On Saturday we decided Monday is date night. Neither of us like Mondays, and this would give us something to look forward to on a day we normally don’t. It was all we talked about all weekend: what would we eat, what would we wear? It got to where I had to shut it all down on Sunday because we both knew we were setting expectations too high.
“It’s just dinner,” I said, “not like, we’re going to a Broadway show. Chill out!”
“But Kate!” replied Meg, “it’s date night. DATE NIGHT!”
I sighed. Sometimes Meg gets fixated on things.
Monday
Work started as it usually does on Monday: emails, and lots of them. Music promos, advertisements for new books and about a half-dozen newsletters to catch up on. And only then could I start scanning for ideas for the week’s column, due Thursday at noon. I was busy deleting my entire inbox when I heard footsteps. It was Ed Swartz, my editor.
“Kate,” he said, “how was the weekend? Good I hope. Listen, this came in the mail today and I think you’d like it.” He tossed a book on my desk. What We Were Looking For. I picked it up and started thumbing through it as Ed continued.
“It’s about life, the internet, that sort of thing.” He waved his hand in the air. “You know, modern stuff. I think it’ll make for a good column, a sort of ‘Books of the Times’ kind of thing. Give it a read and let me know.”
I shrugged. No point in saying no because Ed was already on his way back, and it wasn’t like I had anything else in mind. I closed my laptop, stretched out and started reading. Before I knew it, it was lunchtime and I was halfway through. I sent Ed an email:
Love the book, I’ve been reading it all morning. I think there’s definitely a column here, I’ll finish it today and then I’ll write up something in the morning.
Looking at the clock, I figured I’d have enough time to bang out the book at the office, get home and get ready for date night. I opened the book and began reading.
Bzzt… bzzt… my phone was buzzing. I yawned, closed the book and looked. “Where are you? Dinner’s been ready for an hour??” Why was Meg texting me about dinner? It was only… 6:15?! I dropped the book on the floor and stood up: the newsroom was empty, Ed’s office was dark and the only lights still on were the motion-sensor ones. How long had I been reading?
“Shit!” I said under my breath. “Goddamnit!” I grabbed my coat, shoved my phone in my purse and got ready to leave. But at the door I turned around and ran back to my desk - I had to grab the book. I mean, it was a really good read, wasn’t it?
Tuesday
Meg wasn’t thrilled with me for being so late to our dinner date, so the next day I decided I’d make it up to her: I’d cut out of work early and cook her something fancy from scratch. Kimchi nachos, or something like that. You know, comfort food. I spent the morning at the paper, writing and re-writing a review of the book. Around 11 I sent Meg a text: “Ready for dinner tonight?” About an hour later she called me.
“Kate, you’ll never guess where I’ve been all morning! I was having coffee with a friend and they told me about this play they’re auditioning for, so I went downtown with them just to take a look and, well, before I knew it I was doing a monologue and they said they’d love to have me aboard!”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, “a play? Does it pay? I thought you quit acting roles that don’t pay. And this seems mighty quick, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, I thought that too, but it’s only a small part. It doesn’t pay but it’s a modern-dress version of Richard III and it’s set in the White House and, Kate, it sounds so good! I’m so excited they want me for this!”
I looked around my desk, eyes settling on my calendar. I’d written “Date Night” on it for Monday, then drew an arrow from it extending to today.
“Well, I’m glad to hear honey. How late are you going to be?”
“I really don’t know. We have to do a fitting and then I’ve got to practice my line, and then maybe there’s a rehearsal? I shouldn’t be too late.”
I sighed, said bye and hung up. Then I drew the arrow going over another day, to Wednesday.
Wednesday
Meg didn’t get home until 10 on Tuesday, and by that point I’d fallen asleep on the couch, a rerun of “Cheers” streaming on my laptop. I didn’t remember getting to bed, but when I woke up, she was fixing coffee and I was in the bedroom. I got out of bed, and still wearing yesterday’s sweatpants, went to the kitchen.
“Mornin’ sweetie,” she said. I mumbled good morning as Meg handed me a coffee. “Sorry I was so late last night, the fitting ran long and then I had to be there for the whole rehearsal, even though I’m practically a walk on.” She sipped her coffee. “When the guy offered me a role, he made it seem bigger, which was why I jumped at it.”
“Are you liking it?” I said. “I mean it’s so sudden and you haven’t acted in a few months.”
“I don’t know. It seems kind of thrown together, like the set is just a big desk right now and the lead needed to read off a script.” She paused, taking another sip. “I don’t know.”
“What are you thinking for tonight, Meg? Italian?”
