3. Debt Date
As I lie in bed, tracing the delicate crack in the ceiling with my weary gaze, my eyelids begin to feel impossibly heavy. What a whirlwind of emotions today has been, and the gust has followed me into the night. As I drift softly into the embrace of sleep, the memory of Randy’s kiss lingers. I touch my lips and feel the fleeting echo of passion flutter through me. It’s curious how swiftly the fiery moments shared between lovers dissolves into the ether of our minds. At first, there’s this electric spark of attraction that ignites an exhilarating rush. Then in the heat of connection, we soar, touched by euphoria. But as quickly as it ignites, the flame dims, leaving those shared moments to gently recede into the tapestry of our past.
With Randy, it’s a dance of shadows—intense and captivating, yet elusive, slipping through my fingers like whispers of smoke. I can never seem to hold on to him, to carry the essence of us beyond the now. And in these quiet, introspective moments, I find myself pondering—do I even want to? Do I yearn to anchor him, to weave him into the fabric of my tomorrows?
Honestly, I don’t know much about Randy except that he almost became a famous chef in New York City before something big happened. We’ve never talked about what went wrong, and we’ve never really been on an actual date. People say Randy doesn’t do dates, even though lots of folks have tried to catch his eye. He’s pretty popular. It makes me wonder if I am the only one he’s doing.
The idea that I might not be his only secret hookup bothers me a lot. I toss and turn in bed, feeling all kinds of upset. That’s it. I decide here and now that Randy and I are done. It is time to move on.
But even as I decide we’re done, I’m not sure I believe it.
My phone rings, pulling me out of my reverie. I flip over onto my stomach and reach for my device. I’m actually glad for the distraction. My thoughts were making decisions that I’m not ready to contend with yet.
“Hello?” I answer, probably sounding too excited.
“Is this Gina?” asks a man on the other end.
I can’t tell who it is, which makes me pause. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“Jeremy. The guy you’re dating.” He chuckles.
I, too, can’t help but laugh. This has to be a joke. “Yeah, right.” I sit up against my headboard to give this conversation my full attention.
“I hope I’m not calling too late. I just wanted to check to see if you’re free tomorrow night.”
He sounds so cheery, as I stifle a yawn. This guy moves fast.
“You really don’t waste time, do you?” I remark, half-amused, half-impressed.
His laughter comes through the phone, and it reminds me so much of Randy’s that I suddenly feel more awake.
“Not when the person who owes me is as pretty as you.” His flirting is obvious, but adorable.
I blurt out a laugh. “Cute.” I’m not entirely charmed, but I am nevertheless intrigued. Right now, the idea of using one of my precious two nights off for what I’m calling a “debt date” doesn’t thrill me. Yet part of me reasons that the sooner I start, the sooner it will all be behind me. “I work until five tomorrow. Can you pick me up at the Calypso then?” I find myself already wishing I would’ve just asked my parents for the money.
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