The Hanging Words

Kiss and Not Tell

After I've returned from sending my email, it takes a few more awkward minutes to regain our footing than I'd like to admit. I have to give credit to Milo for his undeniable effort. Were it not for him, the dinner would've been a complete disaster.

Being the shit that I am, my mind lingers on my mistake, wondering how poorly this will reflect on me as an employee, and whether or not Felicia will be able to tell that I've phoned my selections in. I'm hopeful I won't receive too much flak given this is a first offense. I've never not given her my recommendations on time. So if I've only slipped up once, she can't really fault me for not having a perfect record.

Or can she?

The missing hours have done a number on me as well, and I find it hard to keep my mind from searching for them. But after about thirty minutes of Milo working full-charisma, not to mention a couple cocktails, I loosen up enough to focus on the task at hand. It helps that I find every little thing that Milo does so goddamn charming. To be honest, he could dunk my vindaloo in my glass and chuck it across the room and I'd probably still swoon.

He doesn't, but it's a thought I have while he tells me about his house-touring experiences. How nine times out of ten he can tell when a client has found the one, and how that's the most rewarding part of the whole affair. Not when the papers are finalized—although he doesn't knock that portion; after all, he's got to make a living—or having the opportunity to see so many different cool and interesting homes. No, his bread and butter is when a couple walks through the front door for the first time and simultaneously look at each other with that euphoric expression of belonging.

"It doesn't happen every time," he says. "Sometimes it takes a few viewings before they fall in love with a home. But the ones who have that moment of clarity"—he snaps his fingers—"that's the best part."

I ask him if he ever falls in love with the houses too. I wouldn't be able to stop myself from imagining the life I could have in each.

Milo shakes his head.

"No. I mean, some of them are really nice houses, don't get me wrong, but something about the fact that I'm showing them for other people keeps me at arm's length." He lifts his fork to his mouth and spends a few seconds chewing in thought. "I've only fallen in love with one house in my entire life, I think. An old house I stayed at in the Northeast one winter when I was visiting family. Something about it was so haunting. I'll never forget."

"You fell in love with a haunted house?" I ask, meaning to tease him.

"Not every haunted thing is bad."

By the time we decide to head for the exit, I can't believe it's been nearly four hours since he picked me up. The night is fucking freezing, and the moment we step outside, my body begins to vibrate violently.

"Jesus Christ!" I say, wrapping my arms around myself. I'm definitely not dressed for this temperature.

Milo laughs. "Quick, to the car!"

When we draw near, the Jetta beeps as if cheering us on. In my haste, I practically yank the door off the hinges before throwing myself inside. Milo slides himself into the driver's seat and wastes no time turning the key in the ignition and cranking the heater for all it's worth.

"That was a close one," he jokes.

"You're telling me."

"Jack Dawson could never!"

The reference sends me into another flurry of laughter.

"Did you just casually allude to the late nineteen hundreds classic disaster romance Titanic?"