“Turn on your hearing aid, dear. He said friends don’t care what each other looks like.”
“Oh, I’ve never heard something so absurd. Of course we care what each other looks like. Do you think I let Dottie walk around with orange hair for more than a day or two last fall? Not on yourlife, baby. I backed her into a bathroom with a pack of dye, and we haven’t looked back, have we, Dot?”
“The orange was festive,” Dottie says with a sniff.
“I’m not dyeing my hair,” I put in quickly, feeling it necessary to establish that particular boundary.
“Of course you’re not, dear,” Dottie says. “You have lovely hair. It’s one of your best features. And we’re not trying to change the way you look?—”
“Those glasses were broken. There’s no reason a young man who retired at thirty gotta be walking around wearing broken glasses. You do that, women will think you’re a cheapskate. They’d be right, son.”
“Indeed.” Dottie hums under her breath. “And every young person should feel confident in him or herself. Don’t you feel confident with your sleeves rolled up and those lovely new glasses?”
“Don’t forget the haircut.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say, although I don’t care very much about any of it. The only reason I agreed was that it felt nice thattheycared. And…sure, I had liked the way Nora looked at me when I was wearing a suit.
“Excellent,” Dottie says. “Now, we know you need to get going, dear, but please keep in touch. And if you need any help during your date next week, we’ll be on call. Ann and I have already blocked off our schedules to make sure we’re available.”
Jesus, I have so little game, two little old ladies have appointed themselves my dating advisors and developed a schedule to ensure they’re on call. And they say they’re trying to build up my confidence?
Still, I don’t hate the thought of knowing they’re out there, wanting to help me. It’s kind of nice, even though I have no intention of taking them up on it a second time.
“Okay, well. Thank you, I guess. It’s not a real date, though. We’re just trying to sabotage her best friend’s engagement.”
Dottie laughs as if I’ve said something funny, which makes me realize I probably phrased that poorly. “For a good cause,” I add. “That woman sent threatening texts to Nora.”
I realize I’m closing my hand into a fist only when I feel my short nails digging into my palm. But I don’t ease up. It feels good right now.
“Should we send HER texts?” Ann says. “I’ve been practicing textual role-playing with George. He likes it when I pretend I’m a Russian spy.”
“No, dear,” Dottie says evenly. “We’ll leave this one to the young people.”
I’m not entirely sure I believe her.
The guysand I drive to Atlanta in our band bus, a.k.a. the VW van Mick’s uncle gave him a few years back. It smells like the inside of my high school locker room, but there’s room for all of us and the equipment. Mick drives the way he does everything else—in a hurry, and with an abundance of swearing and not much caution—so the rest of us take turns being the designated driver. Today, it’s Travis’s turn, and I’m glad for it.
My thoughts keep blipping between Nora and a couple of ideas I’m working on for the nonprofit foundation Kenji and I are establishing to fund young tech entrepreneurs’ projects. It’s really exciting work, and?—
Mick nudges my shoulder.
“What do you know about that hot bridesmaid?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting into a bemused smirk. “The one who’s not Nora.”
“Haley?” I ask, trying to remember her name.
“Nah, her name’s Hazel.”
“Apparently you know more than I do,” I say. “All I know is that she’s Nora’s cousin, and Nora thinks she’s hot.”
He gives me one of his dubious looks before nodding. “That there’s nothing but the truth. We spent a little time together at the end of the wedding.”
“You like Hazel?” I ask, surprised. Mick doesn’t seem to maintain interest in the same woman for more than a few days at a time, and it’s been a week since the wedding. “I could ask Nora about her.”
He nods once. “Say, how’d those two phone numbers work out for you?”
Rob, who’s sitting in front next to Travis, looks back with a grin. “Who do you think gave him that makeover?”
“Nora did that to you?” Mick asks, then whistles. “Shit. She didn’t do too bad. You look put-together. Maybe I’ll let her do me next.”
