m at the store. Especially not when Malin is there—the store manager. She’s the type who would fire you for using your phone during working hours. There are rumors that she stopped giving one girl hours just because she chewed gum at the register.
But I was on break when I saw the message from Chris. I was alone in the break room and maybe that was lucky, because my reaction involved maybe a little too much teen-girl cheering.
Can you be ready at 6? A limo will pick you up. I suggest a dress. Maybe pajamas. Oh no, that’s right, you sleep naked.
My whole body got the butterflies when I read that.
On the one hand Chris was too much. On the other hand, my life was too boring. I’d never ridden in a limo and I confess I am both materialistic and easily impressed.
How dangerous could it be? A date. Who doesn’t want to get dressed up and take a limousine to a fancy restaurant that serves dishes you can’t even pronounce?
I held off on answering Chris for a while, but the truth is I never really hesitated. The offer was too good to refuse.
At six on the dot, I was standing on the sidewalk near my house in my newest, sexiest dress as the limo pulled up. It was one of those mega-huge ones with a white interior and a well-stocked bar. We opened a bottle of Mo?t and toasted as we headed across the bridge to Copenhagen.
“I’m so glad you wanted to come along,” said Chris.