After too much time overanalyzing everything in my life with Laura, I grew weary of just talking. Something needed to be done! Actually, a lot needed doing. Practical matters, like cleaning and grading papers, required attention.

Beyond my walls life went on. Plows scraped by, clearing roads for Monday commuters. A gas-powered snowblower engine buzzed in the tenant parking lot. Yet the numbered spot I paid for was my responsibility to shovel.

"I've gotta hang up. I have so much to do. Including digging out my car." Stretching and twisting my back, my vertebrae popped in protest of the labor ahead.

"Yeah. I should probably help Tim clear the driveway. Just got a text from admin that says we'll only get a delayed start tomorrow." She huffed.

I huffed too. "In that case, we absolutely need to hang up."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Let me know of any new developments."

"Of course. Love ya. Bye."

"Love you too. Bye."

Our call disconnected and I looked around, deciding which chore to tackle first. Dust motes hovered in the shafts of sun beaming across the bedroom. The refrigerator fan kicked on in the kitchen, whirring faintly.

The apartment suddenly felt too still, too quiet. Which was odd, because that was usually it's appeal for me. It was my safe haven, a spot to retreat from the noise and stress of work and family. Nothing had ever disturbed my sense of tranquillity in, or ownership over, this space before. The contrast between yesterday and today bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Ryan had been in my domain for approximately thirty-six hours, yet now he permanently occupied some space in my rooms.

And my head.

The apartment suddenly felt like an oppressive tomb, where I'd buried myself away. And much like a mummy, I'd been wrapped in cotton, swathed in robes, and devoid of feelings. Then a taste of something delicious awakened some new appetite within me. Now I was a zombie, except I didn't crave brain matter. With this newfound hunger, and my instinctual drive turned back on, I stood, ready for the succeeding emotional response to propel me forward on my next steps.

I hoped it wouldn't be sadness, because I didn't want to cry. I'd travelled that path years ago, after Donnie. It wasn't one that took me anywhere worth going. Plus, tears for a man who I'd spent less than two days with seemed utterly ridiculous. I flopped back onto my bed, making the scent of Ryan waft up.

And that's when the rage kicked in.

Except I wasn't angry at Ryan. No. I was pissed at myself because I should have known better than to get so carried away.

Rising from the mattress, I tore the sheets from my bed, and shoved them into my laundry bag. Then I hurled the bag through the doorway.

After yanking snow pants from the closet, I threw them on over some threadbare leggings and my tattered university sweatshirt. The polyester weave swished as I went into the kitchen, pulled out the leftover lugaw and dumped it into the trash. It didn't matter how delicious it was. I'd lost my taste for it.

Feet into snow boots, parka shrugged on, bag of laundry grasped in one hand and kitchen trash in the other. I clomped down the steps to the basement, where I tossed one unhappy reminder into the washer and slammed the lid shut.

I hummed a tune from the old musical "South Pacific" as an accompaniment to my temper, and set the machine for the sanitary cycle.

I'm gonna wash that man right outta my sheets.

Up to the lobby, where my landlord had already left out the shovel for me. I snatched it and crunched outside on the salt-strewn, freshly snow-blown sidewalk.

At the back of the building, where the dumpster waited, I flung the trash into its filthy depths. Then finally, I turned toward my parking spot where my car waited.

Completely devoid of snow.

With a man beside it.

But clearly, not Ryan.

Taking in his scruffy work coveralls, I noted he was shorter and heavier than Ryan. Plus, an idling pickup truck with a plow blade attached to the front, sat partially blocking my car in. That made it click. He must be my parents' neighbor.

"Excuse me," I called out while walking across the lot.

Turning toward my voice, with a sheepish smile he said, "Oh, hey there miss."

He pulled off his woolen cap, revealing a bald head. He held his hat in his hands even though it was far too cold to not wear it. Although, if his flushed cheeks were an indication that he'd just shoveled all that snow of my car, he was probably overly warm.

"Vivian." I extended my mittened hand.

Comprehension brightened his smile. He accepted my hand with a gentle shake. "Charles. But my friends call me Charlie."

"So my parents sent you over?" I sighed.

He nodded. "Sure did. They're good people. And your Mom's a great cook. She's fattened up this bachelor," he said, patting his stomach.

I suppressed an eye roll at the subtle slip of "bachelor" into the conversation.

"Listen Charles, I'm sorry that you came all the way over..."

He interrupted, frowning. "I'm the one who should apologize since it took me so long to get here. It's just that I had a lot of jobs this morning."

"No apology needed. Of course you have a busy schedule today. And it's still early for a Sunday morning. I just hope that my parents didn't impose on you about... about well..." I waved my hand at my car and then at me. "...or gave you the wrong impression."

"Not at all." He smiled again.

"Ummm..."

It was incredibly cringeworthy to have my parents attempting to matchmake like this. Especially when they knew Ryan had been in my apartment, in my pajamas, during the storm.

Thinking of Ryan made a streak of heat surge through me. Part want, part anger. My cheeks burned. The cold and the embarrassment didn't help either.

If I'd met Charles three days earlier maybe I'd have given him a chance. He seemed nice enough. Nice is exactly what I needed. A guy who would show up when he said he would, and wouldn't disappear after he'd gotten what he wanted from me. Maybe I should go on a genuine date, and give him a shot.

But my head was so messed up right now. It wouldn't be fair to drag him into that emotional wreckage. There was no telling how long I'd need to recover my equilibrium and tailor my expectations after this weekend.

I pulled off a mitten and dug around in my coat pockets, praying I'd find an errant twenty dollar bill for a tip at least. Knowing that it was unlikely since I paid for nearly everything via debit card.

"It seems that I don't have any cash on me. Do you take debit?"

He chuckled. "How about your number instead?"

My stomach roiled. "I... It's just... I uh..."

God why couldn't I think of one halfway decent excuse to end this interaction?

Charles sighed. "Well. Yeah. I see how it is." He pulled his cap back onto his head as he turned toward his truck. "By the way," he called over his shoulder, "your parents paid me already."

Whether that made me feel better or worse about this encounter remained to be seen.