Page 85 of Sort of Seeing Someone

“Oh. That’s right…” Ollie slides a paper table tent my way. I read the text on it aloud.

“In order to preserve the lost art of human interaction, we promote face-to-face communication by being an internet-free zone. We ask that your cellular devices be put away at all times. Exceptions can be made for ordering pizza and Ubers. Thank you for your understanding.”

At that, I toss my phone back into my purse where it’ll take a long overdue nap.

“Well, let’s lost-art it up, then. What’s your favorite quirk about yourself?” I ask.

“Oh god. This isn’t another Moonie-Miller-timed-pop-quiz, is it?”

“Nope, take all the time you need,” I say as I place two more pieces. “I’ll just be over here single-handedly finishing this puzzle.”

“I always pick up loose change off the ground. And if it’s a quarter, I say quietly to myself, ‘Big money!’”

Brut nearly comes out of my nose.

“Big money?”

“Think about it. Most people will leave a penny on the ground if they drop one, but not a quarter. A quarter is a rare find and—technically—the highest valued coin in standard American production. And when we first moved to America, I spent many-a-dayswatchingWheel of Fortuneon TV. I’ll never forget contestants spinning the wheel, willing for it to land on ‘big money.’”

“Ah, so that’s where the slogan comes from. Well, for what it’s worth, that’s about the most nerdy-but-lovable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What about you? Favorite quirk?”

Is this the part where I tell him about Exexveei?

After a long pause, I go with: “I peel the skin off hot dogs.”

“That’s not a quirk, that’s food preference,” he fires back. “Next?”

“I sign up for emails to save 10% on a purchase. Don’t make the purchase. Then get mad when they email me their newsletters.”

“Sounds like more of a toxic trait, but I’ll take it,” he says.

“A toxic trait is thinking puzzles are fun,” I correct him.

“Hey, now…be nice. They’re a welcomed break from reality. A test of patience and memory. It’s therapeutic. What relaxes you?”

“Hmph.”

A noise that’s a cross between Hmm and a laugh that’s not triggered by anything funny escapes my lips.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s just that the answer to that is so simple: yoga. But I feel like a fraud saying it because I haven’t practiced once since moving back here. That’s wild. I mean, I used to do yoga like five, six times a week. Now, the only thing I do that much is go to the post office.”

“You know there’s a yoga place on every block here.”

“Not one that overlooks the Pacific Ocean.”

“Is that a prerequisite? Because if so, I might be out of suggestions.”

I’ve been having so much fun with Ollie, I’ve forgotten that my main goal of being here is…getting back to Ocean Beach. I’m afraid to think about how far apart those two things are—both literally and figuratively. So I get back to the puzzle and refill my cup with another glass of Us.

Another hour or so goes by. The bottle of Brut has long since been tapped, thecharcuterieboard has been cleared, and empty ice cream dishes accompany us on the table—the table that holds a now-completed puzzle of theAmalfiCoast.

“It’s pretty,” he says. “A trip there is on my list.”

“Mine, too,” I say. “It makes me want to go swimming. Too bad it’s not summertime. We could have jumped in the lake for a nightcap.”

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