B354

6:54PM

C’mon already. At this point I’d pay them to let me punch out now. 

My fingers tap against the desk. I feel like I’m at a starting line waiting for the gun to go off.

Please don’t call. Please don’t call. Please don’t call. Please don’t—

BEEP

FUUUUCKKKKK me.

“Thank you for contacting customer service. How can I help you?” I said, hoping this person would be immediately sucked into some Hellmouth vortex so I can disconnect. 

Why was it always me? Why did I always get the last call? 

I listened half-heartedly and figured out his problem before he finished explaining it. 

Can’t interrupt the customer, though. Five points off your Quality Assessment if you interrupt their twenty- minute introduction about how they were born in a manger, survived three wars, and had been a loyal customer sing nineteen-fucking-eighty-seven, only for the story to finally end with I need to change my address.

I don’t want to be late. Any night but tonight. 

I pulled up the restaurant’s menu online while he droned on. Ravioli, maybe? The steak is good. We could just sprint straight to dessert. Their garlic bread is a religious experience, too. But if we kiss later then that could be a problem. 

Then again…garlic bread. 

I weighed the cost in my head. 

First dates are always so weird. It feels like everyone is a version of themselves that exists only during a job interview. I like long walks on the beach and dogs and I know Excel and how to be a team player. I stuff myself into some outfit I would never normally wear and hope I can think of enough things to talk about for two hours. Then I’d get home, the bra would come off, the true-crime documentary would go on, the comfy socks and popcorn would come out, and the true, comfortable, nasty little gremlin that I really was would emerge.

Don’t feed me after midnight.

But I didn’t feel like that with her. It was easy. Effortless. I couldn’t wait to see her.

Was he asking me something?

“Yes, I understand how frustrating that can—”

Oh. Nope. He wants to just hear his own voice, I guess.

I’d thought about her all day. 

Two years is a long time without a date. Maybe. Yeah, probably. I don’t know. I felt like it was less of a crime to be single in your thirties these days. My mother had spent my early twenties hoping for a nice, tall, very male son-in-law. After I came out and she realized it wasn’t just a phase, she pivoted to hoping I’d meet some sweet hippie girl who would open a bakery with me. We’d sell bread at a farmers market on weekends and have two precocious little brats who’d call her Gammy or GramGram or something equally as obnoxious. She’d have settled for that. 

Once I hit twenty-eight, she lowered her expectations. 

Now at thirty, I think she believes a human of any kind would suffice. So this was a momentous day.

We were supposed to meet at eight. I’d been hoping to get home, shower, and change into something less depressing. If this guy doesn’t stop talking in the next two minutes, I’m unplugging my phone. 

Oh darn, the call must have dropped. Tragic.

Almost as tragic as the place I met her...

B319

  The DMV was purgatory, I’m pretty sure. Purgatory with paperwork. 

  She was sitting against the wall just to the side of me in one of those plastic blue chairs that had been designed by someone who clearly hated people. A digital ticket counter mounted above the service window had everyone’s attention. We looked like dogs staring at the front door, waiting for someone to come home. 

Ding.

B320. 

“I’m going to die here,” I heard her say. 

I snickered. 

She looked over and smiled. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in a DMV. 

She was reading Audre Lorde and had a freckle under her right eye. Her dark blonde hair was half up in a messy knot. Her sunglasses pushed her hair back in that effortless way some women can do that makes the rest of us wonder how. 

Dark-green sweater. Jeans ripped in the knee. 

She was pretty. Not DMV pretty, either, where the prolonged exposure to despair lowered everyone’s standards. 

No. Her pretty was different.

6:58PM

“Okay, I’m happy to help you with this. The reason you aren’t getting your statements by mail is because you changed your delivery preference to electronic about two months ago. But I can show you how to change it back. Are you logged in now?”

B320

“What number are you?” I asked, making conversation.

She held up her ticket. “B354. I should update my emergency contacts.” 

