19. Karla
KARLA
“Where are you guys going?” Martha asked from my bed, her voice muffled by the throw pillow she was half-hugging, half-crushing against her chest as she watched me rummage through my closet like a raccoon in a dumpster.
“We’re going to Thursday Kitchen,” I called back, shimmying into my favorite purple dress, the one that made me feel cute in a kindergarten-teacher-on-field-trip kind of way.
“You better not be putting on that purple dress,” she shouted, disgust dripping from every syllable.
I trudged out of the closet still wearing it. “What’s wrong with this? It’s my favorite! It has pockets!” I shoved my hands deep into them like punctuation and gave a tiny twirl that made the skirt fan out. Honestly? Adorable.
Martha sat up straighter, giving me the kind of look surgeons reserve for fatal diagnoses. “You look like Barney the stupid dinosaur’s ugly cousin.”
I slapped a hand to my chest. “My heart. I think you literally pierced my soul with that one.”
She crossed her arms like a bouncer rejecting a fake ID. “Change into something sexy. This is your first date in God knows how long—show a little cleavage for crying out loud!”
I waved both hands dramatically. “You know what? Fine. Why don’t you pick something out. I’m going to do my makeup before you destroy what’s left of my self-esteem.”
“Challenge accepted.” Martha hopped off the bed, cracked her knuckles like a woman about to perform a wardrobe exorcism, and marched into my closet.
While she rustled around, I leaned over the bathroom counter, studying my reflection. My eyeliner hand shook like I was diffusing a bomb. Honestly, dating after a trauma felt exactly like that—one wrong move and everything exploded.
My brain kept swinging between excited and terrified.
My stomach buzzed, half butterflies, half acid reflux of fear.
Brayden had been nothing but kind, gentle, patient—the complete opposite of James—but somehow that made it worse.
I trusted the wrong person once. My picker was officially under review by the Department of Homeland Security.
“What if I’m just broken?” I muttered to myself.
“Found it!” Martha reappeared in the doorway like a flamboyant guardian angel, triumphantly holding a slinky black dress I didn’t remember owning.
I blinked. “Where the hell did you find that?”
She waved tags at me. “Buried. Like the Ark of the Covenant. Also, hilariously, you never cut off the price tags—which is on brand for you, Miss I-Hate-Returning-Things.”
I changed quickly, and when I stepped out, Martha let out a theatrical gasp. “Yes. Yes! That is what a woman going on a date looks like.”
I turned in the mirror again. Damn. My ass looked fan-fucking-tastic. “I didn’t even remember I had this thing.”
“You did not,” she said, grinning wickedly. “But I did.”
She kicked off her teal pumps. “Okay. Time for the final touch.” She bent down, picked them up, and handed them to me like they were sacred relics. “Wear my lucky pumps. A pop of color is exactly what you need to send Brayden’s dick straight to the moon.”
I snorted. “Are you sure? You love these shoes.”
“Yes, I love them,” she sang out, hands on hips. “But they haven’t seen any action in far too long. They deserve to be taken somewhere romantic. Maybe get stepped on by a man with big feet. You know—live their truth.”
I hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” She hopped up onto the bathroom counter, swinging her legs. “Now tell me—are you nervous?”
My throat tightened. I didn’t want to admit it, but lying to your best friend was like trying to hide a dead body under a bathmat—impossible.
I took a shaky breath. “I am so fucking nervous. I don’t know how to date someone new.
I was with James for so long. And it feels so right with Brayden…
we get along so well. But what if he realizes he doesn’t like me after all? What if—what if I’m wrong again?”
The words tumbled out before I could catch them. Fears I kept pressed between the pages of my spine, finally saying hello.
Martha took my hand, pulling me close. Her eyes—normally all sarcasm and caffeine—softened. “Hey. He’s going to love you. How could he not? You’re brilliant and funny and hot as fuck. And he already said he wanted to date you and take things slow. That’s a man waving an emotional white flag.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Or it means I am an ugly troll he can’t get his dick up for.”
She shoved me away, trying to keep a straight face and failing spectacularly. “You’re an idiot. A gorgeous idiot. Brayden is practically panting every time he looks at you. If he panted any harder, OSHA would get involved.”
I let out a choked laugh as I started fastening the ankle straps on the pumps. “I just… I don’t trust myself. Not after James. I missed every red flag. It was like I was colorblind and the universe handed me a goddamn parade.”
“You trusted someone who didn’t deserve it,” she said, firm but gentle. “That’s not a flaw. That’s who you are—a big-hearted dumbass. But now you’re wiser. You’re stronger. You have us. And Brayden? He’s shown up for you. Even when he didn’t have to.”
Her voice cracked for a second. That alone loosened something inside me.
I exhaled shakily. “What if I freak out? What if I shut down on the date? What if I cry over appetizers?”
“Then he’ll deal with it,” Martha said matter-of-factly. “Because that’s what men do when they actually give a shit.”
I stared at my reflection again. The woman in the mirror looked… new. Not healed—not yet—but healing. My hair fell in soft waves down my shoulders. My lipstick was a perfect muted berry. My heels were high enough to make me feel sexy but not so high that I’d break my ankle like a drunk baby deer.
I looked like someone who was finally taking her life back.
“God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I whispered.
“You should be doing this.” Martha crossed her arms. “You deserve happiness. You deserve an orgasm created by someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
“Martha!”
“What? I’m just saying—Brayden looks like he could break a headboard.”
“St-Stop!” My cheeks prickled as nervous chuckles bubbled out of me.
She grinned. “I will not.”
I laughed so hard I snorted. It felt good. Really good. The kind of laugh I hadn’t had since… before everything.
I sucked in a deep breath, realizing the time. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”
“Okay,” Martha breathed with a smirk. “Shoulders back. Tits out. You can breathe when you come home.”
I swatted her arm, heart pounding. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. I’m delightful. Now go. Before I start crying like a proud mom at prom pictures.”
I grabbed my purse, took one last look in the mirror, and forced my trembling legs to carry me toward the door.
As I reached the hallway, Martha called out, softer this time—“Hey. Karla… You’re doing it. You’re reclaiming your life.”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
And with that tiny, brave truth, I opened the door to my first real step forward.