8. Sophie
EIGHT
SOPHIE
I slept like absolute shit last night because today is the day I’m doing it. I’m asking Foster to be my fake date to the gala. He’ll be here in—I look up at the time on my monitor—six minutes. I have six minutes to panic and pull myself together. I can do this. I can do hard things, and on the scale of hard things, this isn’t actually that hard. It may just be very embarrassing and make things extremely awkward for the foreseeable future.
There’s a knock and a creak as the door opens and I look up in horror as Foster Walsh enters my office three minutes early.
“Hey,” I say nervously as he sets our lunch on the desk.
“Hey?” He eyes me suspiciously while he unpacks everything. “What’s up, Soph?”
Okay, Sophie, here it goes, remember the worst thing he can say is no. “So, I have a favor to ask and it’s totally fine if you say no, don’t feel like you have to say yes. I mean it’s kind of bananas but I figured I’d at least ask because you’re kind of the only person I know who would possibly do it and it’s not like you’re a stranger, I mean, I’ve known you since I was five and you were six and just because we haven’t seen each other in years, anyway maybe I?—”
“Soph,” he interrupts, and I look up from where my eyes have landed on the Tupperware to see a soft smile on his face and I’m instantly calmer. “Just ask me.”
Just ask me , he says, as if it’s not a big deal. “Would you be my friend-date to an alumni gala in a couple weeks, on March thirtieth?” I say it so fast that I’m not sure he understands. “Again, you can say no?—”
“I’ll do it.” Holy shit, what? “On one condition,” he continues. I knew that was too easy. “My friends are hosting this stupid April Fools’ barbecue and I could use a— what did you refer to it as? A friend date?” I nod. “Okay, you be my friend-date to the barbecue, and I’ll be yours for the gala.”
“Why do you need a date to a barbecue?”
“Remember those hyper-matchmaker friends I told you about?” I nod. “Well, they’ll all be there. But if you come with me, maybe they’ll actually give me a break.”
“Wait, they won’t know we’re just friends?”
“Well, I was thinking that maybe we could pretend to be dating. I may have told them I was seeing someone, but didn’t give them any information beyond that. I just needed a break from their relentless need to pair me off. But you don’t have to agree to that. I’ll still come with you regardless. I didn’t mean to make it conditional.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind if that’s the approach we took at the gala too. My ex will be there, and I’d really prefer not to go alone.”
“Now, what are you wearing to this gala? Is it black tie?” Foster asks as he packs up our empty lunch containers.
“It’s formal, not black tie. I don’t even know why they call it a gala when it’s really just a shameless attempt to get more money out of people. People talk, get awards, I’m being recognized?—”
“Wait, what?”
“It’s just a pat on the back for helping set up a mentorship program in the department. Nothing groundbreaking. And I don’t even know what I’m wearing yet.”
I swear his eyes sweep down my body, or maybe I just imagine it because now he looks like he’s going to call me a silly goose or something equally adorable. “Recognition is a big deal, Soph. I can’t wait to celebrate with you.”
I believe those words. Then again, if he told me the moon was made out of cheese with that tone and expression, I’d believe that too.
I have to look away because it feels like my heart is going to beat straight through my chest. “I guess I need to get a celebratory dress then,” I mutter.
“Yeah, you do. I’ve got a blue suit I can wear if that helps at all.”
Keep your eyes on his. Keep your eyes on hi— dammit . I reprimand myself as eyes trail down to his trim waist and back up.
“That’s good to know,” I mumble so it sounds like one word. I’m screwed if just the thought of him in that suit is scrambling my brain.
“What about this one?” my friend Maya asks, holding up a strapless black satin gown.
I study it for all of three seconds before shaking my head. There’s nothing special about that dress. Nothing that will fill Gregory with regret. Nothing that will fill Foster with— No, do not go there. You’re doing this for you , I remind myself.
The need to do unspeakable things to you in the coat closet, the little voice rushes to say, my body heating at the thought.