I huffed. “Seriously. I thought making an appointment would matter but I see now it was just busywork to make us think we’re in control.”

“Oh, I knew that the second they made me fill out the paper form when we came in with all the same information I already put in online,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What a waste of time.”

“I’ve had worse birthdays. Although this is right up there.”

“You came to the DMV on your birthday?” She asked. “Is this some kind of cry for help? Should I call somebody?”

I smirked. “I forgot my license expires tomorrow. I’ve never been pulled over in my life, but knowing my luck, I’d get nabbed pulling out of my driveway.”

She folded her book over her knee. “Not sure if a jailhouse birthday would be that much fun.”

“Although…” I made a show of considering it. “A day off work.” 

She nodded. “Silver lining.”

Ding.

B320 flashed again.

A collective rustling of people checking their tickets moved through the room even though they’d probably looked at them a hundred times and knew damn well their number wouldn’t magically change. 

A worker called out. 

“B320?” 

Nothing.

“What an asshole,” I said.

“He was probably here a week ago and died waiting. What number are you?” 

I held up my ticket. She squinted for a moment, trying to read it, but shook her head. 

She stood, tossing her book into her big hobo bag and moving to sit next to me. 

I smiled as she leaned over to look at the ticket. I could smell a trace of her perfume, something warm and clean, and my heart did a stupid little skip. 

She made a face.

“B368. You should be outta here…” She looked up at the clock. “Next Thursday or so.”

Ding. 

B321

A man stood, walking past us.

“Look at him,” she whispered. “Smug prick. Walking around with his B321.”

“Probably doesn’t even appreciate it,” I said. “I should trip him and take his spot.”

“Let me. As a birthday present.”

“Generous.”

“Ah, shit. He’s already at the counter.”

“Just as well. There’s cameras everywhere.”

7:04PM.

Officially MY time. 

“Yes, sir, you have to click on the Settings button. It’s shaped like a little gear in the upper-right corner.”

A pause.

“Yes. You click it with your mouse.”

Another pause.

“Yes, that one. Perfect. Now go down to Statement Delivery Preferences. It should be toward the bottom of the list.

My knee had started bouncing beneath my desk. 

“Yes, sir, you have to click on the setting button. It’s shaped like a little gear icon in the upper right hand corner…yes. Yes, that one. Perfect. Now go to ‘Statement Delivery Preferences’ toward the bottom of the list.”  

B330

“How old are you?”

I looked up.

“Is that rude?” She asked. “I’m too bored to care, honestly, If we’re going to be living here together for the foreseeable future, I should at least know how old you are.”

“Well, I was thirty when I got here…”

“I’m twenty-nine. Share your wisdom. What’s thirty gonna look like?”

I considered it. “I can happily say that I no longer feel the need to argue with stupid people. The earth is flat? There are lizards running the government? Two times two is nine? Sure. Fine. Absolutely.”

She nodded as if that were genuinely encouraging.

“I also don’t have patience for people who believe in Astrology anymore.”

“That’s such a Libra thing to say.”

I ignored that. “I don’t feel bad about eating anything anymore.”

“Oh...that’s a superpower.”

“I know. It’s incredible. I’m not pretending matcha or kale or kombucha tastes good ever again. It’s a lie and everyone knows it’s a lie.”

“I hope that’s where I’m headed.”

“You’ve got time.”

“You think?”

I gestured around us. “I mean, maybe not anymore…” 

She giggled and it was glorious. I had to look away for a second before I could remember how to think again.

“And I know good cheesecake.” 

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh, yeah? That’s a serious claim.”

“Hey, respect your elders. I know what I’m talking about.”

She looked at me with a conspiratorial smile. 

7:13PM

Forty-seven minutes to go. Every minute felt stolen now. 

“No, sir. You don’t have to click that.”

I closed my eyes. 

“Okay that’s fine.”

It was not fine.

“Just click your back button one time.”

My heel was tapping now, an impatient rhythm against the carpet beneath my desk. 

