Page 64 of The Dating Contract

How was your day? I got good news I can’t share but I’m excited.

Which was a confusing message, he realized, but he hoped she’d get it. In some way, shape or form. And instead of pondering over what she was going to say, he put the phone down, within arm’s reach of course, and went back to work.

Eventually, his phone buzzed, so he put his quill down and picked up the phone.

Leah.

Oooh. Good news?

He couldn’t tell her. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. So he settled for something that made sense, at least to him.

Good news I can’t talk about.

He went back to the mezuzah, carefully inscribing the text onto the piece of parchment.

Eventually, his phone buzzed again.

Leah.

I’m confused.

So he wasn’t as clear as he thought he’d been. Finally he decided on something else, something more specific that he hoped would make sense.

Industry things. It’s good.

This time he held the phone, watching the dark circles dance in front of his eyes until they materialized into an answer.

I’m glad. It was a good day for me too.

Even better. Not just another request for clarification, but an actual conversation piece.

But the dots were still dancing in front of his eyes.

When’s the party?

Which on a Monday night, made sense to ask. So he took a chance, hoping she’d go along with it.

Thursday. Come over to my apartment before?

Samuel’s heart pounded in time with the moving dots as he waited for the answer. Would she tell him no? Would she agree? Would she…

Debrief? Maybe talk a bit?

He almost dropped the phone, most likely lost his mind for a moment, if nothing else lost the tether of string keeping him close to reality for as long as it took him to process what she’d texted.

She. Said. Yes.

Sounds good. See you Thursday.

And he sent the text before he did something silly, like ask if she wanted to plan the outing to the museum. Or maybe discuss the past.

*

On Tuesday, Leahhad to acknowledge that her head had been a full on mess since she’d texted with Samuel on Sunday night and sent that misguided invitation.

What had she been thinking?

It was bad when it was just ‘let’s go to the museum’—something she could have forgotten; heck, it was simply a thought bubble of an invitation that he didn’t turn into reality.

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