Chapter 7
SEVEN
Nitro
Celeste
I’m laying across Delaney’s couch with my feet perched on the armrest, doom scrolling on my phone. I may or may not be waiting for Dominic to text me.
No, Celeste you do not wait on a man.
Okay, I’m lying on Delaney’s couch absolutely not waiting for any incoming texts whatsoever. I sigh and flop my phone down on my chest.
“A watched boil never kettles!” Delaney sings from the kitchenette merely six feet away.
She’s nonsensical, just like her apartment.
Every wall is painted a different pastel colour.
Baby blues, pinks, greens, and purples colour drench every wall from top to bottom.
Miniature disco globes hang as planters, obscure art pieces from her creative friends hang on every available space, and even food shaped throw pillows that I’m currently resting on scream Delaney’s eclectic style.
I pull a hand embroidered lemon pillow from under my butt and throw it at her.
“I’m not watching anything!” I holler back, giggling as she throws the pillow back at me.
“Oh please,” she admonishes, coming around to hand me a mug of tea before nestling herself into a vintage velvet magenta armchair. “You’ve run out of feed! Put the phone down, reenter the real world. And when this Dominic guy sends you a referral—”
“It’s not a referral! It’s a date…set up…thing.” I massage my temples. I don’t even know what to call this. “It’s weird. This is weird, right?” I tentatively ask.
Delaney looks at me, opens her mouth to say something but then shakes her head a little and begins to drink her own tea.
“You’re suspiciously quiet over there Lane, spill.” I squint at her.
“Okay,” she says as she rolls her eyes. “Any chance that this Dominic guy is just into you?”
“No. No, ha!” I sit up taking a sip of my own tea and place it on the heart-shaped coffee table. “He’s very broody, wears all black, a little pessimistic and I’m…” I pause, trying to think of the right oppositional word.
“A golden retriever?” Delaney suggests, a hint of a smile playing on her mouth.
“I was going to say optimistic, but sure.” I wave a hand at her comparison.
“If I am a…golden retriever,” I glare at Delaney.
“He’s like a…I don’t know, what’s a dog breed that judges you immediately?
” I throw up my hands at this awful comparison.
“This doesn’t even make sense anymore, Lane.
Either way, he doesn’t check off all the boxes on my list.”
“Ah, yes, this elusive checklist of your perfect specimen.” Delaney leans forward listing off traits on her finger tips. “Brain of Einstein, looks of a young Brad Pitt, chivalrous like Henry Cavil?” she prods.
“Something like that.” I laugh off her mockery of my list. “Standards are important.”
“Of course they are, but what are the chances you meet a guy before going off to medical school and he ticks all your boxes? I mean that figuratively and literally.” Delaney shimmies her shoulders at me, a bark of a laugh escaping my lips.
“You’re nuts. Plus, this is all experimental, remember? It’s for the med school application. Which by the way, is due in the fall. I’m nervous enough for it. Let’s just watch this week’s episode, I need to see who gets voted off.” I change the subject, pointing to the remote resting near her.
Delaney comes to sit beside me on the couch, throwing dino-nugget and cowboy boot shaped pillows to the floor to make room for herself. Pulling a fuzzy pink blanket over us she flips on the latest episode of our terribly trashy reality television show that we love to hate.
I suppress a groan and watch the drama unfold on the screen mindlessly.
I don’t think I’m asking for too much in a romantic partner, this experiment needs standards.
Plus, everyone has a list, whether they consciously think about it or not.
Mine may be a little longer than others, but oh well.
I keep my heels high and my standards higher.
I begin visualizing my checklist, manifesting a man that qualifies into existence.
Loyal
Tall and handsome, at least taller than me
Chivalrous, but manly
Honest, but in a kind way
Can support himself, has his own place, and is financially stable
Goal oriented, at least one yearly goal and three lifetime goals
Isn’t afraid of a smart woman
Roughly my age, but no more than five years older
Intellectual - GPA higher than 3.0
Makes me feel emotionally and physically supported…against a wall…where he may or may not have my hands held above my head as he nibbles on—
God, I need to get laid.
I blink away the mental image. It’s been far too long.
