Page 83 of The Vixen

Greasemonkey674:Sorry if that’s too personal.

One sideof my lips stretches.

Saw_yer85:Nothing is too personal for you. We’ve never even met, and I feel closer to you than I do my friends.

Three second pause.

Saw_yer85:My wife passed away three years ago.

Saw_yer85:MS.

Greasemonkey674:OMG I’M SO SORRY! I shouldn’t have asked.

I pictureIris fidgeting on the other side of the computer, her eyes strained from leaning so close to the screen. If she’s a nail biter, they’re in her mouth. If she’s a bracelet wearer, it’s snapping her wrist.

Not once do I imagine her considering the unequal distribution of backstory. In only six days, I’ve learned enough to make a decision.

Newly divorced barista.

Only child, dead parents, all her friends lost in the split from Rick the Prick.

Lonely.Verylonely.

She became a housewife straight out of college, and after six years with no work history, her economics degree is two notches above useless. So she works double shifts in a coffee shop withtwenty-something hipsters who laugh behind her back and take too many mental health days.

She’s barely getting by. And to make things worse, Rick’s lawyer managed to get him out of alimonyandhe got to keep the house. She’s surprised, but this is usually the case.

Desperate, lonely, and heartbroken, Iris is just looking for a place in this world to belong.

Greasemonkey674:I feel close to you too…

Warmth settlesin my chest as I read the words a second time. It doesn’t matter how many times I exchange these lines with a stranger, or how duplicitous the attachment may be—in moments like these, the connection is real.

It’s too damn unfortunate that we’re driving down a dead end street.

Saw_yer85:Maybe we should meet.

The computer dingswith little delay.

Greasemonkey674:You’re in Fiji. I’m in Ohio.

Not a no.

My fingers fly with a response, but I hesitate to send it. This is the beginning of a series of tests, each one more important than the last—is she brave/trusting? Does she handle rejection? Is she ready to jump?

In no reality would I meet a potential playmate in person; never in the past, certainly not now.

Luna would know that. But if I set up a meeting, however false … would she act anyway?

The wool of my sock dulls the sound of my foot tapping against the floor. I hook one ankle over the other and lean in toward the keyboard.

Luna is many things.

Impulsive isn’t one of them.

Saw_yer85:I’ll be in the States next week for business. I could fly to you.

Ten second delay.