Meet Me at Midnight

ElizaBeth: I can’t believe you actually left me a box of cookies in the seventh-floor break room fridge.

ThunderStruck: Yeah, well, I would have left them in YOUR floor’s break room fridge if you’d tell me what floor you work on, but I did my best to pick a neutral location almost halfway up the building. I can’t believe you’ve lived in Miami your whole life and never had Cindy Lou’s Cookies.

For the past week, every night around nine, I log in to Midnight, enter the chat with ElizaBeth, and talk with her for an ungodly amount of time. Last night, I finally went to bed around two in the morning and was dragging ass on my way into work. Though, I didn’t forget to make good on my promise to bring her Miami’s best cookies.

ElizaBeth: I guess I’ve been deprived. Tell me, Mr. Grinch, when did you first discover Cindy Lou?

ThunderStruck: In college, actually. My mom isn’t an almond mom, but she’s not the type to bake either. By the time I got to UofM, I was desperate for sugar.

ElizaBeth: Wow. Talk about a wild college rebellion. LOL

ThunderStruck: What can I say? Cookies are safer than hookers and blow. So…how many floors did you have to go in the elevator to get to that break room? Or did you not even have to take the elevator?

ElizaBeth: Like I’d tell you that.

ThunderStruck: I had to try. It’s not easy being the only one in the dark about identities.

ElizaBeth: You’re right. I guess it is a little unfair that I know who you are but you don’t know who I am.

ThunderStruck: So…you’re finally going to bring me into the light?

ElizaBeth: Nope. LOL.

ThunderStruck: You’re a cruel woman.

ElizaBeth: Not cruel. Cautious.

ThunderStruck: Cautious of what?

ElizaBeth: Of what all the things coming out of the dark would mean.

ThunderStruck: I have to assume an ominous tone with that last bit, but have you considered all the positive things that might happen in the light?

ElizaBeth: Like what?

ThunderStruck: Kissing. Touching. Dating. I’m a really good dater. Very good at the wine and dine.

ElizaBeth: All that sounds incredible. Really. But I don’t think we can move forward without doing something else first.

ThunderStruck: What?

ElizaBeth: Rating cookies.

ThunderStruck: If there were a blue balls form of message, that would be it.

ElizaBeth: LOL Sorry. But this is important. Because you think these cookies are the best. I’m not so sure. Chocolate Chip… 8.2/10

ThunderStruck: What??? Only an 8 out of 10?

ElizaBeth: Lemon Cloud… 7.5/10

ElizaBeth: Rocky Road… 8/10

ThunderStruck: Did you give a single cookie a 10???

ElizaBeth: Red Velvet… 7.8/10.

ThunderStruck: Oh my God. Are you sure you were eating the right cookies?

ElizaBeth: The box with the “For Mystery Woman” note on the top and Cindy Lou emblazoned on its every surface? Pretty sure.

ThunderStruck: I think you’re a cookie snob, ElizaBeth.

ElizaBeth: Or maybe my palate is just more discerning than yours.

ThunderStruck: Wow, insulting my cookies and my palate? What’s next?

ElizaBeth: I don’t have any other complaints. But with the way you raved about these cookies, I honestly thought it would feel like heaven was touching my tongue the moment I took a bite.

ThunderStruck: BECAUSE IT IS LIKE THAT.

ElizaBeth: It’s okay, Beau. You don’t have to be good at everything, you know? Everyone has at least one flaw for the sake of the rest of us.

I laugh. Out loud. In my bedroom. All by my fucking self. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I like her. And the more we chat on Midnight, the more I want to chat with her. She clearly still hasn’t told me who she is, but I’ve learned so much about her in other ways.

I know she’s incredibly smart. Hilariously sarcastic. And gets me to talk about the most unexpected shit. She’s a breath of fresh air that has come at a time in my life when everything was starting to feel stale.

I feel invigorated, which is insane, because I don’t even know this woman. She could be catfishing me for all I know, but I just…can’t stop talking to her. Can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop hoping that one day soon, she’ll tell me who she is.

ThunderStruck: Do you think you’ll ever tell me who you really are?

ElizaBeth: I don’t know.

ThunderStruck: If you don’t…where do you see this going? I mean…it’ll have to end at some point, won’t it?

My pulse thrums at the thought of never talking to her again, but at this point, I have to push the envelope. I understand taking it slow, but I’m going to want more to hold a year from now than my fucking phone.

ElizaBeth: I don’t want it to end. Truly. I just…don’t know how to give more than this. It’s terrifying.

ThunderStruck: Why don’t we take it one step at a time, then?

ElizaBeth: One step at a time?

ThunderStruck: Sure. Any progress is progress, right?

ElizaBeth: Okay. What’s step one?

ThunderStruck: Maybe you can give me a tiny hint. Some kind of something to let me know that you’re actually real.

ElizaBeth: You afraid I’m just some AI bot?

ThunderStruck: Fuck me. That’d certainly be an unexpected twist, but it is the world’s fastest-growing technology.

ElizaBeth: Hold, please…

A minute or two goes by before a picture message appears inside the chatbox.

It’s grainy and dark but showcases the length of her bare arm. A few small freckles form a zigzag path from her wrist to her elbow.

I’m real, she says.

She’s real. And even from her arm, I know that she’s beautiful. But I can’t decide if I know that because of the picture or because of the words we’ve shared inside Midnight.

For the past year, I’ve basically drowned myself in work. The initial two months after Bethany and I broke up and she got engaged to Seth were a mindfuck. It wasn’t easy losing a best friend and a girlfriend in one fell swoop. It was downright misery, if I’m honest.

And the few months after that, I tried to date. Went out and partied with the guys way too often. Even had a handful of one-night stands.

But nothing ever felt fulfilling.

Sure, work gave me purpose, but I know a cushy office with no one at home isn’t the fucking finish line. I want a life with someone.

I thought I had that life with Bethany, but now, looking back on it all with eyes that aren’t clouded by love, I know our relationship had truly run its course.

We’d grown into two different people with different priorities and different visions of the future. Bethany wants glitz and glamour. I want real.

A wife and kids I’m actively engaged with, dirty diapers I changed in the trash, and a home-cooked dinner I made on the stove. To have that, I need a woman who prioritizes time with our future kids over jet-setting across the damn world just because we have the money to do it.

ElizaBeth feels like she could be all those things and more.

ElizaBeth: Step two tomorrow?

ThunderStruck: I can’t wait.

ElizaBeth: Goodnight, Beau.

ThunderStruck: Goodnight, Mystery Woman.

Fuck me, she’s addictive.

I know I don’t know her. And I know this shit is completely reckless on my part, considering the implications for myself, my father, and the company if this would go wrong. But I can’t bring myself to stop.

I can’t bring myself to do anything but keep going until I win…or shit explodes.

Whichever comes first.