Age 25:
From: [email protected]
Did you know that alligators can’t stick their tongues out? Not sure why, but I thought you’d like to know that.
I need your help. I’ve got a date tonight. Shocking, I know. Should I wear loafers or dress shoes?
And before you ask, I’m not sending feet pics, you perv. You just have to imagine it.
We’re not going anywhere super fancy, but this girl seems more…high class than I’m used to, and I REFUSE to ask my best friend again. Last time, he said I looked like I belonged on The Widgles—he meant Wiggles.
I need an answer in the next .2 seconds, so hurry it up.
Pls say dress shoes, ’cause I already have them on.
Shiny
***
There are very, very few things I hate more than getting ready for a date. I mean it when I say I would rather stick my pinkie toe in lava than spend an hour in front of a mirror trying to figure out which tie matches my eyes better.
And in the hours leading up to the date, I’d have this urge to pee like all the time. Was that what butterflies felt like? Or maybe I needed to see a doctor. Either way, I was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I hadn’t even left my room, and I was already over tonight.
The girl herself didn’t make me nervous. She was nice enough, but I didn’t like her in that way. I was just sick of the dating game in general. Sick of going out to dinner and making the same small talk, desperate for some kind of spark. Some kind of chemistry to magically appear when it was never there in the first place.
Sarah was easy on the eyes and always put together. She had a kind soul and a cute kid. That should have been enough. But no, my big, dumb heart was chasing the adrenaline that only one girl sent coursing through me. The girl who had the power to break the best, most meaningful friendship I’d ever had.
Once again, I reminded myself that it wasn’t possible. It never would be. If I could drill that into my thick skull, then maybe my heart would believe it too.
I sighed, combing my hair and looking over my outfit one more time. Black pants that I wore to work on the regular, a light brown button-up, sans tie, with the top two buttons undone, and shoes that matched well enough for me to stop overthinking.
Calla was moving around in the kitchen, probably grabbing a bowl for cereal, humming, and bouncing around on her tiptoes in her giant pajamas with a soft blanket draped over her shoulders. The vision was crystal clear in my mind, and it made me want to stay home so, so badly. I wanted to snuggle on the couch with her and watch baseball highlights. Or maybe rewatch the latest episode of The Bachelorette while Calla held a giant popcorn bowl and we took turns tossing pieces into each other’s mouths.
Instead, I was preparing to drive in the rain to a fancy restaurant with very tiny courses and equally fancy wine that would be wasted on my immature palate. Only Philly cheesesteak sandwiches had sounded appealing to me lately.
Sounds of cheering fans from the TV filtered to me as I opened my bedroom door. In the living room, Calla sat exactly as I envisioned her, bundled up, bowl of cereal in her lap despite it being six thirty in the evening. Her hair was curled perfectly, framing her face in a way that made me want to run my hands through it. It was in direct contrast to her thick gray sweatpants and…was that my shirt? I tilted my head for a better look. Sure enough, I recognized that worn-out right sleeve. That sneaky little rat had stolen my old college T-shirt. I couldn’t even be mad, though, because she looked way better in it than I ever had.
As soon as I turned the corner, she popped up, and a wide grin spread across her face.
She let out a low whistle. “Well, look at you. Mr. Fancy pants over there.”
With my arms stretched wide, I did a little spin, showing off how great my butt looked in these pants. Calla laughed, her reaction immediately making me feel better about this whole dating thing.
“Are you going to work? It’s kind of late, isn’t it?” She looked down at the time on her phone. “Oh, is that ratty HR lady making you come in? What’s her name? Janet? I could call in sick for you if you need me to.”
Why did the idea of telling her I had a date make my stomach ache? I didn’t owe her an explanation, but I felt this strong urge to burst out a big apology to Calla and cancel on Sarah. I was a single guy in my midtwenties. I’d have to go out eventually. And she would eventually find someone too. Although the thought made me want to take a few antacids. Regardless of my indigestion, neither of us could be expected to stay this way forever.
“Uh, no. Actually, I have a date.” The word date came out all high-pitched and squeaky.
Calla’s bright smile dimmed slightly, and for a second, I wondered if she felt the same disappointment I did, but then it picked right back up, and it was even brighter than before, though it didn’t reach her eyes the way the last one had.
When did it get so hot in here? I tugged at my collar.
“Oh.” Her nod was succinct. “Well, good luck. I can leave for the night if you need me to…” Her voice was shy and so un-Calla-like that my stomachache turned into full-on roiling.
Why would I need her to leave? We’re going to a rest—Oh.
“No!” I practically shouted before clearing my throat. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
She relaxed back into the couch and pointed the remote at her head, turning the volume of the TV back up. “Hope you have fun. I’ll be here when you get back.” She gave me a soft, closed lip smile, though she didn’t meet my eye.
Would it be rude to cancel at the last minute? Sorry, Sarah. There’s a wild dog on the loose in my apartment. He stole my keys and is now wreaking havoc on all of Philadelphia. See you and Christian at lessons next week?
Okay, yeah, definitely rude. But the thought of leaving Calla when she was all snuggled up and practically begging for me to cuddle next to her while she gave me more in-depth details about the background of each of her favorite players? Yeah, that killed me. I was a desperate man here, pulled between the door and the couch.
She said she’d be here when I got back. If I powered through this date, then I could come home to her, and it would all be fine. It would all be fine. Maybe if I said it enough, it would be true.
“All right.” I dug both hands into my pockets. “I’ll see you later.”
Calla turned her attention to the TV screen and responded with a casual. “See ya.”
Why did I have a feeling I would deeply regret this choice?
***
“And then Missy said that her daughter’s toe touches were way more on point than Lauren’s. I mean, seriously, it was ridiculous.”
