Spoonbenders

She tried to tell him his race didn’t matter, that he didn’t even need to mention it, but he said of course he did; it would have been the first thing she noticed if they’d met face-to-face…

…which was what they were about to do.

The flow of exiting passengers slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Half a minute later, a pair of flight attendants came out, wheeling their micro bags behind them. Where was he? Did he slip past without her noticing? Or was he not on the flight?

“Irene?” a voice said.

She turned, and looked up into Joshua Lee’s smiling face. Of course she recognized him. He was exactly himself.

She lifted her arm as if to shake his hand, then realized that was ridiculous. She leaned forward and hugged him. His chest was solid. And his hand against her back, so real. The thereness of him shocked her.

“So this is you,” he said.

“It’s me,” she said.

“It’s so good to—”

“No!” she said. “You promised.”

“Right,” he said. “The rules. No pleasantries.”

“And no emotion words.” She winced apologetically. “I know it’s weird.”

He started to say something, then stopped himself. “Is hunger an emotion?”

“Edge case,” she said.

“Can I ask if you’re hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

“I’ll allow it,” she said.

“Because I’ve got three and a half hours before my flight, and I want to try that sandwich you were talking about—the combo.”

“Oh, you can’t handle the combo. Besides, it’ll take us a half hour to get to my car, another twenty minutes to drive to the restaurant—”

“That’s plenty of time.”

They walked toward the exit, her skin inches from his. She’d been so wrong. Hunger was no edge case.

—

One night in the chat room, he’d mentioned that he frequently came through Chicago on the way to New York and sat through long layovers. She ignored the hint. He brought it up a couple more times, and then finally came out and said that he was flying through O’Hare next week and wanted to see her. She tried to explain that this was impossible, and that led to a long discussion of what he called her “trust issues” and she called her “reality issues.”

LAST DAD STANDING: Why are you so afraid I’ll lie to you?

IRENE T: Everybody lies. I’m not saying you’re a bad person. I lie all the time. I’ll lie to you!

LAST DAD STANDING: You can see how I might have trouble with this.

IRENE T: That’s why it won’t work for us to meet. I just can’t take it in person. Not with someone I care about.

LAST DAD STANDING: See? You care about me! I win.

IRENE T: Unless I’m lying. But I’m not. You see how nice it is to believe me?

But he wouldn’t give up. He wore her down, and eventually she agreed to meet him at that airport, but only if he followed certain rules.

IRENE T: You can’t say, It’s so nice to meet you. You can’t say, You look nice.

LAST DAD STANDING: What if you DO look nice?

IRENE T: Doesn’t matter. If you say it once, then you’d feel you have to say it every time.

LAST DAD STANDING: I don’t see the problem if I’m telling the truth. If I’m happy to see you, I want to tell you.

IRENE T: Tell me here, if you have to. But not out there.

LAST DAD STANDING: Where you can see my big lying liar’s face?

IRENE T: I’m sorry. I can’t do this any other way.

LAST DAD STANDING: Then that’s the way we’ll do it. I’m happy to try total honesty. No lie.

As they drove out to Johnny’s Red Hots, trying to fill the silence without tripping over her conversational rules, she realized she’d made a terrible mistake. “Total honesty” was not what she was asking for; that was what they already had, when they were online together, talking in the dark through their keyboards. She was asking for something impossible: earmuffs that filtered out untruths yet let the rest of his voice through.