60. Margot
60
margot
I’ve been a wreck all afternoon. How ready do you bother getting for something you’re determined isn’t a date? How much effort is too much? Will he read into something he shouldn’t? Does my mascara say I’m putting myself out there for the taking or does it just look like mascara?
Rae and Matt left a little while ago, so I’ve been alone with my spiraling thoughts. I’m afraid of seeing Jackson, but the thought of him coming here to find me gone isn’t exactly better. I’m sure he won’t come. He’ll probably either stay with the band or go to Matt’s parents’ house. That’s what I would do if I were him. It’s what makes sense. Plus, if he were coming here still, he’d tell me. Wouldn’t he?
Shaking out my nerves, I stand in front of my floor-length mirror and force out a deep breath. I can do this. This is not a date. This is two friends getting out of the apartment so one friend doesn’t drive herself crazy at the prospect of seeing her ex who probably won’t show.
Totally normal.
There’s a knock on the door, and I jump. I need to relax. I can’t be this on edge all night. As I walk out of my room, my eyes dart to the time displayed on the stove. Jackson’s flight isn’t supposed to land for another twenty minutes. It’s not him—I know it’s not him. But that doesn’t stop me from checking through the peephole.
Braden stands there, looking more or less the same as he always does. He might have recently showered, but he didn’t dress any different. I let out a breath of relief and unlock the door. Before I open it, I take a steadying breath and follow it with my best smile. I can do this. I can pretend I’m okay for a few hours. I can act like this isn’t making me want to bolt.
“Hey,” I say with a grin as I open the door.
He smiles back at me, and I hope mine looked that effortless. “Hey. Ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.” Turning and locking my apartment door, I add, “What do you want to do?”
“I want to take you somewhere.”
The words give me pause. There’s nothing wrong with those words, but maybe it’s the way he said them? Maybe I’m just paranoid. Turning on my heels, I brace myself for what I’m about to say. “I just want to be clear that this is?—”
“Definitely not a date.”
I stare at him.
“Margot if this were a date, I wouldn’t have shown up empty handed, and I would have told you that you look gorgeous at least once.” With a smile, he adds, “Maybe twice if I felt nervous.” He shrugs. “So as far as I see it, if this were a date we’d already be O for two.”
I let out a light laugh, and some of the tension in my shoulders dissipates. “Okay, so where to?”
We end up at a small Italian restaurant, and the first thing I think of is the pizza shop in New York. I’m not sure why. This place may serve pizza, but they offer a lot more. I think it’s just the overall Italian vibe that has me reminiscing about a time I felt truly untouchable. That was when I felt most independent. It was my first time flying alone, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind. Jackson always felt so big, I think he made everything else smaller—including my fears.
“Table for two, please.” Braden holds up two fingers to the hostess, and we follow her to a small booth near the back.
Once I slide into the booth, I look around. “I’ve never been here.”
“I didn’t think you had.”
My defenses prickle. Did he say that because he knows I never really went on dates with Jackson? But when I look at him, it makes me think the comment was completely innocent. He’s smiling at me, and heat flushes to my cheeks.
“What?” I ask, desperate to hide my blush.
“So, how was your day?” He grabs a menu and starts looking at the different options like he was never staring.
“Braden!” A woman with dark, long curls says as she walks up and playfully whacks him with her pad to take down orders. “It’s been too long. What brings you in tonight?”
“Just out with a friend,” Braden says with a light laugh. “Margot this is Dee. Dee, this is Margot.”
Dee turns to me and does a sort of curtsy dip. “Very nice to meet you, Margot.” Turning back to Braden, she holds up her notepad to block the side of her mouth. “And a very pretty friend.”
“I don’t disagree with you.” He said it so casually. It would have been easy to miss under the shuffle of him collecting our menus and handing them to the woman. “Two pesto pastas, please.”
She barks a laugh. “I see you haven’t changed.” She takes our drink orders and walks away. I’m left feeling like we’re in the calm after a storm .
My mouth opens as I go to point in the direction I last saw her, but when I look, she’s already gone. “How do you know her?”
“I used to work here when I was in high school. Dee and her husband own the place.” He gives me a genuine smile. “This is where I learned how to make pesto pasta, and I promise she can make it better than me.”
“Oh, so that’s why you brought me here.” I give him a teasing smile. “You just want me to have another place to get my fix.”
His face falls. “Did I say hers was better? Because it’s practically inedible.”
I let out a laugh.
Braden’s eyes dart around the restaurant. “Don’t tell her I said that. I wouldn’t put it past her to throw a shoe at me.”
“Your secret’s safe,” I say, still giggling.
My smile lingers, and I realize I’m actually having fun. Rae’s plan is working. I feel better than I have all day. I’m sure just getting out of the apartment is a huge part of that, but I think Braden is a part of it, too. There’s something about his presence that’s comforting and the fact that he knows where I stand on tonight makes it easier to accept that comfort.
