After a meal of stir-fried chicken and rice, I sat on the couch, determined to bury the day in a movie of some sort on TV. I was in the middle of Children of Men when my cell phone buzzed. The first thing I thought was that something had happened at work.
I snatched up the phone and swiped the screen so I could read the text. It was from a number I didn’t recognize. What are you doing on Memorial Day?
I replied, Who’s this?
Guess.
I was too tired to play games. You have the wrong number.
I set aside my phone and went back to my movie. Half an hour later, I received another text. It’s Titus, from work.
Shit. I thought about how he might have gotten my number, but then I remembered that the contact information—including cell phones—for department heads was available on the employee portal. So why was he bugging me at close to ten at night?
It’s late, I typed, hoping he’d get the hint.
Can we meet somewhere tomorrow or Monday?
What the…? I texted back. Why?
Why not?