Page 16 of Debugging Love

After hours of research, I settled on Wild Oaks Apartments, a reasonable thirty-minute drive to work, depending on traffic. I lucked into my marshland view. The previous tenants backed out of their contract and my name was first on the waiting list. In less than a week, I packed up my Fishers apartment in Indiana, rented a U-Haul, and moved to Charleston. No moving guys, no driving buddy, no help. All me.

I never had time to feel lonely. My job at JetAero started the day after I drove down, and I quickly made friends, naturally gravitating to Morgan and Kayla, who are Charleston-transplants like me, in their mid-twenties, and single. They live together in an apartment on James Island, splitting the rent to make it reasonable.

It’s twenty miles to their place, about thirty minutes driving time. Traffic in Charleston is light at ten thirty on a Sunday, and likewise on US 17 as I head southwest into James Island, which is a relatively small town on the other side of the Ashley River that’s bordered by tidal creeks and marshland.

Before meeting up with my friends, I make a quick stop at Mama J’s Kitchen to pick up our food. The quaint diner is decorated with variegated wood paneling, fifties-style furniture, and hanging lights. Behind the counter, a bountiful display of fresh breads, bagels, and pastries beckon hungry stomachs and eager taste buds. The gal behind the counter wishes me a good morning before handing over my food. My bagel breakfast sandwich with bourbon bacon jam makes me want to skip to my car, but I can’t because skipping hurts, so I limp instead while the sun shines down assertively–not too hot yet, just the perfect amount of sizzle on my arms.

Unlike downtown Charleston where mature oak trees provide a canopy for the road, the trees along Folly Road are young, lessimpressive, giving the cityscape a feeling of impermanence. A ten-minute drive leads me to Saltmarsh Pier Apartments. I turn in and peel off to the right, following the winding road between three-story siding-clad units that sit on the edge of the marsh.

Squeals and grabbing hands attack me when I enter the apartment. Morgan takes the food, and Kayla grabs the drink tray. We shuffle past the gas fireplace into a dining area with floor-to-ceiling bay windows that provide generous sunlight.

“Mine. Yours. Yours,” Morgan says as she peeks at the wrapped sandwiches. “Mine. Mine. Who got the fruit bowl?”

“I did.” I grab the Styrofoam container.

Morgan stands a little taller than me, her blonde hair wavy and her skin flawless. The slight bump in her nose and thinnish upper lip make her gorgeousness more relatable.

“Where’s my hash brown patty?” Kayla asks.

“Here.” Morgan drops a circle of hash browns into Kayla’s outstretched hand.

Kayla is a head shorter than me. Her black, wiry curls defy taming and her pronounced hourglass shape turns heads. She’s wearing high-waisted workout shorts that show off her thicc thighs (as she calls them), and her tight T-shirt accentuates her voluminous chest.

“Where are we eating?” I ask through a mouthful of pineapples and grapes.

“Living room,” Morgan says. She ushers us that way.

I settle onto the plush couch across from the fireplace, Morgan claims the cushion next to me, and Kayla chooses the side chair in front of the picture window.

“Oh my,” Morgan says after her first bite. “This is amazing. I was so hungry.” She devours another bite.

“What did you guys do without me last night?” I spear a grape and pop it into my mouth.

“We were lost. Totally lost,” Kayla says.

“She’s lying,” Morgan says. “No Endangered Person Advisories were required. We were here trying to decide on a movie, wondering how we can have so many freaking channels but nothing good to watch.”

“Spinal Tap,“ I say before noshing on my sandwich.

Morgan and Kayla look at me blankly.

“It’s a movie. We should watch it. ‘As you can see, the numbers all go to eleven.’” I employ my best English accent.

They still look confused. Understandably.

“It’s a comedy my sister and I used to watch. My mom had it on VHS. Among other things. Her VHS library could put a public library to shame.”

“When you say library, I think you mean archives,” Morgan says.

I nod with my mouth full.

Kayla pushes up her glasses, the black frames matching the rogue curl on her forehead. “I take it back,” she says. “I think we would have been just as lost if you were here.”

I shrug and take another bite.

“Never mind what we did,” Morgan says. She wads up her sandwich wrapper and moves on to her grits. “What didyoudo? How did your date go?”

Laughter shoots a piece of food up my nose and I dissolve into a coughing fit while my friends wait patiently for me to finish. As I’m wiping my eyes, Morgan asks, “That bad?”

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