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The cab slowed as we approached a red light, and he looked me over one last time before moving back and opening his door.
“Have a good night,” he said. “Hope your date goes well this weekend.”
“Do you really mean that?”
“Not at all.” He smiled and stepped out.
“I’m free tomorrow and any time after the weekend,” I said, now knowing that my date with Jameson was a mere formality. “Now that I know you actually exist, I can unblock and message you back on Tinder.”
He looked up at the light as it turned green, sighing. “Happy New Year, Meredith.”
“Happy New Year, Michael.”
He shut the door and I kept my eyes on him as the driver pulled away. Until the only thing I could see was a blur of other yellow taxis and town cars.
When I made it to my condo, I noticed a bouquet of bright white roses and a blue box on my counter. It was my fourth bouquet this week. Just like the other deliveries, a small silver note hung from one of the stems.
I’m very sorry, Meredith.
I’d love to meet in the new year to apologize over brunch and start over. Just us.
(I’ve also decided to postpone the political things to focus on what’s most important.)
I love you.
Sincerely trying,
Dad
I sighed and sent him a text.
Me: I got your flowers (again…) A brunch after New Year’s works for me. I want to start over, too.
Right after hitting send, I logged into Tinder. I wanted to see Michael again tonight—logic be damned, but when I clicked on my inbox, our entire message thread was gone.
He’d deleted his profile.