What If

Chapter 1

NOW... PRESENT DAY

It's a typical Thursday night – or at least, what I consider a typical Thursday night. I'm dancing around my kitchen, Spotify playing one of today's curated playlists over my phone's speaker as I whip up some pasta for a late dinner. My workday today was longer than usual, with Parent-Teacher Conferences taking up most of my afternoon and evening.

It was a never-ending line of parents dragging their entire brood along to tear up my classroom while they spoke to me about their child's progress so far this fall. It was the same thing every time, with few exceptions – most of the families came in with their kindergartener showing their siblings all the cool stuff around my classroom while the parents plopped down in front of my desk, seemingly relieved to have 20 minutes of peace from their little bundles of joy. I'm not a parent and I'm not shaming, but I definitely am judging a bit, considering how misbehaved most of these kids acted. I'm nothing if not honest.

By the end of the night, I had maybe four families out of 20 who had actually taught their kids some manners and I was left with a disaster zone for a classroom with books strewn across the tables, markers, crayons, and paper left anywhere you could step, and somehow, a beanbag was thrown out my locked window onto the ground below. I'm still trying to figure that one out because I'm twenty-five years old and I couldn't even get that window unlocked.

Thinking about tomorrow night's continued conferences, I groan, open up the drawer next to my kitchen sink and grab a corkscrew, and open the closest bottle of rosé. I forgo a glass and instead just drink straight from the bottle.

I sprinkle some freshly cracked black pepper over my cacio e pepe, scoop the noodles into a shallow bowl, and sit down at my kitchen table ready to dive in. The fork almost hits my mouth when my iPhone dings with a notification – a text from Carter.

Hey Lex. Mind if I swing by for a bit?

Immediately, I'm intrigued. Carter rarely just pops up at my house without us making prior plans, so I'm assuming it's something important. After three years, multiple conversations about what we want in life and our future together, as well as a few stops at the local jewelry store to check out engagement rings, I'm anxiously waiting for Carter to pop the question.

Yeah, ofc Carter. I'll be up for a while, so feel free to take your time getting here.

My reply is typed and sent within seconds and I reach for the wine bottle I'm still preferring over a glass. I take another swig just as I get a response back.

I'm actually in the neighborhood already, so I'll be there in 5 :)

I spew my wine at the sight of the text and immediately examine myself – satin pajama shorts, an oversized Transformers: The Last Knight promo shirt I got for free when I saw the movie in theatres with my brothers, and Ugg moccasin slippers. Fan-freaking-tastic.

Can't wait! See you soon, love! <3

My lovey-dovey response now floating through cyberspace to Carter's phone in what I can only imagine being in The Emoji Movie-style, I fly out of the kitchen and into my bedroom, frantically looking for anything other than what I have on.

I fling off my slippers and throw open my walk-in closet, looking for something cute and chic for 9 o'clock on a Thursday night without looking like I'm trying too hard. If I am really getting engaged tonight, I have to make sure I look my absolute best.

Settling on a pair of straight-legged black pants with an oversized bow tied at the waist in place of a belt and a hot pink blouse, I roll into the bathroom and turn my messy topknot into a refined ballerina bun. My twenty years of practice wearing and learning how to fix my own in a time crunch has come in handy. My quick costume change has (hopefully) turned me from drab to "I totally came home from work an hour ago and just haven't changed yet" fab. I thank the good Lord Almighty I kept my makeup on just as I hear my doorbell ring and the subsequent yapping of my dog working his hardest to fend off our intruder.