Page 5 of Date and Switch

I could picture her in her New York office, with its half a sliver of a window blocked by a Ben & Jerry’s sign. Based on the sound of her voice she was leaning back in her black ergonomic chair, her russet-colored hair probably plaited in twin French braids and collected into a bun and the base of her skull. It was her signature look. Always paired with designer jeans, a trendy top, and boots—more than likely Chanel.

“One phone call to the ticket help desk gets that resolved. Blame the incompetent “boyfriend,” who always calls you by your nickname and forgets that your legal name isn’t Sarah. Easy fix. Done. Next objection?”

I had more objections than Adele had divorce songs. I took a breath prepared to start listing them and she cut me off. Again.

“B, it’s as if the universe took a peek into the goings on, on Earth, homed in on the shit show of your life right now and said, yes, that woman needs a break. An all-expense paid trip around the world? If he were looking for a Felicity Miller, I’d have already stalked him on social, figured out his address, and made a house call. But I’ve got Xander and he’s looking for Sarah Miller not Felicity. Any objection you have, I have a counter argument, babe. I have to go; they want to do a story on this yahoo. Just email him. See what he has to say. Considering you have no job and no prospects on the horizon, there is literally no better time. Besides, think of all the people you’ll meet on that trip, that could be your ticket to your next job!”

To: BrokenHeartedBryce

From: S. Miller

Re: The TikTok Heard Around the World

* * *

Bryce,

Hi? I saw your TikTok on the news today, and despite a myriad of reservations, my twin sister all but broke my fingers forcing me to write this email. I’m sure there are a million Sarah Miller’s telling you how cool, and amazing, and generous you are and attaching duck lipped photos of them in barely there bikinis to entice you into choosing them.

* * *

I’m not really sure why I’m even sending this. Clearly, I’m insane. (That would be a metaphorical insanity, not a literal one.) I promise I’m not the type to collect your hair or stare at you while you sleep because I’m obsessed with the smell of your breath or any of the other weird shit you see on all of those Netflix documentaries. I’m a thirty-four-year-old who has reached a new level in unemployment Jumanji where I have zero fucks left to give and figure hey why not randomly email some guy offering a vacation from the reality of your life for seven months. Sign me up!

* * *

If it’s the Delta, Delta, Delta, linked arms, flat ironed hair, plastic looking Sisters for Life kind of girl who can be your latest trophy for your Instagram feed, then by all means choose one of the duck faces. My days are spent in jeans, messy buns, and Birkenstocks.

* * *

I don’t bring much to the table (I’m really selling the shit out of this “application” aren’t I?). I lost my job, by the time you read this I’ll probably have decided that Boston is too expensive and I’m moving in with my sister in New York (moving home to live with my parents is a level of shame I’m not yet ready to unlock). I am college educated, pretty culturally well-rounded, I can carry on fairly intelligent conversations and I do love to read—all books, any genres. And you might be entertained by a pithy comment or two.

* * *

You’re still reading this? Wow. Well, if you want to meet for coffee so I can prove I’m not serial killer and also sort of fun, feel free to email me at the above address.

* * *

~SM

three

Leave it to Penn. I was only half serious when I agreed to record that stupid TikTok. I figured it would stay on Penn’s page, our friends would have a good laugh at my expense, and that would be the end of it.

Of course, Penn was now married to one half of the hottest nationally syndicated radio show in the business, the Bear and Raven Show. For some reason I thought this stupid drunken antic between brothers would be beyond her interest for radio fodder. I assumed wrong. Not only had she taken interest in the story, but half the damn country had. I had TV and radio stations from New York, Miami, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco trying to get a hold of me to hear my story. That stupid BrokenHeartedBryce Gmail Penn created had thousands of emails on the first day alone.

Most weren’t legit. Most were random people throwing pot shots at me. They called me a loser, asked why I couldn’t satisfy my girlfriend or a dozen other insults. Others had thesis level sob stories about why they needed a vacation so and please reconsider the “Sarah Miller” requirement because “please sir I could really use this help.”

But one of them stood out like a dandelion growing in the middle of a parking lot. I have no clue how her email stuck out amid the dumpster fires. There was something about how self-deprecating she was, while also being cheeky.

She lived in Boston. What were the odds? While I’d quickly learned how common a name Sarah Miller was, the fact there could be someone else with the same name willing to meet for coffee twenty minutes from my house, still felt surprising.

I found myself in front of The Human Bean at ten sharp for a ten thirty meeting, yet she was already seated in a booth when I arrived. She looked pretty spot on to what she’d described in her email. Tan Birkenstocks, jeans, a gray Berklee College of Music T-shirt beneath a Luke’s Diner zip hoodie.

Maybe it was the way she simply existed in the space. She paid no mind to the people around her. Content to sit in the sun with no drink in front of her, tapping away on her phone as if she had not a care in the world. That had to be what I found so intriguing. So much so that I stood gaping at her from across the room, seemingly frozen where I stood.

“Looks like we were both raised with the fifteen minutes is on time, on time is unacceptable mantra.” She waved to me and stood, chuckling while she did. “I didn’t know what kind of drink you might want so I figured I’d wait.”

It was cute she thought that I would ever feel comfortable with someone buying me a cup of coffee, but I respected her for the offer.

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