Page 10 of Doomsdate

“I love TV. It’s my job. Movies, too, but I’ve had a harder time getting into them lately. Dreamsdate has me in a choke hold, though.”

Maisie’s eyes trail down my jaw to my throat, then bob back up again, flustered. She frowns. “I thought you were a professor.”

“I am.” I rub my chin, not baiting her per se, but curious to see if her eyes track that movement, too. She looks at me so intently, like she’s studying me. “I’m a TV and film studies professor. Pop culture is my profession, but I specialize in horror movies.”

“You…teach TV? To children?”

“I teach story,” I say, a smidgen of my new goodwill toward her disappearing. “To adults.” I tilt my head to the side. “Well. Technically adults.”

We share a smile at that. I ask her about actuarial science then, which is actually interesting, though I don’t make that joke because she’s probably heard it a million times. The science of determining the probability of bad things—no wonder she’s anxious and copes by practicing lethal martial arts in her free time.

A loud crack! sounds against the glass storefront, and Maisie snaps to attention, her hand darting to her belt. Jesus, is she armed? I whip around in my seat along with everyone else and see a man with wild eyes smack his hand against the glass door again. “Let me in!” he yells, just audible through the growing murmurs of the diners. “Let me in!”

Two Gatherers employees dressed in all black walk quickly through the dining room, wearing full masks and gloves, and exit the restaurant just as fast. They each take an arm of the man, and then all three promptly disappear down the sidewalk.

I turn back to face Maisie. “That was weird.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Must’ve answered the diarrhea question wrong.”

The laugh exits me with such force, it’s startling. A few other patrons glare at me in reproach, but Maisie shares a private smile with me, and I find I don’t mind the others’ stares quite as much.

“So, what are the odds of this GI-27 virus hitting us like the last pandemic did?” I kick myself for asking as her smile melts away. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

She shakes her head. “But you eat pretty healthy, right? That appears to be a big risk factor for the virus.”

“I do. As unprocessed as possible. It’s really important to me.” The words momentarily get stuck in my throat from the grief accumulating there, and also the frustration. No matter how much time passes, or how inappropriate the context, grief can sneak up and throttle you, its fingers wrapping around your throat and making it impossible to breathe.

“Me, too,” Maisie says softly. “It was really important to my mom.” She seems to withdraw into her own sadness, conveniently missing mine. When she returns to this moment, it’s sudden, like a face reappearing in the window. At first, I’m scared she’ll ask more about my choice of diet, but instead she summons a flimsy smile, completely disconnected from the feelings still swirling loose in the blue sky of her eyes, and wields it like an axe, neatly severing the food conversation and moving us on by force.

I am incredibly grateful, and also struck by how similar our reactions were to the same impetus. Did she also lose a loved one to colon cancer, and now food additives and thickeners and forever chemicals keep her up at night, too? It makes my heart go out to her even more, and suddenly, I wish that this whole date was going differently for her. That I was different, too. Charming and flirtatious, the kind of man she was hoping she’d meet instead of the broken one she did.

Our plates are nearly empty, the date’s energy winding down. But I find myself not quite ready to go back to my sad, empty house, and the night’s still young. There’s something about Maisie that makes me want to know more. Her strange attire, her lack of pop culture knowledge, the grief that seems to catch up to her the same way it does to me. She feels…different. From anyone I’ve ever met.

“Well. This has been nice,” Maisie says, her voice stiff again as though she senses the end of our date, too.

“It has,” I agree, surprising myself. “Maisie, can I ask you something?”

She blinks. “Um, sure.”

“Why now?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, her water glass lingering in front of her lips. She looks alarmed and a bit guilty, like she’s just gotten caught doing something naughty. The expression plucks something deep inside of me, making a low, resonant twang.

“Why go on a date, with me of all people, on the brink of this crazy pandemic?” I’m genuinely curious, and for some reason, hopeful. Like maybe her answer could change everything. “How did you know you were ready to?”

The peach heat returns to her cheeks as she seems to weigh how much of the truth she’s willing to give. I’m holding my breath for her answer, and I don’t even know why.

“I’ve fallen into a rut, I guess. It’s too easy to do the same thing, day in and day out. Log on to work, exercise, read, and sleep, all on repeat. It’s lonely, and I’m tired of being too afraid to live my life. I want to travel for once, explore new places, meet new people.” Her blush is nearly nuclear as she adds, “Learn new things.”

The way she said “things” sounded so suggestive, I’m about to ask what things when she reaches into one of her many cargo pockets and pulls out a slim navy-blue booklet. “This just came in the mail,” she says, the pride evident in her voice. “My first one.”

I reach for the new passport and flip through the empty pages waiting for Maisie’s adventures and smile wistfully before passing it back. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to go anywhere, or worse, do anything. And here’s Maisie, this hopeful person at the brink of a new life, wasting her time with someone who’s forgotten how to live. “That’s great.” My throat tightens. “Do you have plans to travel soon?”

She sighs, then slips the virgin passport back into her pocket. “I had a trip to New York City booked for next week. If that went well, I was going to drive up to Canada. Maybe fly to Paris next. Just find a ticket and go, no getting nervous and backing out.”

“But the travel bans…” I trail off, understanding.

“The travel bans,” she agrees. “It’s not fair, this virus happening right after I finally got the nerve to live my life. When you messaged me to go out, though…” She pauses, her small, shy smile reappearing. “Well, that was an adventure I could still have, right?”