I deserve an Oscar for my emulation of a functioning adult this evening. Because even though I’ve gone through the motions, if pondering JD’s identity were a video game, I’d be permanently acquainting my couch with the imprint of my ass. My fingers would be irrevocably curved into gamer claws right now, empty Red Bull cans scattered across the floor.

But luckily for my poor fingers, she’s not a video game. Instead, I’m staring out the window at 9:15 in the evening, refusing on principle to grab my phone to message a strange woman I don’t know, and avoiding the irrefutable fact that there is absolutely nothing to do but go to bed—and absolutely zero chance that I’ll fall asleep when I do.

Another night of dating shows in bed it is.

I’m on hour four of a show about people who are trying to find love—get this—Little Mermaid-style. AKA they can’t speak to one another. My eyelids are, miracle of miracles, starting to get a little heavy, so I’m just contemplating shutting my laptop when my phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I scramble for it, catching it up before it even stops vibrating, and there, look at that, holy smokes, yes, oh my GOD, it’s a voice message text from JD.

Chapter Three

Eliot

“Awake tonight, too?”

She. Just. Messaged. Me.

Somehow, in the last ten seconds I’ve gone from collapsed into a pile of pillows to standing straight up on my bed. If I lifted my hand over my head, I could plant a palm on the ceiling. I’m completely crackers. I fall into a crouch and then tip awkwardly onto one side when my squishy mattress betrays me.

“Every night.”

I sound breathless in my message to her, but that’s because I am breathless. I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to hear from her again. But she messaged me. She messaged ME. I’m now a million miles from sleep. I can feel my heart beating in my ears. I couldn’t care less.

“Wasn’t sure I’d catch you, but I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“I’m glad you did!”

I sound way too excited, but them’s the breaks. I am too excited. Even though I have no idea who this woman is, she’s my comrade in the trenches of insomnia. For months, it’s just been me and my Netflix account. But right now? I have a living, breathing person, who not only is talking to me, she understands the peculiar estrangement of not being able to sleep at night. She’s as fried as I am.