TMI
by Kay Rae Chomic
First date, coffee house. Twin orders of grande, half-caf latte, two pumps hazelnut, no foam. Natalie, pretty with full lips, hair like a tumbleweed, petite. Jason, thin lipped, sparse hair, small-boned, liked the matchup. Halfway through their one-hour meetup, he decided to call her Nat if they continued to date.
They split an eclair and jelly donut and shared work horror stories: boss who micromanaged (hers), 40 third-graders in a classroom (his).
“I watch Breaking Bad reruns to escape.”
“Oh, my God, so do I.”
Natalie’s cell ringtone blared Katie Perry’s Hot N Cold.
“Sorry, I need to get that. It’ll be my boss,” she said. Her hand, like a backhoe’s bucket, scooped from her purse a brush, lipstick, ketchup packets, credit card receipts, tweezers, sun screen, pens (recycled plastic), a tampon half out of its wrapper. “Everything is an emergency with her.” The phone, and a vial of prescription drugs toppled to the floor. Natalie bent at the waist, placed one hand atop her pile of goods on the table while her other hand’s fingers scampered to collect the vial.
Jason covered the vial with his shoe, picked it up, read the label, and offered it to her with his kindest smile. He knew there would be no second date.
Kay Rae Chomic, novelist (A Tight Grip), and writer of flash: Cabinet of Heed, Ellipsis Zine, Retreat West (1st place-micro fiction), Cranked Anvil (shortlisted), Every Day Fiction, Hundred Heroines, LISP (semi-finalist), Storgy Magazine, Five:2:One, 50-Word Stories, and more. Kay lives in Seattle dodging raindrops, and loves Motown music.