Chapter 2
Mae
Last time I went out with the girls I went classy, which is normally what I wear. But Rachel told me I should wear a shorter skirt and something a little more low-cut because it might be more attractive.
A guy approaching me for a short skirt feels vapid and shallow, but it’s worth a shot.
I split the difference and picked a skort that looks like a skirt and has a small slit up the thigh.
My top is sheer, and anyone can see my bra.
I borrowed it from Cassie and I’m severely regretting it already.
But my heels are on, and my phone buzzed with a text.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble to myself.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I yell.
“Have a good time,” Mom says, rubbing one of her stiff hands.
“Be smart, little girl,” my dad yells after me.
I shake my head, smiling to myself, and head out for the night.
***
We end up at The Range, and the bouncer immediately lets us in because we’ve been a thousand times.
It’s a large, modern club with a sleek bar lit up with multi color LED’s and a dance floor that takes up most of the space itself.
The girls like coming here because they always find someone.
Me? Not so much. I’m not … lucky that way.
I walk in beside them and lift my chin. Rachel, Cassie, and Sarah are notably taller than me, which is why I typically go for platforms or ankle-breaking stilettos.
I hate them. We make our way to the bar, order a shot, and I get my club soda with a lime, while the others order some too-sweet drink of the week.
“Skol!” Cassie yells over the bumping music.
We clink our tiny glasses and toss the vodka back. I wince and slide my glass back to the bartender, chasing the burn with my club soda.
“Alright, girl, anyone you have your eye on?” Rachel asks.
I spin around, spotting some guys in suits, the classic outdoorsmen, and some in t-shirts or button-ups.
This is Denver, Colorado, and it’s a toss-up if you’re going to get a finance bro or an outdoorsy hiker-man.
So the conversation is either, ‘What’s your favorite hiking spot?
’ or ‘Have you heard of this new tech startup?’
“You look hot, by the way,” Rachel says into my ear.
I smile, lifting my drink to her in thanks, and keep observing.
Faking it until I hopefully make it. For years now, I’ve always been the girl who opens the door to my pretty friends, or I’m the step before he finds a wife. They take me on a date twice, and then it’s the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, and he inevitably finds his wife right after.
But most of the time, of all the interactions, I’m simply invisible. I get a polite smile and a nod, and I’m the one ultimately left driving one of the girls’ cars home because they went home with the guy they picked up.
I’m not looking for a hookup, I’m looking for a husband, and after a few years of going out and having fun, I’m coming to the conclusion that my lack of desire for a one-night stand is not only a turnoff, but is also reason to believe that my husband is not in a club.
The moral of this story is: I’m tired of being alone. I want the husband, the kids, the stupid white picket fence. I don’t literally want a white fence, but it’s the thought that counts.
Sarah says that’s what she wants too, yet she doesn’t give most men the time of day unless they cater to her every whim. Cassie and Rachel don’t seem to be bothered by it. Probably because they’re with a new guy every week. To each their own, I guess, but that isn’t me.
Yet here I am, going out with my friends because we want to have a good time. When in reality, I had a long day and I’m tired of all of this. Mom had a rough day, and Dad got home later than he usually does.
I pull my skirt down because it feels like it’s riding up my butt.
“Ooh, what about him?” Sarah says, bumping my elbow.
I spot a man in a suit jacket, tie loosened at the neck and top button undone. His blonde hair meticulous, clean-shaven, and a dazzling smile as he laughs at something his friend said.
I nod to Cassie and keep watching the man, wondering if we’ll catch eyes and he’ll come to me, or maybe I have to work up the courage to go to him.
I think I’m going to need another shot for this.
He catches my eye and I smile at him, holding his gaze. He turns away, saying something to his friend, and then makes his way over to me.
As he comes closer, I notice his suit is navy, shirt is white, tie is a discrete plaid pattern. His shoes look clean, and he looks like a man who cares about his physique.
He sidles up next to me where Sarah was and focuses on me.
I wrap my lips around my cocktail straw and peer up at him.
“Hey, I’m Jake,” he says, holding out his hand.
I shake it.
He leans down to hear me better, still holding my hand.
“I’m Mae,” I say into his ear.
He glances over my shoulder. “Are you with your friends?”
I lean in, placing my hand on his arm. “Yeah, we’re out to blow off some steam,” I tell him.
He nods, looking me up and down, then focusing on Sarah, Cassie, and Rachel.
“Want to introduce me to your friends?” he asks.
My stomach sinks, but I keep my chin up. This could be nothing. He’s being polite and wants to introduce himself to my friends. Or he’s trying to get to one of them.
No, Mae, give him the benefit of the doubt. You don’t know this man.
I introduce them, and the man Jake was talking to comes up and starts chatting with Rachel. She flips her long brown hair and throws her head back, laughing at something he says. I can’t imagine it’s that funny.
His cheeks blush, and Jake taps my elbow. “Do you want to dance? Or maybe I can get you another drink?”
“I’d love to dance,” I yell over the bumping music.
He takes my hand, leading me onto the dance floor. Okay, so far so good.
A popular pop song comes on, and we move to the beat. I’ve always enjoyed dancing, even if I’m not great at it. Dad would grab Mom in the kitchen, playing his favorite 80s band, and spin her around the floor. It’s something I want for myself.
Jake grabs my hands, pulling me closer to him and resting them on his shoulders as he slips his to my lower back. He stares down at me with a little amusement, and my heart lifts.
The songs keep changing, but we stay there.
Eventually I’m too sweaty and thirsty to keep going. “Water?” I yell.
Jake nods, taking my hand and leading the way through the dancers.
Once we reach the bar, Sarah comes up on my side, smiling wildly, and wiggles her brows as if to ask if he’s a contender.
I tilt my head and make a face, giving the signal, and take my water from the bartender.
Jake comes up to my side, doubling us in one spot against the bar since there’s so many people, and I observe him. Maybe I have a shot with this one. He’s been kind and offered to buy me a drink. It’s a start, and that’s what matters.
Sarah strikes up a conversation with him, and it’s so loud they are basically speaking into each other’s ear, effectively cutting me out, and I try not to let it get to me. But it does.
Sipping my water, I wait patiently for them to finish talking until he waves to the bartender and orders Sarah a drink.
She glances at me and nods as if she’s giving me her approval.
I smile through the odd feeling rolling through me and let it be what it is.
Jake finally includes me in the conversation, talking about going skiing at Breckenridge and Vail later this winter.
I barely get a word in, but I’ve never skied a day in my life. I have no interest, but I don’t mind hiking though.
Jake checks his watch and sighs. “I have to get going,” he says.
I smile, waiting for him to ask me for my number, but he gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then goes to Sarah and does the same. He whispers something in her ear and she nods to him.
He winks at both of us and makes his way out of the club.
Not ten seconds later, Sarah whips out her phone, and I can see from here that she’s typing in a new number to text it. And I should look away. I don’t want to see what I know is inevitably coming, but I look anyway.
Hey, it’s Sarah.
I look away, unable to take anymore and hop off the stool.
“I’m going home!” I yell.
Sarah frowns and gives me a hug. I have no idea where Cassie or Rachel went, and truthfully, I don’t care.
When I get home, I tiptoe up to my room, careful not to wake my parents. Then I let myself burst into silent tears. I let myself wallow all the way through pulling my makeup off, taking a shower, and getting myself into bed.
Frustration falls in rivers down my face, and I need to accept that this is what it is. Maybe it’s time for me to be done with the club scene. I don’t know how much faking it I have left in me.