This whole date was ridiculous.
Any green flags I’d gotten from Sarah previously were wiped away in a solid ten-minute conversation about some high school cheerleading competition drama that her coworkers had gotten her sucked into. It started with a simple “How was your day?” from me and quickly moved through a “Oh, my coworkers are so crazy” to “Watch Paisley’s toe touches and tell me they weren’t the weakest you’ve ever seen.”
I hadn’t watched a toe touch since I’d last attended a college football game a couple of years ago. And even then, I wasn’t exactly worried about that. Now, all of that being said, Paisley’s toes definitely weren’t pointed.
“Yeah, that’s crazy.” What was really crazy was that I had made it this far truly listening to every word out of Sarah’s mouth. It was my best and worst quality: the undeniable need to make people feel heard.
She had moved on to critiquing the flier of the group but stopped mid-sentence and cringed. “Sorry, this probably isn’t what you want to listen to.”
“No, no. This is fine.” I shook my head and gave her a reassuring smile.
And honestly, this date was fine. The food was pretty good, and the atmosphere was nice. I didn’t care much for cheerleading talk, but then again, it wasn’t guinea pig talk. Hallelujah. After my date with Katie in Ocean City, my perspective on bad dinner conversations had drastically changed.
But maybe this date was all too fine. Adequate, tolerable, good enough, acceptable, or any other synonym listed under the word fine in the thesaurus. And I had no one to blame but myself. And Calla.
I came in here telling myself that if sparks ignited, then I could officially let Calla go in my head and my heart. Even though, deep down, I didn’t want sparks to fly. Somewhere inside me, I wanted the excitement that came from just a brush of her hand, or the goose bumps that erupted when I watched her put her hair up in a high ponytail. I wanted Calla so badly it gave me indigestion. That, or maybe it was the lobster.
Sarah turned the conversation to her son’s grades and PTO meeting drama, and that’s when I tuned out. I wondered what Calla was doing back at the apartment. Was she feeling lonely? Should I text her? Was she asleep on the couch? Last time she did that, her neck bothered her the next day. Should I call her and wake her up?
I imagined her rolling her head, massaging her neck muscles with one hand and wincing from the pain. My teeth pressed into my lip at the image. I wanted to roll out her muscles and help her relax. I wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and make her a cup of coffee and set a succulent next to her and put on Pixar movies like my mom used to do for me.
“I’m losing you, aren’t I?”
I straightened in my seat and tore my eyes away from the barely touched lobster in front of me. “I’m sorry. I swear I’m listening.”
And I had been. Until my mind drifted to Calla.
“You seem…distracted.”
Distracted was the friendliest way to say I had been incredibly rude and selfish all night. And I could feel it too, in the way my mind would slip into fantasies of Calla and me cuddled up on the couch. Or at a Phillies game, where I could proudly walk around with my arm around her. It was so easy to picture, and the thoughts alone would have had my heart racing faster than any time Sarah had made googly eyes at me or subtly pushed her breasts toward my face.
“I’m sorry.” I’d apologized at least five times in the last twenty minutes. “It’s been a crazy day.”
Which wasn’t totally a lie. Janise worked me like a gerbil on a wheel, and she wasn’t even my boss. I fully intended to tell her this at some point, but it wouldn’t be today…or anytime soon. Not while she had that whole I’ll push you down a manhole and pretend it was an accident vibegoing on.
Sarah tilted her head and smiled. “Who is she?”
Now that caught my attention. “I—uh, who is who?”
“The girl you’re thinking about.” She took a sip of wine and smirked like she could see every thought dancing through my mind. How did women do that so well? Could Calla do it? If so, she’d seen way too much.
I cleared my throat and went with “well, you know,” but it came out more as “wellshoetoe.”
She laughed a sweet and endearing laugh. “Is it the girl who took pictures at lessons? Her brother owns that bar, right?”
“Right.”
“Ahh.” She leaned back into her chair and gave me this Cheshire cat smile.
“No, I meant right. As in that is her brother,” I stuttered, knowing I was already too far gone.
“What do you like about her?” Sarah asked.
I blew out a breath, hesitating. I did not want to be that guy. The one talking about other women on a first date, no matter how far south this night had already gone.
Then, as if she saw those thoughts floating through my mind too, she cut in. “I already know, so you might as well humor me and tell me about the situation.”
I sighed. “Well, she’s…I don’t know. She’s bold. She says just about everything she’s thinking. And she smiles so big. Like she walks around waiting for the opportunity to flash it at people so she can make them smile too. Plus I’ve seen her dressed to nines and looking entirely homeless, and I would take her either way.” I ran a hand down my face. “Good lord. And she loves all the same things I do. We can talk for hours and hours and never get bored. At least I never get bored. And sometimes she does this thing with her hair—” I lifted my hand to mimic it, but when I caught the attention of the woman at the next table, I realized how obnoxious I was being and dropped my hands to my lap.
Sarah laughed. “Fascinating. Why are you sitting here with me, then?”
I gave her a sheepish smile, figuring honesty was the best way to go here. “Because I have no idea how to say no to people, and I was hoping this would help take my mind off her.”
“And did it?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
There was no point in denying it. “Unfortunately, no. You’ve been great. It’s just a me thing.”
“Ah. Sounds like all my exes.” She smirked.
I cringed. I really was the worst. “I’m sorry. Let’s go back to dinner.”
“Yeah. If you want to go, it’s okay, but I’m eating the rest of my food.”
I laughed. “I’ll stay.” Picking up a piece of lobster with my tiny fork, I leaned forward. “So, tell me about Paisley’s herkie.”
