Page 4 of Date and Switch

Penn flit around my house in search of god knew what, continuing to spell out his plan while pulling books and knick knacks off my shelves.

“You’ll have someone to keep you company. Maybe they’ll end up being a fun travel companion. Like you said, there will be plenty of times to check in with the office and make sure your favorite brother isn’t drowning beneath your priorities.”

It was preposterous. Every sentence he spoke made it sound more ridiculous. My brain kept whispering what if, and I couldn’t help but wonder.

“What happens if twenty thousand Sarah Millers reply to your post. Who is going to vet them all?”

Penn’s stupid mug split into a lopsided grin. He had looks, don’t get me wrong—square jaw, well-sloped nose; the girls went wild for his smile in school. There were times though, like when he pitched life altering ideas that were questionable at best, he looked like a mischievous five year old who flushed his brothers piggy bank down the toilet. Not that I spoke from experience, of course.

“Bryce, I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t that good looking. I doubt you’ll have more than a handful of women even semi-interested. It’s worth a shot, right? Best case scenario, you find another Sarah Miller and take the vacation of a lifetime. Worst case scenario it was a nice distraction for a few weeks. Maybe you can get Dad to step in and see if he knows anyone at the cruise line to refund you the ticket cost,”

The absolute last thing I wanted to do was involve our Dad. He wasn’t a bad guy per se, but he had strong opinions about everything. I didn’t need to hear them, especially when I still felt like an exposed wire. Fuck it. I said to myself tossing back the last of my beer.

“Let’s do this.”

two

I wouldn’t wallow in all the ways I’d been the opposite of lucky lately. It was too easy to dabble in thoughts of punishment for unknown wrongs, or that life was too “good,” so the pendulum had to swing. I didn’t want to get caught in that whirlpool. Once you trapped yourself in that kind of mindset, the only place to go was further down the drain and into the sewer.

Did it suck not having job? Of course. Was I starting to despair I would never find one again? Perhaps. My unemployment benefits ran out in two months. Then it would be time to start tapping into savings. I could always go back to waiting tables.

“Maybe banking wasn’t for you, B.” B as in Twin B. My sister, Felicity, older by one hour and eleven minutes, had been calling me Twin B for as long as I could remember. Without her, I wouldn’t have muddled through the last six months. “Not that you aren’t good at it, mind you. You’re far too contemplative to be in a field with black and white answers. You need the expanse of big pictures. Not limited by tiny boxes.”

“It’s the only thing on my resume. It’s not like I can suddenly become an, I don’t know—fashion buyer—tomorrow with the list of experience I have now.”

“Please,” she huffed a laugh, “you don’t even balance your checkbook let alone keep a budget and you want to be a buyer?”

She missed the point. I could have said cabinet builder. I didn’t have training or experience in anything other than banking.

“What about using that fancy music degree? Obviously, not singing specifically, but what about trying to get a job at Berklee. Maybe you could be an R.A. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a new place to live.”

We’d both come east for college. Me to Berklee for a music degree, her to NYU. Felicity now helped produce a “topical headlines” show for one of the cable stations.

“Ugh.” I threw my arm across my eyes. I needed to either find a new apartment in less than a month or stay and pay an extra $350 a month.

“You know you’re welcome to come hang with me and Xander for a while. The guest bedroom is already set and waiting for you.”

A change of location was on the list of considerations. I didn’t have the mental energy to make a pro-con list. Not that I had an inordinate amount of time to pick one of the forks in my life’s road. Either I stayed in Boston, and paid an extra $350 for my shitty fourth floor walkup in Allston, or I had to move, find something cheaper probably outside of Boston Metro, or leave the state altogether. None of them sounded fun. My preference was to stay put if at all possible. While Allston wasn’t exactly the crème de la crème of Boston locales, change seemed much less palatable.

“Holy shit!” Felicity’s squeal nearly adding “deaf in one ear” to the list of ways my life was not ideal at the moment. “You will not believe what just came across my news feeds.”

More than likely, it was one of the Kardashian’s announcing a pregnancy, a break up, a new boyfriend, a new mascara line, or any of the above. I still didn’t know how we shared DNA. The last things I gave two shits about were celebrities, and lifestyles of the rich and oblivious. Felicity on the other hand, lived and breathed them. Hazard of the job I guess.

“Oh my god. Sera! You are not going to believe this. Turn on my station! We’re talking about it right now.”

Rather than argue I tuned in to Channel 204 and watched the clip that Felicity still continued to squeal into the phone over.

“Searching for Sarah Miller.” The female broadcaster exclaimed, “Sarah Miller do you live in the greater Boston area? Are you totally okay with sharing a hotel with a complete stranger who may or may not be a serial killer? Well this dude on Tiktok is looking for you—but specifically not the Sarah Miller who cheated on him—to take on a trip around the world. Sound like something you’d be interested in? Don’t say we didn’t warn you. There’s an email listed in the guy’s Linktree.”

I couldn’t find words. So many details converged at once. My sister chattered incessantly in my ear but nothing she said computed. What were the odds that some chump got dumped by a girlfriend with nearly the same name as me?

“… I mean obviously you’d have to require a full background check, with references. Don’t worry I’d call them for you. Clearly. I have the years of news interview experience behind me. I could dig up dirt on the Pope if I had to. You’d need details on the itinerary and when you’d be checking in. Because of course you’d tell him you have family expecting you to check in at every port of call to ensure you haven’t become shark bait somewhere along the way.”

I thought between the two of us, Felicity was supposed to be the levelheaded one. I was supposed to be the glitter bomb who flit from idea to idea. So why was she the one who hadn’t yet come up for air?

“Um, small problem here. Well, lots of small problems and some big ones—mainly with your judgement. But, aside from all of that. The biggest issue is that my name isn’t Sarah Miller. It’s Seraphim Miller.”

“Oh please.”

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