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“He did send me a ‘good morning’ message.”
“Sweet but very suspicious. There has to be something wrong with him,” she declares. “No man from this century is that nice without wanting your bank account details.”
“I met this man in person. He’s not going to catfish me.” However, as I say the words, it does cross my mind he might start asking me for money. “He gave me his phone and then got a new one. He doesn’t need money.”
“Something’s not right here, Ivy. How did he know to punch Scott? And then he just has a phone he leaves with you with nothing on it? It’s strange. Maybe he’s from a parallel universe, you know, like in that old television show ‘Sliders.’”
“Maybe you’re drunk and have read too many science fiction novels. Or maybe it was just a coincidence, and he’s a nice man. They do exist, I hear. And it was you who said I’d meet my knight in shining armor,” I add the last sentence for good measure.
Scarlett waves away my comment. “Maybe he’s in the witness protection program, and that’s how he could wipe his phone so easily and get out of town.” She takes a sip of her pink cocktail and looks seriously at me. “Maybe you should let this one go, Ivy. It’s weird, and it’s all too convenient.”
I put my phone away. “Well, if it makes you feel better, we don’t have any plans to meet up. He didn’t even want to come and get his phone. He said he had to fly to India.”
“See, why would he leave his phone?” When I don’t answer, she answers her own question, “To know where you live.” She slams her drink down on the table, and it spills a little as if she has just solved a crime and someone is going to come to congratulate her.
“Okay, PI Scarlett, but why would he go through the time, money, and effort when he can figure out where I live with just a little bit of digging? I’m not in the witness protection program, and there aren’t that many women named ‘Ivy’ around my age living in a mile radius of where he left me.”
“Because he’s a time traveler.”
“You’re drunk.”
“He could be. Make sure you document everything. You may need it later as evidence.”
“Evidence for who?”
“The UFO papers when they ask you about your relationship with a time traveler or whoever reports on that kind of thing.”
“You’re drunk, my friend.” I shake my head. “Come on, let’s dance off some of this alcohol.”
* * *
I enter my dark apartment and turn on the lights quickly. Once I’m sure everything is as it should be, I go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. Evaluating my reflection in the mirror, I come to the conclusion we should have never ordered so many drinks. But they were so good.
I smile and rally myself to wash off my makeup and go into the other room to put on my pajamas with the little tigers on them. I used to have some with sloths, but I must have left them at Scarlett’s house when I slept there a few months ago.
I get into bed and see a notification of a message from Sem. Without fail, he messages me at night.
Goodnight, Ivy. I hope you sleep well.
I smile and message him back.
Goodnight.
My fingers hesitate over the keyboard. Should I write more? Can I trust myself drunk?
I can see he’s typing something. I bite my lip, waiting. It feels like he’s taking forever. I decide to write what I feel.
I want to see yo…
I begin but then stop. Men like to do the chasing. I don’t want to mess this up.
Finally, his message appears. It’s not as long as it should be, given the amount of time it took him. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am?
Although you’re on the other side of the world, we’re still sleeping underneath the same sky, and when I have a quiet moment, my thoughts turn to you. I wonder what you’re doing and hope that you’re happy.
How do I respond to that? Already, Sem has written some things that make me think he’s either really clever, not well-versed in American culture, or catfishing me for something.
I am happy. I think about you often too. I’m thinking about you as I close my eyes.
