Chapter Twenty-One
It’s our first date tonight, and I’m standing in front of my cupboard, chewing on my lip and wondering what to wear. Of course, I’m aiming for the holy trinity of potential new relationship clothing: sexy, sweet, and smart casual.
It is, I’m discovering, a deeply unreasonable goal.
Three piles of rejected shirts and two pairs of jeans later, I’m no closer to enlightenment. If anything, I’ve gone backwards. One of the shirts is inside out. I’ve found a hole in a fairly newish skirt. My mascara has been so infrequently used it's turned to nothing more than black clumps.
So, like any sensible woman who knows when to call in for reinforcements, I give up and call my sister.
“I need help,” I tell her, yanking out yet another skirt and immediately throwing it onto the ever-growing pile of failures.
“Okay,” she says easily. “With what?”
“I have this date tonight,” I explain. “With a guy,” I add, somewhat unnecessarily.
There is a beat.
Then — an ear-splitting squeal so loud it actually hurts my ear.
“You have a date? You?” I hear a loud clatter, like she’s just dropped something in shock. “Hold on, I need to sit down. No, wait — I need a pen. This is historic. I should document this. Alert the village elders.”
“Can you not,” I mutter.
“No, absolutely not. This is groundbreaking. This is a cultural reset.” More rustling. “Tell me everything. How did this happen? Did he lose a bet? Are you blackmailing him?”
“I met him at that Halloween party you dragged me to.”
“Halloween party . . . oh! You mean my office one?” She goes quiet for a second, and I can practically hear her rifling through memories. “Wait. That was ages ago. You actually spoke to someone there?”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “Briefly. After you abandoned me.”
“I did not abandon you.”
“You left me alone in a room full of strangers to go hook up with a man dressed as a devil.”
“Oh, right.” There’s a pause. “Him.”
“Yes, him,” I say, pulling out another pair of jeans. “Hope he was worth it.”
I can almost hear her shrug in response. “In my defence,” she says, “he was a very convincing devil.”
“I’m sure.”
“And also in my defence,” she continues easily, “you looked fine. You had wine. There were snacks.”
“You drank most of my wine,” I remind her. “And snacks? I had a bowl of dry tortilla chips with a side of social anxiety.”
“Same thing, really.”
I sigh, kicking aside the jeans with unnecessary force. “Anyway, I met him there.”
“And you got his number?”
“Yes.”
“Wait . . .” My sister pauses. “You’re not talking about Steve Jobs, are you?”
“Well . . .”
Another ear-splitting shriek. “Are you kidding me? You did it? You talked to him?”
“Fell into his arms, actually,” I admit, somewhat proudly.
“I need to know everything. Every single detail. You can’t just fall into someone’s arms and not tell me about it.”
“I will, but not right now.” I glance back at my wardrobe, which now looks like it’s been looted. “I have a date with this guy, and I don’t know what to wear.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, snapping into a tone of exaggerated seriousness. “Describe the options.”
“I have a black dress.”
“Too date.”
“A blouse and jeans.”
“Too not date.”
“A skirt—”
“What kind of skirt?”
“I don’t know, a . . . skirt-shaped skirt. With a very slight hole at the bottom.”
“Helpful.”
I groan. “This is why I don’t do this.”
There’s a pause, softer this time. “Well,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice, “maybe you should start. You don’t have to be so careful all the time, you know. You can have fun, too. Like me, and that devil.”
I hesitate, fingers brushing over the fabric of the black dress again. “I know. This one is nice,” I admit, quieter now. “I like him.”
There’s no teasing this time. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Another small pause. “I’m happy for you. You should have more fun. Live on the wild side, sometimes.”
I don’t reply to that. “It’s just a date,” I say instead, trying to bring down her expectations, “and don’t worry. I’ve checked him out, and he seems okay. Safe.”
Now my sister is quiet, and we both know why. “What’s his name?” she finally asks.
“Theo. Theo Manford.”
“Manford? That sounds familiar. Hang on.” I can hear her fingers running over keys, and I know she’s googling him, even as we speak. “Hmm. Wait. Does he work for the BBC?”
“Oh.” I think so. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll find out.”
“You don’t need to. I just did.” She makes a satisfied noise. “Yeah, he checks out clean at first glance. Manford,” she adds thoughtfully. “I know that name. No worries though. I’ll do a deeper dive later.”
“If you want to.”
“I don’t want to, babe. We need to,” she replies bluntly.
At her tone, I feel a trickle of doubt run through me. “Maybe this is a bad idea—”
“No, don’t you dare,” my sister interrupts my downward spiral sharply.
“You like him, remember? He’s a nice guy.
One hundred per cent, he won’t be one of them—” She cuts herself off and I hear her take a deep breath.
“Look, just go out tonight, and have a good time. You’ve earned it.
Fun is allowed. Fun is fine. Just know that if this man hurts you in any way, I will personally track him down. ”
I can’t help it. I laugh, shaking my head. “God help him then. You’re terrifying.”
“I prefer the term ‘single-minded’.”
“All right, Miss Single-minded. What should I wear tonight then?”
“You know what? You like this guy. Put on the black dress.”
“You said it was too ‘date’.”
“It is, but that’s perfect for you right now,” she says confidently. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing, and will accept full responsibility for your future heartbreak, if I’m wrong. I’m not though. That dress is the winner.”
I nod, pulling the dress from the hanger.
“Have a good time tonight,” my sister carries on. “But at even the slightest hint of trouble, call me.”
“There won’t be trouble,” I say, trying to channel confidence. “I can feel it. This one’s a good one, I promise you.”