Uber on Time
I tapped my foot with so much force that I almost dented the sidewalk. I glanced at the app for the twentieth time. Uber’s ETA was six minutes.
I was on edge, more anxious than I’d been in my entire thirty-one years, even though I would reach my destination when I needed to regardless of when Uber picked me up.
The right words, the words I should have said to Emily, were obvious. I repeated them over and over, like a kid memorizing a Shakespeare poem for his eighth-grade English class.
Emily, there’s never been a more beautiful woman on Earth than you. That’s what I should have said three days ago. And that's what I will say three days ago.
Emily, you look just like your mother. What was I thinking? Have more idiotic words ever been said by a man to a woman?
The palm smack against my forehead sounded like a thunderclap. Several nearby pedestrians turned toward me to make sure I wasn’t a deranged, crazy person on the precipice of pandemonium.
“Just waiting for Uber,” I said. I beamed what I hoped was a benign smile. They nodded, then skipped several steps backward.
You look just like your mother. I am an idiot.
By our second date, I had fallen madly in love with Emily. By our fifth, I knew she was the one. Smart and sexy, with emerald-green eyes flecked with gold, she worked hard as an emergency room physician, and played hard in the bedroom. She was funny, creative, and filled me with electricity every time she was near.
We bumped into her mother three days ago while walking on Madison between 55th and 56th Streets. It was the first time I met Grace, though Emily had mentioned her several times. Emily’s mother was also a doctor and had inspired Emily to pursue medicine.
After we exchanged small talk, Emily’s mom headed downtown, and we walked north toward our favorite restaurant for Sunday brunch. I took a sip of my mimosa and said, “You look just like your mother.”
Emily's face turned ash white and her lips blue, as if the temperature had suddenly plummeted. She balled her hands into fists and then lowered them under the table. “I see,” was all Emily said.
I changed the conversation to anything and everything—cats, dogs, travel, politics, books, movies, space exploration—but Emily sat there in silence, breathing slowly and loudly. She cut her waffles into smaller and smaller squares but didn’t eat a bite.
I felt like my heart had been tossed into a wood chipper.
For the next three days, every time I messaged her suggesting we get together, she replied, “I have a late shift in the ER.” She hadn’t ghosted me, but that was only a matter of yet. That’s when I borrowed a year’s salary to pay for an Uber Time Taxi. Uber makes you upfront the entire fare.
I glanced at my watch, then the Uber app, then my watch again. ETA four minutes.
My arm tensed. I shoved my hand in my pocket to keep from slapping myself again. I pressed my left foot on top of my right to stop tapping, and leaned against the brick exterior of my apartment building so as not to topple over now that I was a monopod. I methodically scanned every passing car to see if it matched my Uber’s make and license plate number. If I missed this Uber, I wouldn’t be able to afford another because the further you go back in time, the higher the price.
I sucked in a long breath of New York City air and told myself to calm down. Chill, Gabe. Uber will be here. I’ll say the right words this time. Everything will be fine with Emily again. Or rather, fine in the first place, because my stupidity will never have happened.
That’s the great thing about Uber Time Taxi: Call a Time Taxi and undo your mistake. Sure, it cost a fortune, and there were only seventeen Uber TTs in the world. I got lucky and could reserve one quickly. The universe was looking out for me.
I stared at my phone. ETA one minute.
I spotted Uber crossing two lanes of traffic on a diagonal trajectory. I dashed to the curb as the silver Toyota Camry came to an abrupt stop behind a black BMW. Its brakes squeaked. I grabbed the passenger door, but it was locked. I tried again more vigorously, but the door still wouldn’t open. I rapped the glass with my knuckles, and the driver rolled down the window a crack.
Lines of concern weaved across his forehead like windswept sand in the desert. “Sorry, man,” he said, “I forgot to check before. Your Uber passenger rating is only three point four.” He shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. I can’t take you.”
New Year’s is about resolutions, making ourselves better in the coming year. But if we're honest, New Year’s is also about wishing we could undo the previous year’s mistakes. With that in mind, Uber on Time was born.
I’ve published another New Year’s story you might enjoy: New Memories. Where do our old memories go when the new year begins?
R&B legend Louis Jordan in the song "Look Out": "If he says, 'Darling, you look just like your mother/better run for cover!"
I hope the guy gets a refund.
Being unable to fix his mistakes could give the protagonist some time to think about whether or not he still wants to be with someone like Emily. Obviously she has some hangups about her mother if a comment like “you look just like your mother” is enough to make her avoid him, but ghosting him for a comment that was meant to be a compliment is not a mature or reasonable thing to do. If talking things through with her doesn’t work, he may be better off looking for someone new. Someone with better communication skills.