I had a really delicious sandwich, which is important when you’ve spent the previous day puking.
I’d felt like I should give Christophe another chance because you can’t talk to people while you are watching movies. And he’s nice, I tell myself. There’s nothing wrong with him.
He laughs too hard when he tells me about a room mate he had who smoked marijuana. He laughs, like, really hard. And that was the whole story: sometimes this guy’s room smelled like. . . marijuana. And. . . um. . .maybe he should never meet some of my friends. Or my boss.
He’s wearing a sweatervest.
The sandwich is good. So is the soup.
He tells me lots of things look good on the menu, and you’d have to come back a few times to try them all. I don’t bite (in a figurative sense, but I’m doing lots of literal biting. I was so hungry).
I tell him I need to go because I have to stop at the grocery store on my way home. He offers to help me with my groceries, but I assure him I’ll be fine.
We walk. He wants to know if I want to have dinner Friday. I don’t want to commit, just in case Gyan wants to see me. I feel bad, but I lie. I tell him I think I have a going-away party for one of the interns at work. I am pretty sure the party is on Wednesday, but I say I don’t know when it is.
I need to turn right for the grocery store; he needs to turn left for the train. He hugs me, so I hug him back. And he plants a big kiss on my cheek.
I wander around in the grocery store for a while and leave with only a loaf of bread and one apple.