But sometimes that’s the price you pay when you have your nose in a textbook the majority of the time, and when you finally look up, there’s your best friend.
Delaney may be one of my only friends, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
She’s been so incredibly supportive of me, my career goals and therefore my need to study all the time.
Sometimes we just hang out at her apartment and do homework.
No conversation needed. I almost forget she’s a theatre arts major until she suddenly starts doing a tap dancing routine on the kitchen tiles.
We’ve shared so many moments even though we only met a couple years ago.
Sometimes you just find your twin flame and you just know, they’re exactly what you need in a person, she’s my person.
All the while, even though I haven’t found a romantic partner and she has, she has never made me feel out of the loop or less important than her girlfriend, Ellie.
I’ve never met her other than a quick wave on FaceTime, as she currently lives far away, but I know they’ve been talking about one of them moving to the other at some point.
I selfishly hope Ellie comes here. I don’t know what I’d do without Delaney.
I remember the first year I met her. Mom wasn’t able to be at home for the holiday break so I went with Delaney to meet her family.
They warmly welcomed me into their home during the first night of Hanukkah and declared I was family ever since.
Delaney, her sister Becca and I stayed up for hours by their fireplace chatting away, stuffing our mouths full of latkes and sufganiyot between sips of wine.
The next year they invited me back but demanded my mom come, and that year she could.
It was the best holiday celebration we’ve ever had.
“How’s your mom doing by the way? I don’t think I’ve asked in a while,” Delaney asks softly, muting the TV during the advertisement breaks.
“She’s okay,” I reply half-heartedly. “You know it’s just hard because—”
My phone buzzes in my lap and stops me short. Dominic’s nickname flashes across the notification bar. I hold the phone up to Delaney to read the name and she wiggles her eyebrows at me and shimmies her chest. I burst out laughing and swipe open the message.
Peggy
Hey Hoot, hope I got you at an OK time. This artist type guy (better than Lance) came in the other day and struck up a conversation about the book I was reading (good taste) so I asked if he was single (no mullet).
Hoot—while I don’t care about being assumed gay, it looks like I have no game.
Anyway, here’s his number. I didn’t want to give your number out to random guys so I figured it’s best if I pass theirs to you. Sorry for the giant text.
Under the text is a new contact for a guy named Clay. I relay the information to Delaney who squeals with delight and peer pressures me into texting Clay immediately, asking him to meet me at a small Italian place, Copertina, that’s near her apartment.
By the end of the night Delaney has made a reservation for me at Copertina under the watchful eye of her shady bouncer friend, Andre, a giant with an affinity for show tune medleys. And I have a date with Clay.
* * *
I brush down the skirt of my champagne coloured satin dress after hopping out of my car in front of Copertina.
It’s not especially busy despite the large parking lot, with only a row of black sedans parked towards the back.
I clutch my matching purse and try not to break an ankle on the gravel walkway leading up to the entrance.
I’m greeted by the tallest and widest man I’ve ever seen.
He’s wearing a giant black leather coat, black slacks, black sunglasses, and a black button down.
Even his slicked back hair is jet black.
The man looks like the shadow of a mountain.
The only colour on his person is the end of his lit cigarette that dangles haphazardly out of his mouth.
“You Celeste?” he asks, his voice sounding like the gravel I just walked on.
I give a small apprehensive nod, really hoping this is Andre.
“Good. Your table is in front of Chef Angelo’s window.
Enjoy.” He doesn’t smile but holds the door open for me.
Right as I pass through the threshold I feel his presence right beside my ear and I freeze at his nearness.
“If you’re uncomfortable with your date or want out, request a Cynar shot,” Andre says.
“What’s a Cynar shot?” I squeak out, even though my gut says not to ask. I turn my head slightly, catching my own scared expression in the reflection of his dark sunglasses.
“It’s got a coppery aftertaste. Much like what that stronzetta will taste if he dishonours you.” He gives me a small nod and what I think is a wink.
I swallow down my hesitation and walk into what is probably a hot spot for a mafia crime syndicate. At least I’m on their good side. Hopefully.
How the fuck does Delaney know these people?