“You mean someone like you,” I said.
“Exactly, just like...” David closed his laptop, reality confiscating his dimples.
“You know what I’m thinking?” I said.
David nodded. “Doesn’t exist,” he grumbled.
“Doesn’t exist,” I said.
When he was finished buffing the baseboards, washing the windows, scrubbing the stove, and power washing the patio, David took a break. “Looks great,” I said, handing him a cold soda. “Want to go on a picnic tomorrow?”
“Are you kidding me?” David squawked. “There is at least two more full days of cleaning to be done. I have to do the floors, both bathrooms, the inside of the windows upstairs...” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. Then, under his breath, he muttered, “I am so alone.”