They Call Her Love | ✔️

37: They Call Her Okay

Over the past three hours, I've gotten eighteen missed calls and fifty-four text messages from my friends asking if I was going to make it to their dinner tonight. Most of the calls came from Viho and Trevor who thought leaving me a dozen voicemails of farting noises was going to somehow persuade me into stomaching a meal with them. Additionally, most of the texts were pictures of them making pouty faces to guilt me into going.

Should I go? I probably shouldn't.

Should I go? I probably should.

Should I-

"Oh my God, just go, Love!" I yelled at myself in the mirror once I got out of the shower. It was already half an hour past the time they were supposed to start dinner and I figured I had wasted enough time, and hot water, figuring out my decision.

I wanted to go. I had to go. I would seem like a bitch if I didn't. I also didn't want to miss out on a night when all of us were finally together, worry and drama free.

"Maybe I shouldn't," I say to myself minutes later when I can't decide what to wear. A sweater dress is too much, but are jeans too casual? "I won't go."

"Yes, you will," Clarkson bursts through my closet door.

My heart jumps in surprise. "Jesus-you scared the shit out of me!"

"You're going," He says forcefully this time, ignoring my astonished face. "And you are not wearing that."

He eyes me head to toe, scowling at the sweater dress and jeans I had thrown on underneath in my attempt to try something new.

"The sweater dress and jeans look is so two-thousand and four I want to vomit Hilary Duff," Clarkson throws me his signature eye roll.

"What's taking so long? You're already late!" Penelope pokes her head through the door.

"Why are you two even here?" I narrow my eyes at them. "I don't remember inviting you over."

"Darcy and Jagger called us out of desperation to persuade you to go to dinner when you didn't show up at eight. What are you doing, Love? Just go! We all know you want too!" Penelope scolds me.

"Okay, okay!" I sigh out in frustration. "Just help me with what to wear!"

"I thought you would never ask," Clarkson steps forward.

After another fifteen minutes, I (Clarkson) settle for a pair of thermal leggings, flowy-long sleeve top with a warm coat over it and a pair of riding boots. The chilly air in Thompson doesn't seem to be settling down anytime soon since it was only the beginning of February, which means layering is essential if I want to step foot outside the door and avoid hypothermia.

"Thanks for coming to the rescue," I tell Clarkson once I'm dressed up.

He shakes his head at me disapprovingly. "I haven't forgiven you yet for doing yet another thing behind my back."

I chuckle. "I donated the money for my own reasons, not for the show. I wanted to do something selfless for once."

"Which would have been great to publicize since, you know, that's my job?" Clarkson puts both fists on the sides of his hips.

"I-"

"Don't," He flashes a hand in my face before I can speak. "Just, don't. Have fun at your dinner and you better post pictures or I swear I will start a rumor about you."

Penelope and I both laugh at this.

"Okay, thanks for the help guys. I'll see you tomorrow," I wave goodbye to them.