Forty-seven minutes. There’s no way I’m going to be able to take a shower. 

B339.

“Really sprinting along now.”

“Don’t be so sure. That one looks like trouble,” I said, pointing to a woman in the corner.

She made a face. “So many folders.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“At least I’m fourteen closer than you.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned your privilege.”

“I’ll be done and you’ll still be here.”

“Me and my vending-machine Diet Shasta Orange.” I raised the can and took a sip.

“Is that exclusive to DMV vending machines? I’ve never seen that brand in the wild.”

“I think it existed in the nineties. It’s probably expired. I don’t wanna look.” 

She smiled and looked around. For the first time since we started talking, neither of us said anything. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t.

“I could wait for you,” she said.

I looked at her.

She shrugged when I looked at her, suddenly almost bashful for the first time since I met her. “Make sure your body doesn’t fuse with the chair.”

“You’d willingly wait at the DMV longer than you need to for a stranger?”

“That’s a giant red flag, isn’t it?” 

“I’m a lesbian, so it’s basically a proposal.”

“Well, we’ve trauma-bonded. I’d feel guilty leaving you here to rot. Especially on your birthday.”

I tried to control the look of adoration I directed toward her, but there was no hiding it.

“Maybe we could go for a late breakfast after this,” she offered.

“I have work at eleven—”

“Oh.” Her face fell just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s fine. It was just a thought.”

“—but how about dinner tonight?” 

She drew a breath in. 

For one horrible second, I thought she was about to say no. Was this weird? I was hitting on a woman at the DMV and I didn’t even know her name.

“I’m Abby,” I said.

There was a pause. Then she held out her hand. 

“Give me your phone, Abby.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, open your contacts.”

I didn’t hesitate. I unlocked my phone and handed it over. She typed, grinning when she handed it back to me.

Contact name: B354.

“Also known as Hannah,” she said. 

“I’m gonna call you B, and no one will ever know why.”

“Show me where that good cheesecake is.”

Ding.

B343.

“Twenty-five more.”

“Eleven for me.”

“Bitch.”

She bit her tongue when she laughed.

7:15PM

Forty-five minutes.

“Perfect, now just click Save.”

Silence.

“Do you see the save button at the bottom of the screen?”

Another pause. 

“There you go. Click the blue button.”

7:16PM

Forty-four.

Then, finally…

“Oh no problem. Happy to help. Is there anything else I can assist you with tonight?”

Please say no, please say no, please say—

“Actually…”

Of course. There was always an actually.

7:17PM

Forty-three.

I thought about the DMV. About B319 and B320 and B330. About a room full of people watching the clock and begging for the time to go by faster. And there I was, hoping it would never end. 

What a waste of time, Hannah had said.

And then she'd wasted more of it on me. She'd moved into the chair beside mine. She'd stayed after B354 flashed on the screen. She'd waited for B368. She waited until I was done. She walked out with me and I got to see her in the sunshine for a moment. 

I promised I’d meet her there. It had been a long time since I’d felt the way she made me feel. Actually—have I ever felt like that? Maybe not. 

That was sad. Thirty years and I’ve never felt like I did sitting in those stupid blue chairs with this woman I didn’t know. I refused to miss it.

7:19PM

Thirty-nine.

“Sir, yes the payment went through.”

“Well, okay, I guess that’s all I needed…”

I didn’t even wait for him to say more.

“Great! Thank you for calling online support and have a wonderful night.”

I hung up before he could ask anything else.

I’d already packed up my bag. I'd grabbed my sweater. I clicked the Log Out button but didn’t even wait for my laptop to reboot. 

Because she was waiting for me. And I wasn’t going to be late.

I didn’t care about the time I’d lost with this stupid customer. I didn't care about the time that I lost on my birthday. I didn't care about the time I'd lost at the DMV. 

And I didn’t care about the time I’d lost waiting to meet her. 

The only time I cared about now were all the minutes that were waiting for us.