door to his place. He gestures for me to precede him inside. As I step past him, I notice that despite the bright sun out today, his apartment is dark and draped in shadows. I can only make out a small kitchenette to the left of the doorway.
I feel Derek move behind me just before a light clicks on. The walls of the apartment take shape, and I can see a small living room with a loveseat and a wide-screen TV. Clutter in the form of books, discarded dishware, and rumpled clothing covers every available surface. A line is strung up across the length of the room, and what appear to be wet clothes are hanging from it.
I turn around and watch as Derek steps inside and goes into the kitchen area. “I use this composting bin in here,” he tells me, pointing to a squat rectangular container sitting on the countertop.
I nod before turning back to look at the wet laundry in the living room. “Do you always dry your clothes this way?” I ask.
“Always. Do you know how much energy dryers use?”
“I never thought about it.”
“You should,” he tells me. Then he takes the lid off the composting container and the odor of rotting garbage assaults my nose. “I put all my food scraps in here,” he explains.
I make a face and take a step back.
He laughs and replaces the lid. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” he jokes as he waves the smell away from his nose.
I smile politely in response just as I hear a buzzing sound near my ear. I jerk back and swat away a black fly that’s circling my head. I quickly realize that it’s not just one fly, it’s several. “Derek, you’ve got bugs in here,” I say as I bat at another one
“I know. It’s a hazard of composting. That’s what these strips of paper are for. They’re sticky flypaper for catching the bugs. This is much safer than using insecticides of any kind.”
I glance around again, and this time I notice the long narrow strips of off-white paper hanging down from the kitchen cabinets and the doorframes throughout the apartment. They are all completely covered with bug carcasses. My nose wrinkles in disgust.
“Um, Derek,” I begin, knowing I’ve got to get out of here and not caring what kind of excuse I use.
“Hmm,” he answers softy. Suddenly he is directly in front of me. Before I can register his intent, he bends down and puts his lips on mine.
I sputter in surprise and quickly break our connection.
His eyes pop open and he appears confused by my reaction.
I shake my head at him. “I’m sorry. I can’t”
“Why not?”
I know I have an incredulous expression on my face and I don’t want to be rude, but I can’t stop the words that come pouring out. “Derek, your apartment reeks of garbage, and it’s infested with insects. You’ve got one of the ten plagues of Egypt happening in here. This is not exactly putting me in the mood,” I inform him.
His eyebrows slam downward; his mouth a straight, tight line. There is no mistaking the fact that he is completely insulted and offended.
“I’m just going to go,” I say quietly, taking a step back toward the door.
“That’s a probably good idea,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest and watching me with eyes that have turned hard and cold.
I turn on my heels and pull the door open. After I step out, I close the door behind me to ensure that no insects can escape with me. Then I take the stairs down two at a time. Once I burst outside, I gulp in the fresh air. As I head down the street in the direction of my car, I’m processing what happened back there, and I’m not quite sure how to feel about it yet. At least now I don’t need to have the “I’m sorry but I’m not interested” conversation with him. I think that came across quite clearly. A serious set of giggles are beginning to bubble up inside me, despite the familiar disappointment that’s already settling in.
My last long-term relationship was nearly five years ago. I’ve had several mini-relationships since then, but no one special. Nearly all my friends, and my sister, are married or getting married. I’m thirty. I should be worrying about finding someone at this point, and I do. But a part of me refuses to dwell on the looming threat of being perpetually