We’ve been at the mall for an hour, and I’ve gone through every dress rack in every store that sells dresses. I haven’t found a thing. Maya, on the other hand, has three bags dangling from one elegant hand while she uses the other one to flip through another round of dresses.
A gasp draws my attention in her direction as she pulls out an emerald green gown that has every hair on my body rising. “That’s the one,” I say without an ounce of doubt.
When I come out of the dressing room, Maya’s face says it all. She motions for me to spin. The minute my back is to her she cackles maniacally. “He’s going to come in his pants when he sees you in that.”
“Maya, geez.” I shush her but laugh when I see her face. She looks like an evil genius. “So I should get it?”
“If you don’t, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Yes, you will.” I roll my eyes before going back into the change room.
“Okay, yes, I will, but I’ll bring this up constantly as the day you damaged our decade-long friendship.”
“Sure,” I murmur, swaying slowly back and forth, admiring myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Foster is going to be in blue; we’ll look good together. Like two people who stood next to one another in the bathroom doing our hair. Like two people who woke up sharing the same pillow.
“Stop staring at your ass and get out here. We’re going to be late for the movie.” Maya’s voice filters through the door.
“I’m coming, keep your panties on!”
“I’d say the same to you, but there’s no way you’ll be able to wear any in that dress.”
Shit, she’s right. I’ll be going commando while going out with the hottest man I’ve ever met .
I wake up every single day and mentally slide a line through the date on the calendar. I’m a ball of nerves. It’s like one of those balls made out of elastics, and each day I add another one.
Foster makes me nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind of nervousness that has me jumping out of bed in the morning and giggling when he compliments me on one of my patterned blouses.
During my second week I’d been wearing one with bees, and talking about various bees had been a gateway to a productive session with one of the kids. I went home and ordered a bunch of blouses with different flora and fauna. Foster telling me the idea was smart had me flying high for two weeks after.
“How many of those cows can you name?” one of the teachers asks me when I sit down at the table across from her in the staff room.
I look down at my blouse. “Six.”
“Which one is stumping you?”
I point at the bright pink one and hear Foster laugh beside me. “She’s good with cows.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I grew up on a dairy farm,” I admit.
She stares back at me as if the longer she looks she’ll be able to smell the cow. “I would have never guessed it.”
I don’t know what to say to that so just offer a smile before stuffing my mouth with a garlicky roasted potato Foster brought as a side today.
The comment is still rolling around in my mind though. Should I be acting a different way? Be dressed in head-to-toe Wrangler jeans? I knew farm kids who were deeply entrenched in the life. They were born to work with their parents and then one day take over. I never once saw that as my future, nor was I ever pressured to make that my future. One of the reasons I loved going over to Cass and Foster’s house was that I got to go to bed late and sleep in. There were often times I’d stay up even later than Cass just because Foster did. We’d play a game on his PlayStation or gossip. More than once I’d wake up on the couch in their basement with a blanket over me. I knew who put it there, even though we never acknowledged it.
The night before the gala I have a sudden worry about what I’ll hyper-fixate on once I’m home tomorrow night. What if it’s a disaster? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I cry? What if I lose it on Gregory’s new girlfriend? What if people want to know what happened? Will Foster still want to be my friend if any of those things happen? What if the dress was a bad idea? Is it too low in the back? You can see the top of my ass. What was I thinking? I can’t wear that around a bunch of academics. What if I trip walking up onto the stage to receive the pat on my back and bare my ass for all to see? Tears sting my eyes as a wave of dread overwhelms me.
Breathing slowly, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull something out of my mind to focus on instead. Pete’s new dedication to using his crutches less. My dad laughing over the phone last night when he was telling me about Mom mistakenly using salt instead of sugar on top of scones. Foster’s smile every time he sticks his head around my office door. Foster’s eyes lighting up when he talks about any of the students accomplishing something. Foster’s voice when he’s doing an impression of Pete. Foster.