She looked up from her script and met my gaze. “You still on for date night?” She grinned. “I’ll make you something special to make up for last night. Meg’s surprise dinner.”
I looked at the clock: time to get dressed and go to the office. I got up, kissed Meg and took my coffee into the bedroom.
By ten, I was at my desk, the portable TV set on a morning show and I’d cleared the morning’s inbox junk. I was typing away on another piece - this one a commentary about an anti-trans law in another country - when Twitter started exploding. It looked like someone was caught posting bad shit in the past, or something. I clicked and read a little further. It was the author of that book I’d just reviewed. Apparently she had a history with the irony posters, those guys who made jokes that offended everyone and probably weren’t really jokes anyway.
“Cats are just retarded dogs.” Yikes. “The pizza guy wanted a tip. I said he should give me his whole shaft.” Weirdly horny? I scrolled down and it got weirder and darker: memes where a frog was putting people in gas chambers, another where an anime girl was pointing a gun at “SJWs.” Uh oh. Twitter was going off on her, calling her all kinds of names and demanding her publisher halt publication of the book.
I called Ed, it seemed like the reasonable thing to do.
“Hey, uh, Ed? Are you seeing twitter right now?”
“No, why, what’s happening?”
“Well, remember that book I reviewed? It looks like she’s a creep. You better look her up.”
There was a pause, then a deep sigh. “Why is that frog so smug about putting a presidential candidate in a guillotine?”
“I think it’s like an ironic thing? But I can’t even tell anymore since everyone’s sharing all this stuff she wrote like four years ago where she hates everyone.” I paused, scrolling down Twitter for a moment. “Like, it’s dark shit, Ed. She hates trans people, minorities and those memes make my skin crawl. I gotta pull that piece I wrote, Ed. I can’t stand by that now.”
“Well, what are you going to do? You gotta have something by noon tomorrow.”
“Maybe I’ll re-write my review, I don’t know. But I can’t let that run.”
We hung up, and I went back to my laptop. I opened the word document with my review and deleted everything. Time to start again.
***
I’d just put the finishing touches on my second draft when my phone buzzed. What happened? Read Meg’s text, You said you’d be home by five and it’s already seven. Why aren’t you answering me??
I scrolled down and saw a whole line of missed messages. Oops. This happens sometimes when I’m in the zone and writing. There was a selfie of smiling Meg, then one of a great-looking fettuccine alfredo. Then a picture of a clock. Then one of the alfredo half-eaten, another of it in a tupperware, and finally a picture of the fridge and Meg’s latest message. Shit. I’d missed date night again. I leaned back in my chair and tried to decide what to say.
Sorry, Meg, I wrote, but have you been on Twitter today?
Thursday
Meg wasn’t home when I got in on Wednesday night, and when I went to bed at 10, she was still AWOL. I didn’t see her in the morning either, but when I went to the kitchen, the coffee press was full and there was a note. “It’s your turn to cook tonight.” I guess we were still on for dinner.
I spent the day in the newsroom with one eye on the clock, thinking about what I’d get for dinner. The options seemed endless: cheesy pasta with hot dogs, maybe a fancy pizza with spinach under the cheese? I might even stretch into something truly wild pulled pork tacos. I think the place near our apartment is still delivering?
But thinking about the evening made the day drag by slowly. First came final revisions, then a elephone press conference, and finally, a staff meeting where we went over the paper, page by page. I barely kept my eyes open long enough to get to my story, the one I’d just finished that morning.
“Kate! Good work on such short notice,” said Ed. He’d headlined my story “Irony Poisoning: When The Internet Turns Bad” which I was fine with. I didn’t love it, but I was too bored to fight it. “I appreciate the quick turnaround after all that stuff about the author yesterday.”
“Thanks chief,” I said, stifling a yawn. I took a sip of coffee and looked over him, to the newsroom clock. Two more hours.
He moved on to the next page.
***
I was standing in line at the local pizza place - I’d settled on a nice spinach pizza with basil leaves on top of the cheese - when Meg sent me a text. Rehearsal a disaster. Needs lots of work for opening night tomorrow. Nowhere near ready. Be home late tonight.
Goddamnit. And I’d just about paid for a whole pizza and everything. No way I was taking this home, I thought, and tried to think about where I could go instead. As I got the the head of the line and swiped my card, I’d decided on a place: the Drive Shaft.
The Drive Shaft’s a little queer bookstore in a strip mall at the edge of town. At night it opens up into a bar. It’s run by an old friend named Xan who’s a little shady, and her partner Tanner does security at night. I figured it’d be quiet at 5pm on a Thursday and I could split a pizza with them, if nothing else. I was there within 20 minutes.
