Look at You

Chapter 46

46

I spend most of Thursday and all day Friday rehearsing the speech in my head. I've made some mistakes, I'll start with. That I want to be honest with you about. Because I care for you, and I know you won't see me differently (this part is a stretch), but I still want to tell you. Because you deserve all my honesty.

I won't start the dinner this way—maybe start the conversation halfway through. Let him have a margarita to loosen up. It's one of my favorite restaurants, one that was on grandpa and I's weekly rotation, so I'm comfortable there. I've already asked, and they've booked us the booth at the back.

I want to take him on a date, of course, but I also want him to know this. Because I'm trying to stay true to my word—that nothing can happen between us before he knows. Before he really knows.

On Friday around 5:30, I video call Callie. She's walking down the street to her apartment, her hair perfectly curled, her eyelids a soft pink. "Hey hun!" She notices my hair is wet and the shoulders in her screen are bare. She squeals. "Getting ready for the date, are we?"

I wince at the volume of her voice. "Yeah. I was hoping you'd.. you know... pick something out for me?"

She stops walking. Her mouth pops open. "Wait. So it's for sure a date."

I reach up to run a hand through my hair but decide against it. "Yes, Callie," I try not to sound nervous. "It's a date." I lick my lips. "Why, did Si say it wasn't?"

She resumes her power walk on the sidewalk. "He didn't say. Panorama view of your closet please."

He didn't say? I swallow. Fuck.

I do as she asks, but the closet light doesn't reflect off my camera well, and it's a small space so everything is packed in tightly. "On second thought," she has a finger on glossed lips. "Can you just pull out a couple of nicer pieces for me. Like anything that you would wear to, I don't know, Christmas dinner. Or a new age church. Nothing with logos or holes. Anything you feel confident in."

I sigh, but then get to work. I pull out my nicer jeans, a few of the pieces Katie got me at lululemon or J. Crew, and a pair of the newest sneakers I can find (Reeboks, 2020).

"Okay we can work with this," Callie tells me, heading into her apartment now. "I like the grey jeans. And that light denim button-down. Or the white polo, if you like that look. Don't you have that cute blue henley?"

"That's not nice enough," I put the phone down to start tossing on the clothes. The button-down and not the polo, because despite the fact it's in this pile, I'm not the type. Once I'm dressed, I pick up the phone again and flip the camera so she can see me in the bathroom mirror. "Good?" I take the squeal as a yes. "Thank you, Callie."

"Cologne!" She calls at me as I'm about to hang up. "And actually kiss him this time!"

That one hurts. "Go away," I say, and hang up. But as I head out the door—a full 30 minutes early—I text her a thank you. I refrain from adding, he can kiss me too you know, because, well, apparently "he didn't say."

I put on a chill playlist in the car to calm my nerves. My fingers are drumming against the wheel the entire ride to his house. I'm a few minutes from his driveway when I get a call from Emily. It rings through the car speakers. I smile, slightly, seeing her name on the screen. A good omen perhaps.

"Hello?"

She's crying. She's sobbing, actually.

"Emily what's going on?" I slow the car to a stop and pull over. She can't get a word in. "Emily, talk to me. Right now."