“Hey, why don’t you TiVo the show, and I can come over tomorrow night and we can watch it then?”

I considered his suggestion. “Yeah, I guess I can do that.” I answered, shrugging.

“So don’t watch it tonight, okay? We’ll make it special tomorrow and see the show for the first time together.”

Now he sounded cheered up, and I guessed I should cheer up too. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl. C’mon, don’t be like that. I can tell you’re frowning through the phone, so be sure to not watch the show tonight.”

“Okay,” I said glumly, and hung up.

I headed to Whole Foods to pick up the steaks I’d planned on making tonight, but which we were now grilling tomorrow night. I wandered over to the salad bar and made myself a salad to have later. Driving home, I thought about calling Lauren or Ina to see if they wanted to get together, but I was too embarrassed to let them know that Dave wasn’t spending my big evening with me. Lauren would have something bitchy to say.

The light in the living room was fading, letting me know the day was almost over. I’d spent the late afternoon going over the plotlines for the show we would shoot that week. There was always the A story line, the major story of the show, and the B story line. Sometimes there would even be a C, and we also followed some larger plotlines and character stories that passed from show to show. The most important thing for me to remember when writing the show was there always had to be one dumb investigator. Well, he or she could either be dumb or just a new recruit, but having a dummy there enabled us to explain stuff to the viewers. The smart investigator was always elucidating the science of the show to the know-nothing. The audiences at home were really the dummies.

I glanced at the clock: ten minutes until showtime. I pulled my salad out of the fridge and scraped it onto a plate. A beer was also in order, and I carried both into the living room.

I didn’t turn any of the lights on. It was growing dark outside and I liked the light dimming around me. I munched on my salad. Whenever I found myself home alone like this, having a salad for dinner, I thought of it as the single girl’s dinner, high in fiber and loneliness. I shoved another forkful of arugula into my mouth and tried to convince myself that it was satisfying. The beer was nice and cold, and I was about halfway through the bottle when I started to get angry. I mean really, fucking angry.