4
The sun is setting as I arrive in Summerside the next night for my date with Arjun. I’m a teensy bit stressed because I’m
running late—the shop owner, Fred, showed up just as I was leaving and decided, after nearly twelve months of showing no interest,
that he’d check in to see how I was doing—and also because my car wouldn’t start right when I left home. I had to try four
or five times before it worked. I wonder if it’s a worn-out suspension, like in Ethel’s car. After I pull into the restaurant
parking lot, I step out and kneel to look underneath it, but since I don’t know what I’m looking for (or even exactly what
the suspension is), it’s hard to say if something’s wrong.
I brush the dirt off my knees and stand. Before I go inside, I quickly pull out my phone and open Wordle. That’s the other
reason I’m stressed. I still haven’t figured out today’s word. After two entirely wrong words (MONTH and PILED), I tried FRACK.
The F and R are yellow (right letters, wrong place), and the A is green, but the rest is wrong. I eliminated a lot of letters
with my three wrong words, but I’m still completely stumped, and I only have three guesses left.
What word has an F, R, and A in it?
FARMS?
No, I already know there’s no M.
FARTS?
I snort out loud, then shake my head at myself. Grow up, Emily. The New York Times isn’t going to make FARTS a Wordle answer. Plus, the A is in the wrong spot.
I stare at the screen for a few more seconds before I remember I’m running late. I swipe open my camera and switch it to selfie
mode to quickly check my reflection—yep, same as always: hazel eyes, long brown hair, tons of freckles—then pocket my phone
and hurry into the restaurant, where I find Arjun waiting by the door. He’s just as cute as his photo and nicely dressed in
a button-up shirt and dark pants. We do that awkwardly cheerful, “Excuse me, are you—?” “Oh, yes, of course, so nice to meet
you,” and then we approach the hostess for a table. We don’t have to wait at all, thank goodness, and we’re taken to a table
near the window.
“Your server will be with you in a moment,” the hostess says.
As Arjun and I settle into our seats, I look around the restaurant, which is surprisingly full for a weeknight.
“Busy place,” I say, shaking my napkin onto my lap.
“Super busy,” Arjun says.
We smile at each other for a brief, slightly awkward beat.
“Er—so,” I say brightly. “What do you do for work?”
“Engineering,” he says.
“Oh, right.” I smack my forehead with my palm. “That was on your profile.”
“And you’re a receptionist somewhere, right?”
I nod. “At an auto shop, yeah.”
He nods. “That’s cool.”
I pull a face. “Not really.”
“No, it is,” he says. “I mean, the world needs receptionists, right?”
He doesn’t say it in a mean way, really, but I’m not quite sure what to say in response. I smile and nod, then another silence falls. Almost in unison, we look to the window, as if we’ll be able to mine some conversation from the quiet Summerside street. Usually, I’m pretty good at coming up with things to talk about on first dates, but my brain feels sluggish today. Plus, a large part of it is still trying to think of the Wordle answer.
R, F, A.
F, R, A.
FRAYS. That’s a word, isn’t it? Like... this sweater frays if you put it in the dryer. I know it’s not the right word, because the F and R don’t go at the start, but I could still
use it to rule out the Y and S. I glance surreptitiously at my phone, but it would be beyond rude to pick it up right now.
“Weather’s great today,” I say instead.
“Definitely,” he replies.
I try to think of something clever to add, but my mind is totally blank. “Feels like summer is right around the corner,” I
say finally.
Arjun nods politely but doesn’t answer. I don’t really blame him.
We’re saved by the waitress, who appears with a notepad and a smile. “Something to drink?”
“Just water, thanks,” I say.
“You don’t want a drink?” Arjun asks.
I shake my head. “I wish. I have to drive back to Waldon.”
“Ah.” Arjun nods in understanding, but I see the flash of disappointment in his eyes. This is not a surprise. I’ve been on enough first dates to realize that a lot of guys think that no alcohol equals no fun (aka no sex), which is irritating but also a pretty useful litmus test. This one guy I went out with last month kept pushing me so much to order a drink that I wound up faking an emergency call to get out of there.
Arjun orders a beer for himself and the waitress smiles and disappears.
