Chapter 3 Lily
THREE
LILY
“Do you want to be an old lady who has ten bunnies running around?” My closest friend, Thea, snorts from where she watches me blend in concealer. “That’s what’s going to happen if you don’t start putting yourself out there.”
Raising a brow, glaring at her in the mirror, I send her my most intimidating look. “What in the world does it look like I’m doing?”
“Uh, you’re putting on makeup,” she says slowly, sending me a funny but confused look.
“And why am I putting on makeup, Thea?”
She crosses her arms across her chest, huffing out, “When did we start playing Twenty Questions?”
I aim and throw my least favorite foundation brush at her head, which makes her yelp. “Don’t answer my question with a question.”
“But you started it.”
“I called you here for support because I’m going on a date.”
Rolling her eyes, she picks at her blue acrylic nails. “This is the first date you’ve had in months. After this one, you’re going to go on a dry spell again. I’m trying to help you.”
“By telling me I’m going to be a bunny lady?” Am I the one who started all the questions? Yes, and it’s too fun to stop. “That’s helping me?”
“I’m going to leave this house and never come back again.
” She jumps from the counter and paces the bathroom.
“What I’m trying to get at is, you deserve someone who makes you happy, a man who makes your heart skip a beat.
” She stresses, “You can’t give up after bad dates.
Someone is going to be the needle you find in the haystack. ”
“Did you read that quote on Pinterest?”
I laugh as she charges at me and shakes my shoulders, jolting my brain with each tug back and forth.
“Are you hearing me, lady?”
“Loud and clear.” For added effect, I wince and cup my ears.
“I just want you to be happy.” She pouts.
That’s why I love her. She’s the definition of a people pleaser.
“And I want you to be happy. I need you to stop worrying about my dating life and start thinking about your own.”
She runs a hand down her face and sighs. “What am I going to do with you? Can we be serious for one second?”
I start applying my favorite blush. “Hit me.” A sudden burning sensation stings the flesh on my forearm. “Ow! What the heck was that for?”
“You told me to hit you.” She shrugs innocently. “How much do you know about this guy?”
Do you really learn anything about someone on a dating app other than how much they’re packing?
“Nothing much, other than his name is Noah, he’s twenty-four, and he works in marketing. That’s all I know about the guy.”
She’s quiet as I finish up my makeup, and knowing my friend, I’m sure she’s a nervous wreck about online dating.
“If I get weird vibes from him, I’ll call you, okay?”
“I need you to promise me that you’ll actually call me and not worry about being annoying, even though you are.”
Walking into my closet, I start ruffling through my clothes. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” I yell over my shoulder before turning around with my favorite cheetah skirt, but my heart jumps when I spot her only a foot behind me.
“What? You said you needed help getting ready,” she exclaims at what I presume is my terrified expression.
She drives me crazy, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.
“So, what do you do?” Noah asks as he watches me sip my sangria.
Trying to keep my focus on the man in front of me rather than the loud restaurant full of people around me, I answer him while twirling my straw, “I finished teachers college about six months ago, and now I’m waiting to hear back from a bunch of interviews.”
Am I the only one who finds these boring questions on a first date embarrassing? Ask me anything deep, and I’m your girl.
“Have you heard back from any?” Noah leans into the table, eyeing me intently.
This is humbling. “Only rejections.”
He gives me a small smile. “Rejections are better than radio silence.” Cutting into his steak, he pauses. “Are you starting to get worried?”
Of course.
He’d be here all night if I spilled my guts. He would either shrivel up in pity or run for the hills.
“I wouldn’t be human if my mind didn’t start whirling with anxiety.”
“I choose to live life without worrying about anything.”
I’m at a loss for words. Just when I think I’ve found a half-decent man, he opens his mouth and says something that spikes my red-flag alert to go off.
After swallowing, I ask, “And how exactly do you do that?”
I fidget with the napkin on my lap as a heavy weight presses on my chest. I don’t know why I continue going on dates that lead me to fancy restaurants that have overpriced food that I truly can’t afford. I would rather bike to a picnic in a park or sing karaoke.
“It’s simple—just don’t think about it.” He hits my hand gripping my fork, sending a piece of pasta to the tablecloth, before downing half his wine.
Ew, absolutely not.
Looking at him closely, I wonder if he’s ever had to worry about paying a bill. If he’s ever had to plan what his next steps would be if the lights and electricity went out.
How, at the age of twenty-four, do you simply not care about anything?
Is there a specific line I need to get in to guarantee that life?
“I wish I could just ignore the thoughts that cause me stress, but I can’t just toss the ones about bills and money aside.”
He straightens up in his seat, and his button-up shirt, which I once admired, now looks too perfect, too ironed, and fake. “Why are you talking like you don’t have a trust fund coming your way?” He gestures to me with a wince. “I have to admit, it’s not a flattering look.”
I gape at him, letting my mouth hang open in total disbelief. “Not that this is your business at all, but I don’t have a trust fund backing me up on the hard days. Why is that something you would assume everyone has the luxury of having?”
I’m so close to grabbing my drink and pouring it over his head. The people sitting closest to us eye us with worried gazes, almost like I’m a wild animal.
“I wouldn’t want to be with someone who is poor. Financial stability in a partner is important to me. As a man, I can’t have a woman who is unable to pay for her own expensive needs.”
His eyes catch the way my fingers twitch on my glass. Dragging his chair from the table with a loud squeal, he drops his napkin over his half-full plate. “If you’ll excuse me, this is obviously not going to work, and I won’t waste any more of my time.”
Am I picturing strangling him as I watch him descend the stairs before walking out of the restaurant? Yes. Yes, I am. And do tears cloud my vision as I realize I have to pay the bill in full when he ordered the most expensive thing on the menu while I just ordered a simple pasta?
Blinking the tears away because no one else around me needs more of a show, I steady my shaking hands and wave down the server nearby.
“Can I get the bill, please?” I swallow hard.
She gives me a puzzled look, eyeing Noah’s plate. “Sure, no problem. Do you want a takeout container for any of this?”
Rifling through my purse, I yank out my wallet. “No, just the bill would be great.” I breathe heavily, sending her a small smile.