Chapter Sixteen #2
Marina and I were together for, like, a month. I should’ve been over her in what? About a day?
But I’m not.
“You know what?” I say to Jessie suddenly, totally interrupting her. “Set it up. Do it.”
“Set what up?”
“The date with your friend at the agency.”
The way her entire face lights up like she’s a little kid and I just told her she could choose any toy she wants from the toy store is almost comical, and I can’t help but grin.
Her story totally left behind us in a cloud of dust in the middle of the road as we drive on to something else, she asks, “Seriously? You’re in? ”
“I’m in.”
“Amazing! She’s gonna be so psyched.”
We talk about the date—two weeks from now—and I put it in my calendar. This time, she gets off her stool and gives me a real hug, using both arms and squeezing me tight.
“I’m so proud of you, Lils,” she whispers in my ear.
“I’m proud of me, too, a little bit,” I say, as she climbs back onto her stool. And I am. I just have to do that one teeny, tiny other thing that I haven’t been able to yet.
I have to let Marina go.
Completely.
I shouldn’t be this nervous. Should I?
“It’s just a date,” I whisper to my reflection. “Just a date. Nothing more. You’re not going home with her. You’re not proposing. She’s not proposing. It’s just a date.”
Her name is Kya, and like Jessie told me a couple weeks ago, she works for Jessie’s agent as his assistant.
She’s from North Carolina, lives in Brooklyn, has two cats, and loves to cook.
Jessie texted me a photo, and Kya is quite attractive.
Jessie used the word hot , and her dark eyes, mahogany skin, and seemingly confident posture in the photo seem to support Jessie’s words, but I’m reserving that assessment for when I meet her in person.
There’s an emotional war going on in my head that’s pissing me off. Part of me is very much looking forward to this date, and despite my nerves, I’m excited. The other part of me?
Yeah.
The other part of me feels like I’m cheating on Marina. Which is absolutely fucking ridiculous, and I know it. I promise you, I know it. But knowing it and being able to crawl out from under it are two very different things.
I give my head a hard shake. “Stop it.”
I breathe in slowly through my nose, let it out through my mouth, and take in my reflection.
I tried to walk the line between casually comfortable and comfortably dressed up.
I toyed with the idea of a dress, but it’s a bit chilly, so pants it is.
Black ones with a light blue sweater that buttons in the front and leaves quite a bit of skin showing.
It’s not scandalous, but it’s awfully sexy.
I bought it a couple weeks ago when I was trying to cheer myself up, and the salesgirl said it made the blue of my eyes pop.
I was sure she was just trying to make a sale, but damn if she wasn’t right.
I don’t wear a ton of makeup, but the dark mascara with my blue eyes and sweater looks damn good, if I do say so myself.
And a little blast of confidence is exactly what I need right now.
My phone rings, and it’s my mom. I answer it on the way to the kitchen. “Hi, Mom. Putting you on speaker. I’ve gotta feed Reggie.”
“Are you ready for your big date?”
I grin and shake my head, glad she can’t see me roll my eyes. I think she’s more excited about tonight than I am. “Just about.”
“What did you decide to wear?”
“Black pants. Blue sweater. Low heels.” I scoop Reggie’s kibble into his dish, then pull out the shredded chicken I made for him last night. “And no, I’m not sending you a picture.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to.”
“You lie,” I say with a laugh. “I’ve met you.”
She laughs, too, caught. “Fine. I wanted to see. But I can use my imagination.” She pauses, and her tone slides back into a more serious version. “Are you nervous?”
“Yup.” I don’t want to elaborate for fear I’ll fall back down the panic spiral I just managed to avoid.
“Honey. It’s gonna be great. You’re wonderful, and maybe she is, too.”
“Maybe.”
“Just promise me you’ll give her a chance. Okay?”
I’m trying hard not to get annoyed. I know she means well, and she only wants what’s best for me. But I’m almost fifty and don’t need a pep talk from my mommy.
And yet.
“I promise. I’m actually looking forward to meeting her.” I mix up Reggie’s food and then set it on his place mat, where he descends on it like a shark on a seal.
“Great. That’s what I want to hear.” My mother is clearly relieved, and it’s kind of sweet. “Well, make sure you report back and let me know how it went.”
We talk about a few mundane things—my dad’s latest project and how much space it’s taking up in the basement, my brother’s promotion, which I already knew about but let her gush over, the political thriller she started last week—before I have to remind her I need to take Reggie out to do his business before I leave for dinner.
She wishes me well one more time, and I finally get her off the phone.
“Your grandma is a chatterbox,” I tell my dog as I leash him up. We head out to the elevator.
Having a dog in Manhattan is interesting, to say the least. There’s very little grass, and the trees are planted directly into the sidewalks.
At my house upstate, I have a large, fenced-in yard, so it took Reggie a bit of time to figure things out here.
But he has a favorite fire hydrant for his number ones and a favorite tree for his number twos, and it’s almost as if he knows I’ve got plans tonight because he doesn’t drag his paws.
Trust me, he can get on a sniffing spree that lasts for hours. Not tonight, though, thank God.
“You’re the best boy, Reg,” I say to him as he finishes up and turns us back to our street.
We stop for a moment to chat and sniff when we see Mrs. Haversham and Ralphie, her miniature schnauzer, out for their own walk, but after that, we walk one more block and we’re at our building.
I have my hand on the door handle when I think I hear my name.
I turn to my left, then hear it again coming from my right, and suddenly every nerve in my body is standing at attention because it instantly recognizes that voice. I swallow hard and turn to meet dark, dark eyes and a very hesitant smile.
It’s Marina.