I take a steadying breath and lean forward with a determined smile. I’m not going to sit here like a lump just because I’m
having a bit of an off day. “So,” I say cheerfully, “do you like your job?”
“Oh, yeah. How about you?”
I hesitate. “It’s okay. I’m still trying to find my dream job.”
“Dream job.” Arjun chuckles. “Like being famous or something?”
“Er—no. I mean, not that I would be against it!” I laugh. “But I just want to find something I’m more passionate about, you
know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Arjun says. “I thought about doing chemical engineering for a while, but then I was like, nope, way too
boring.”
I smile. “You know, I have to admit, I’ve never actually understood all the different types of engineering.” (Or even exactly
what an engineer does , but I won’t mention that right now.) “Like, I’ve heard of chemical engineering, but I don’t actually know what it means.”
“Oh, right.” Arjun nods. “So, chemical engineering is like treatment plants and things, super boring, but civil engineering—”
“That’s what you do?”
“Yeah, it’s way more interesting. Like, right now I’m a project engineer for this huge company Traho—you’ve probably seen
their buildings in Charlottetown, plus they’re really huge out west—”
He keeps talking about his company for a while. So long, in fact, that my attention starts to flicker. I swear I’m trying to be polite and pay attention, but my mind keeps wandering back to Wordle.
F, R, A.
R, A, F.
RAFFS. No, that’s not a word.
RAFTS? That’s a word, but the A isn’t in the right place.
REAFS. Like, coral reafs?
No, I’m pretty sure it’s spelled “reefs.”
“You know what I mean?” Arjun says.
Crap.
Do I know what he means about what ?
I open my mouth to give him some vague nonanswer, but the waitress saves me just in time, arriving to take our orders. I pick
something randomly from the menu and force myself to focus properly after she’s gone. I ask Arjun where he went to school
and listen attentively as he tells me a few stories about university, but after a half hour or so, I can already tell that
he and I are just not meant to be. He’s friendly enough, and he doesn’t say anything wrong , exactly, but we don’t have the same sense of humor, and he doesn’t ask me any questions about myself, not even when I intentionally
let the silence stretch out to see if he’ll speak first. I end up pitching question after question at him like I’m a late-night
TV host or something. He seems to enjoy it (everyone loves talking about themselves, I learned that about fifty first dates
ago), and while he talks, I tuck into my meal, a lobster roll and fries.
When he steps away to go to the bathroom, I immediately take out my phone.
FRAYS, I type.
Hmm. The S is yellow, so that’s something, but I can’t think of a single word that has an A, R, S, and F in it. (Besides FARTS,
which I really need to get out of my brain.) My mind is totally stuck on words that start with FR, even though I already know
that’s wrong.
“Everything okay?” Arjun asks as he returns to the table.
“Oh, yeah.” I force a chuckle and show him my screen. “I’ve been doing this Wordle app thing, but I can’t figure out today’s
word.”
“Bummer.” Arjun drains the last sip of his beer and then pulls out his own phone. “I’ll Google it for you.”
“No!” I cry, as he starts typing. A woman at the table next to us jumps half a foot.
Whoops. That was too loud.
“I mean—no, thank you,” I say, flushing. “I just—I don’t want to ruin my streak. It doesn’t count if you cheat.”
“How long’s your streak?”
I sit up a little straighter. “Three hundred and two days.”
“You’ve done it every day for, like, almost a year?”
“Yep! It’s become sort of a routine. Every morning, I get up and do Wordle with a cup of coffee.” I lean forward eagerly,
planning to tell him about the hardest words I’ve run up against—then I notice his expression. It’s the same polite, glazed
look I expect I have on my own face when I’m forced to listen to John and Dave talk about cars. I chuckle feebly and sit back
in my chair. “It’s not that interesting, really.”
“No, it’s cool,” he says politely. Another silence falls between us. He fiddles with his empty glass. I watch a woman park her car across the street. I’m trying to think of more questions to ask him, but honestly, I’ve completely run out.
Our waitress reappears and takes our empty plates. “Did you two want to see the dessert menu?”
Arjun and I glance at each other, and for the first time all night, I think we’re on exactly the same page.
“Just the bill, please,” I answer for both of us.