“Been a while,” said Xan as she pushed her back back from her round, steel-rimmed glasses. I sat the pizza on the bar and opened the box, offering her a slice. She grabbed one before turning and grabbing me a soda. “What brings you back? If it’s books, Tanner’s putting the shelves away and you’d better hurry.” She motioned over my shoulder, where Tanner was pushing the wheeled shelves along the walls.
“No, just didn’t want to be alone tonight.” I took a slice and bit in. “All week, me and Meg have been planning a night where we get together and have a nice dinner, but shit keeps happening, Xan. I kept having to re-write a piece and now Meg’s in a play, and like, it’s frustrating!” I sighed. “I hate feeling like I come second.”
“Relationships are hard,” said Xan. “Me and Tanner, we’re here at least five nights a week, maybe more in the summer when everyone wants to come out and have a drink. We look for our nights when we can.” She paused, taking another slice. “Sometimes after a week or more of being here every night, we want to take a night and watch a movie, just the two of us. But it’s hard. We gotta pay the bills, and this place doesn’t run itself.”
I nodded. They basically ran the Drive Shaft by themselves, with maybe some part time help here and there. I’d never thought about how much it must dominate their lives.
“It’s nice that you and Meg can have a date here and there, you know? I can’t remember the last time me and them, when we just like, cut out early and saw a movie or something.”
“It was six months ago,” said a voice over my shoulder. Tanner was standing there, their sleeves rolled up and arms crossed. “We saw that movie about the gem guy, the one where he gets killed by the mob.” Tanner looked at me, not caring they’d just spoiled the ending for something I hadn’t seen yet. “Can I have a slice?” I handed them the box. “You gotta take your chances when they come,” they continued. “Life is short and relationships can be messy and hard. But when there’s a chance, you gotta grab it with both hands.”
I nodded. They made a lot of sense. I got up and thanked them. “I appreciate you two talking me down, I needed to hear that.”
“No worries,” said Tanner. “Mind if I finish that pizza?”
As I turned around and walked to the door, I heard Xan start talking. “Since when did you get so wise, honey?”
“Hey I read the books too, not just sell them.” They were kissing when I left.
Friday
It was noon, and I was sitting at my desk feeling satisfied. That morning Meg and I had kissed and told each other this was going to be the night. We hadn’t decided who would cook, or what we’d do, we’d just let it happen. It seemed better that way. I leaned back in my chair, smiling, thinking about what fun we could get up to later.
Ed walked up to the desk carrying an envelope. “Hey Kate, here’s that press pass you needed.”
I turned my head and looked at him skeptically.
“Remember?” he said, drawing out the word. “That trans hockey player makes her debut for the college team tonight? You told me ages ago you’d cover it. Well, here’s your pass.” He paused, as if waiting for something. “You’re welcome,” he said, turning and walking back to his office.
Dammit, I’d completely forgotten about that. It seemed like ages ago I’d brought that up to Ed, and here he had to go and remember it, on the night I was supposed to have a little fun. Oh well - at least hockey stories wrote themselves, more or less. I put the pass on the desk and opened my laptop. I’d have to do some research before game time.
***
At about 5:30 I got into the apartment and started getting stuff together for my evening trip to the rink: camera, notepad, digital recorder. Practically a whole purse full of pens. I wasn’t looking forward to covering the game, but work was work, and the paper always needed more and more content.
I was getting stuff packed in my satchel when Meg came in the door. “Hey honey, bad news. I completely forgot, tonight’s the performance.” She looked down at the floor and then back at me. “We’ll have to try again for tomorrow… what’s with the bag?”
“I completely forgot too, I have to cover a stupid hockey game. Tonight’s the debut of that new trans player for the local college team. Ed wants me to cover it.”
“You mean you’re not going to see me tonight?”
“You mean you aren’t coming with me to the game?”
We looked at each other. All week we’d been planning dates and here we were, Friday night and we couldn’t even figure out what we were supposed to do with ourselves, let alone do together. Some couple we were. Unless....
“Meg. I’ve got an idea.” I walked over and grabbed her hand. “Let’s play hooky.” I walked around, hugged her shoulder and reached into her purse, grabbing her phone. “Let’s be bad.”
She leaned her head into mine. “What about the play? The hockey game?”
“What about them?” I thought back to what Tanner said the night before. “We gotta grab our chances as they come.” I fingered her phone, turning it off. “Come on, let’s go.”
She spun around and hugged me. “Let’s,” she said, as I dropped her phone on the floor. “Let’s grab everything.” We let the door slam behind us as we walked out into the night.