That Awkward Moment

Just a random writing prompt that inspired me:

You receive a mysterious email and the subject line reads “Everything you know is a lie.” You open the email and read further: “Act calm as to not alert anyone, but everyone around you is not who they say they are. You need to quietly get out of there and meet me at the spot where you had your first kiss. You know the place. My name is Mark.”

I looked up from my phone, then back at the message. Did I read that right? They must have the wrong person. I've never had a first kiss...or have I? I glanced at the email, which read: Mark@genericwebsite.com. What the heck? I wanted an email that said generic website in it.

I'm sorry whoever-you-are, you have the wrong person. I've never had a first kiss. I hope the person that was supposed to get this is in good hands, because you kinda sound like a creeper.

I pressed send, and a only few seconds later there was a shiny new reply. Apparently this guy had nothing better to do than to send emails. With hesitation, I tapped the message.

I apologize for creeping you out, but I know I have the right person. I guess They got to you before I did. I'm sorry you don't remember. I'll meet you instead.

What? No! I glanced around frantically as panic filled me like a water balloon. People dressed in fine clothing occupied the restaurant, all talking in hushed voices and clinking their silverware. My searching eyes connected with my mom's. Her mouth creased with concern at my bewildered expression.

"Are you all right?"

"Um--what? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." I turned away from her and typed furiously with my thumbs.

Okay, I don't know who you are, but you're really freaking me out. This is not a good time; I'm kinda in the middle of something, so if you could kindly just leave me alone, that would be great.

"Your Aunt is late. She said six, and it's seven-thirty."

"I'm sure she just got caught up in traffic." My dad said.

"And will you stop looking at that thing?" I looked up at my mom's harsh tone. She wrinkled her nose and stared the phone in my hand. "This is a nice restaurant. Please save the emails for another time. If you're Aunt sees you wasting away your life on that thing, there's no way you'll make a good impression."

Grudgingly, I slipped my phone away and resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. What my mom really meant was, there's no way she'll consider you for the will. I knew my Great-Aunt Eudora was old, and I also knew she was richer than Jay Gatsby, but that's all I knew. I'd never talked to Great-Aunt Eudora beyond the few words exchanged at my grandpa's funeral:

So you're Leah's daughter? You look so much like her.

I mumbled some unintelligible response, and thus was the end of our conversation.

"I don't even know what to say to her." I said.

"Just tell her about your life. I'm sure that will get the conversation rolling." My dad said. I was about to reply and say that of all people, I wasn't one to get conversations rolling, but I was interrupted by my mom's excited voice.

"Hello Eudora! I'm glad you could make it. And who's this?"

At the mention of another person, I looked up. A man with dark hair and a tweed jacket, who was probably in his twenties, was shaking hands with my parents. He was so tall that when standing next to my short Aunt Eudora, he looked like a telephone pole. At least a head taller than my parents, he grinned with a wide, bright smile. I wondered for a minute how he didn't clock his head on the doorway while coming in.

"I'm Mark." I sucked in a breath and choked. Sputtering, I gripped the tablecloth. My parents pretended not to notice. "I'm a good friend of Eudora's, and I just happened to be in the neighborhood when I saw she was having a bit of car trouble. What are the odds?" My parents laughed, and Mark glanced at me. His sincere eyes examined me; I put on my best poker face.

Who is this guy? There's no way it's the same guy I was emailing. But what if it is? Crap, what should I do?

The adults took a seat and began exchanging small talk.

"So, what was wrong with your car?" My mom began. I tuned out to their conversation and snuck glances at Mark. He seemed to be paying full attention to what they were saying--in fact, they were all pretty involved, and not looking towards me at all. Perfect.

My fingers inched towards the phone in my pocket, and ever so delicately, I lifted the rectangle from its hiding place and hovered it as close to the tablecloth as possible. I glanced down only for brief seconds at a time, so as to not arouse suspicion.

Is that you?

I hit send.

Mark's coat pocket shook with an audible vibrate. Without looking at me, he reached into the front pocket, typed something, then put it back.

Yes.

I looked up from my phone, eyes wide. With a serious expression, Mark returned my stare and nodded.

Oh, that's great. Just great.