Serendipity

By Laura Schulteis-Jungbluth

Hi -

I never received the winter issue of “Clover HIll”. I'd like to cancel my subscription and request a refund. Please confirm.

Sincerely, Sarah Jefferson

I sent this email to a literary magazine inquiring about an edition that had supposedly been mailed out to me and received in March, but now, here it is June, and there is still no issue. Had I waited too long to request a refund?

My life could be summed up by my online purchasing habits: lit mags, collagen peptides, triple-milled soap…. Oh, and streaming services! Netflix, Hulu, Apple TV. Gotta love Ted Lasso. I could go on about my online purchases, but I wouldn’t want to bore you with subscription-addiction chatter. I am told that is one of my character flaws, “going on” about boring stuff that no one wants to listen to. Blah Blah Blah.

Except for Slippers, my Basset Hound. He listens, never complains. He’s a good boy.

I’ve been working on keeping my mouth shut. Listening twice as much as I speak. You know the saying, ‘that’s why we have two ears “and one mouth?’ I’ve heard that one from my everloving grandmother for two decades and some change.

Now that I think about it, maybe that’s what's holding me back from finding true love. My droning! (Watershed moment!) Walking to the subway, I drone. Ride-sharing to work, I drone. I drone to myself, I drone to whoever will listen to me, on and on and on, as if anyone wanted to hear the near-endless thoughts inside my head. OMG, Sarah, just shut up already!

I’ve met someone. On Hinge. I wasn’t going to do the online meet-and-greet thing, but my 15-year-old niece took my phone, and well, here we are. This Hinge guy, his name is Steve. About my age, 28. He has some kind of IT job, went to one of our state community colleges, Crowder? State Fair? I can’t remember now. We’re meeting here, at my second fave third place, The Coffee & Charcuterie Cocina. I guess neither of us wants to put money into a fancy-shmancy dinner if it isn’t going to lead anywhere, I mean, at least we’re both realistic.

I’ll close my laptop, slide it into my backpack, and collect my thoughts as I sit here and wait for Steve to show up. I arrived early. Treated myself to one of CCC’s signature salted chocolate cashew cookies. The whole dessert before dinner thing that most of us longed to do as kids, but really, it only gives me heartburn. I’m sinking this dating ship and it hasn’t even left the harbor.

Ok, I was going to take a “freshen up” bathroom break, but now my senses are suddenly on high alert. I smell something recognizable and not at all unpleasant. It’s Bleu de Chanel.

“Excuse me, are you Sarah?”

My eyes find his as I blank-stare at him oddly, for a whiff of a second, wondering why this Adonis of a man is speaking my name. Suddenly, in a quick flash of self-awareness (do I or don’t I have cookie bits stuck in my teeth?), I realize this is Steve. Steve who is also early. Steve who smells of cedar and sandalwood. Me who is not put together.

“Yeah,” is my lame reply. I stand up to shake his hand as if I’m the dude and indicate the empty seat across from me as an invitation for him to sit. My face conjures a sincere yet cautionary smile. He’s all khaki pants, half-tucked pink Oxford shirt, and white sneaks -Veja’s. Bold choice for a first meeting, if not conservative. Me, in my vintage Coca-Cola rugby shirt, mom-jeans, and red high-top Chucks, am totally third-place appropriate.

“You look shocked,” Steve interrupts my thoughts as he sits, his eyes not leaving mine. “Should I be concerned? It’s the outfit, isn’t it? Work. I just came from work or I would be far more casual. Great shirt by the way.”

The tension in the air has thankfully lifted, at least for me; like our corner of the world let out a long, slow sigh. I like sighs, they’re healthy, promote relaxation, and lower the heart rate.

“Sorry,” I say, “You just caught me off guard, is all.”

“I tend to do that. Catch people off guard.”

The corners of his mouth turn up. He has a dimple on one cheek, but not the other. His smile is gentle and genuine, there’s an ease about him. So far, so good. And I am not droning - also good.

“I’ve read your stuff,” he says, followed by, “Geeze, I sound like a stalker.”

“You have?” I’m caught off guard again, the second time in less than five minutes. I twirl a small piece of my dark blonde hair around my finger, a nervous habit that my mother hates.

“You are Sarah Jefferson, the writer? Aren’t you? You didn’t mention it on Hinge but…”

Never in my life has this happened. It isn’t anything that I’ve advertised on dating apps. He probably searched my name. But there must be like a dozen Sarah Jeffersons that are writers, I’m certainly not the only one… My bio pic. That’s what betrayed my half-assed attempt at anonymity.

I raise an eyebrow of curiosity, testing the waters, “This Sarah Jefferson, the writer that you speak of, where would you have read any of her work?”

“Are you hungry?” Steve inquires, clearly trying to reroute the conversation, “Do you want to order first?”

“Tell me, and then we can order,” I am being coy, but Mr. Steve here doesn’t miss a beat. He pulls his phone from his back pocket (oh my God, he smells SO good!), finds what he’s looking for, and turns the screen for me to view. “Right here, the winter issue of ‘Clover Hill.’ Great piece, love the title - ‘Serendipity’”.

I look into Steve’s pool-blue eyes that are mirroring my own and reply with quiet confidence, “I do too.”

🩷🩷🩷

Laura Schulteis-Jungbluth serves up a multiplicity of words daily, satisfying most appetites in her 360. She is a school librarian (middle grades, Lord help her) and weekly columnist for two local papers. Her musings ooze everything from satire and wit to the mundane but necessary.

Communing with nature, supporting the Humanities, and stumbling upon a new brew pub with her husband are also a part of her repertoire. The order of priority varies daily.

Laura appreciates, but doesn’t understand, people who have an affinity for housekeeping.