On the day of the date, Ernie nearly cancelled.
He had selected a sensory-friendly time at the coffee shop, which was sensible. Fewer people meant less noise, fewer unpredictable interactions, and a lower chance of having to listen to somebody's entire life story while a milk steamer screamed in the background.
He had done his research. He had made a plan. He had accounted for the variables he could reasonably account for.
His brain had responded by generating several new variables.
He sat in his bedroom with his phone and began typing a message to Eric.
Hey, sorry, I don't think I can make it today.
It was a perfectly acceptable message. People cancelled dates all the time. Nobody was obligated to meet a stranger simply because they'd agreed to it three weeks earlier.
Ernie could send it, stay home, and feel better.
He knew exactly how that would go. The anxiety would subside. He would be comfortable again. He would probably tell himself that he could try dating another time, when he felt more prepared.
He had said things like that before.
The trouble was that he wanted to go.
He wanted to meet Eric. He wanted to find out whether the pleasant conversations they'd had online translated into a pleasant conversation in person. He wanted to know what it was like to go on a date, something that other people seemed to manage with an ease he found mildly offensive.
He was tired of being interested in things right up until the moment he had to do them.
Ernie deleted the message.
He opened Eric's profile again.
There was Eric, looking perfectly ordinary and apparently unaware that he had become the central figure in a small but exhausting internal crisis.
Ernie looked at his pictures.
He read the profile.
He remembered the messages.
Eric seemed nice.
That was all he knew about him, really. He didn't know whether they would get along in person. He didn't know whether the conversation would flow or whether they would spend twenty minutes discussing the weather because neither of them could think of anything else to say.
He didn't know whether this would be the beginning of something or a perfectly unremarkable afternoon with a stranger.
He couldn't know any of that without going.
Which was, unfortunately, the entire point.
Ernie put his phone down.
He was still nervous. He would probably remain nervous until he got there, and possibly after that. He wasn't expecting a sudden transformation into the sort of person who could walk into a coffee shop and charm a handsome stranger without having to think about where to put his hands.
He was going to be himself.
Apparently, that was going to have to be enough.
He got ready and left his bedroom.
For the first time in his life, Ernie was going on a date.
He had no idea how it would turn out.
He had, at least, managed to get out the door.
For now, that counted.