For the rest of dinner, we laugh and talk. He tells me about his job as a barback and his dreams of one day owning a restaurant. Our food arrives, and I have to admit that Dee’s pesto pasta is better than Braden’s, but only by a small margin. Little by little, I feel my rigid, icy state softening. I start to relax and feel more like myself. Braden gives off this warm feeling that I wish I could harness and wrap around myself like a cozy blanket. I’d save it for later when I’m alone and plagued with the thoughts that turned me to ice in the first place.
We thank Dee for our meals—which we each pay for separately. He didn’t even try to pay, and I’m grateful for it. Without looking my way, he told her we’d needed two checks, and that may have eased any lingering fears I had.
As we walk out into the cool night air, Braden waves for me to follow him. Instead of walking in the direction of the car, he turns down a busy side street full of vendors. It’s like an evening farmer’s market I never knew existed. As we walk and carry on our conversation from dinner, I marvel over all the different tables. There’s fresh honey, handcrafted jewelry, paintings, woodwork, and soaps. The energy of the market is buzzing with happy shoppers. Some look around at the market like they’ve stumbled upon a pleasant surprise while others look like they frequent certain tables to gather their essentials.
Without thinking, I stop in front of a cart full of bouquets. The flowers range in all varying shapes and colors, and for a moment, I find myself completely transfixed. They’re stunning.
“Want one?” Braden asks, stepping up beside me.
I’m instantly brought back to the present. “No. Sorry, I was just looking.” My eyes fall back to the silk-like petals, and I take one more intoxicating inhale. “Okay, I’m done,” I say with a laugh as I step away.
Braden doesn’t follow me, though. He takes another step toward the cart and starts muttering to himself.
I get closer and try to hear what he’s saying. “What are you doing?”
He looks over at me, surprised. “Oh. I’m trying to figure out which of these is the least romantic flower. What do you think?” He pulls a bouquet from the cart. “Daisies?”
“I think dead flowers are the least romantic.”
He glances back at the cart with a chuckle. “Looks like they’re fresh out of dead.” He shows the woman working the cart the bouquet of yellow and orange daisies before handing her his card. Once he’s paid, he turns back to me with a satisfied grin .
I arch a brow at him. “Do you even know how much those cost?”
“Nope. How much could it be?”
I shake my head. “Flowers can be expensive.”
He shrugs. “Well, they’re a gift for a friend, so they’re worth it.” He hands me the bouquet, and I hold them dumbly in my hands.
I have no idea what to say or do. Eventually a confused, “Thank you?” falls from my lips, and he smiles, even more pleased.
For the rest of the night, I hold my flowers. And for the rest of the night, there are no other date-like gestures. But as Braden drives us back to the apartment, my heart rate rises a little. It’s after ten, and Jackson’s flight was supposed to arrive hours ago. I wonder if he lost his money when he canceled or if they gave him a voucher. Hopefully, he could just change it to fly into Orlando instead. Then he’d be closer to Matt’s parents’ house.
I wring my hands in my lap as we pull into the parking lot, but I don’t see his car. Of course, I don’t see his car. He wouldn’t have come here. I don’t know why I’m panicking. It’s not like I’m going to open my apartment door and see him sitting there.
Braden puts the car in park, and we both step out. My hands shake as I take each step up to the second floor, but I hope holding the flowers hides it well. There’s no sign of Jackson up here either, and it helps to steady my nerves. We stop in front of Braden’s apartment since it’s the first one we pass.
“Thanks again for tonight,” I say with my best smile. “And for the flowers,” I add, lifting the bouquet.”
“Anytime.” He nods toward the flowers. “Sorry. They do still look a little date-like. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I let out a weak laugh. “My lips are sealed. ”
As soon as I say the words, Braden’s eyes drop to my mouth. And for the first time tonight, this doesn’t feel like two friends getting dinner. Because friends don’t look at other friends’ mouths like that.
“Braden,” I say, and my voice comes out a quiet plea.
He blinks. “Right. Sorry. Friends.”
I give him a sad smile. Taking a step back, I say, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he says, but when I reach my own door he adds, “Hey, Margot?”
I stop with my hand on the door handle.
“If things were different, I’d kiss you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just want you to know that, okay?”
I swallow, my hands gripping the flowers a little tighter. “Okay.”
He gives me a tight-lipped smile before heading inside, and only then to do I feel like I can breathe again.
I should go into my apartment.
I should put these flowers in some water.
I should try to go to sleep.
But all I can do is stay here. My chest rises and falls with the realization of how fucked up this whole situation is. Jackson was supposed to be here. I was supposed to be with him tonight, not Braden. Braden is wonderful. He’s kind, and smart, and considerate, but for whatever reason, I can’t make myself feel anything for him.
Turning around, I let my head rest against the door and try to take a steadying breath, but it’s like the more air I take in, the more I feel. Sinking to the floor, I stare at the flowers before setting them down beside me.
What is wrong with me?