Hi Q,
What are you watching?
A
I look up at the screen just as the shark bites the octopus and shakes her from side to side, and I have to laugh, even though I feel horrible for the octopus. A documentary about a dude and an octo pus, lol, I tell her, and yeah, maybe my face heats up a little. It would be cooler if I was watching Star Wars or Deadpool or something.
I loved that one! I watched it twice, she admits, and I can’t help grinning. That was the last thing I expected her to say.
This octopus rocks but I think the shark is going to eat more than just her leg this time.
Keep watching, she says.
So I do, and then I reply, I’m so impressed.
Right? She’s amazing. Maybe I need to watch a third time.
I hesitate a couple of seconds before pausing the video and suggesting, I’m at 1:05 if you want to watch the end with me.
She surprises me by saying, Okay. She even adds a smiley face.
We go through the process of syncing our videos, and soon we’re watching together, separately. It’s a weird experience for me. Kind of dorky—wait, very dorky. Let’s not forget what we’re watching here. Normally, people in our situation would be flirting right now. There’d be sexual innuendo, maybe even dirty photos. But I think I like this.
Oh, I love this part, she says.
When I see what she’s talking about, I agree. She’s playing with the fish, not even trying to eat them. I didn’t know an octopus could be so cute.
Haha! Me neither, she replies, and I’m grinning all over again.
We continue this back-and-forth, and before long, the documentary is over and I kind of wish it wasn’t.
Isn’t that such a bittersweet ending? she asks.
Yeah, but it’s a good ending, I say.
We both go quiet then, and I take a breath before asking, Do you want to trade phone numbers and take this off the app?
She doesn’t reply right away, and I fidget as I wait. I’m nervous, I realize. I like this weird octopus-loving girl.
Yes, please. This interface is so confusing. I accidentally sent octopus comments to other people while we were watching, she says.
The crack of my laughter is loud in my apartment, even as something uncomfortable pushes at my chest at the idea that she’s talking to other guys. Their responses were probably awesome.
They were. One guy said he didn’t sign up for this. The other said, “Baby, I only have two hands, but I’ll use my feet if you want.” I laughed so hard that someone’s dog started barking outside.
A second later, she sends me her number, and I feel like I won the lottery. I don’t think she gave her number to that other dude, even though he’s willing to get fancy with his feet.
Off app, I text her the question, Do you want to text or call?
There’s a pause before she replies, Do you have a preference?
I want to hear your voice, I answer.
Okay, she says.
But when I call her, the phone only rings a few times before the call disconnects.
Sorry, I’m nervous, she texts.
I’m cool texting. No worries, Anna. In the back of my head, I wonder if she’s really a middle-aged man catfishing me from his mom’s basement in his underwear. My gut tells me she’s real, though.
Thank you. I’ve never done this before, she says.
Hey, it’s been a long time since I’ve dated and stuff, so I feel a little awkward too, I admit.
Were you in a serious relationship too? she asks.
So that’s it. She’s coming out of a serious relationship and looking for rebound sex. I completely get it.
Nah, I had some health issues, needed surgery. Don’t worry, I’m better now, I tell her, hoping she thinks “health issues” and “surgery” mean a torn ACL or something like that.
I’m glad you’re better. She adds another smiley face, and it’s stupid of me, but it makes me happy.
Thanks, I say.
So what do we do now? she asks.
Whatever you want, but usually trading phone numbers means we’re planning to meet up soon.
Do you want to meet tonight? she asks.
My eyes widen at her message. It’s only a little past nine o’clock, but it feels too late and too soon at the same time. Late because we only have one night, and tonight is half over. Soon because I only just met her, and it’s almost good-bye for good. How about tomorrow night?
Sure, that works for me, she says.
I send her a link to a local bar. This place at 7?
Sounds good!
Great, I reply, and after a few seconds, I send her a smiley face.
We fall silent then. I want to keep talking to her, watch another movie, even if it’s this weird documentary again, but I don’t want to be annoying. And I don’t want to act like this is more than it is. That’s the beauty of it—that it’s nothing.