Lex’s smile shifts into one of moderate embarrassment. “He’s seven and still gets his butt wiped,” she explains.
I shrug. “Better than cleaning his underwear all the time.”
“Right? Anyway. Got to go. I’ll call you next week.”
“Good luck on your—” But she’s already ended the call. “Date,” I finish, staring at my disappointed face in the black reflection of my screen.
My phone sits on my table, open to a text I don’t want to return. I pinch my bottom lip between my fingers as I debate what to reply to Olsen’s invitation to a romantic dinner.
The obvious answer is yes. Of course. But my mind can’t stop whirring with all the possibilities of things that could go wrong. What if he makes shrimp and I’ve suddenly developed an allergy despite having eaten shrimp my whole life? What if I choke on my food and he has to give me an abdominal thrust and I accidentally shit myself? What if he tries to put the moves on me and I mangle his penis again, this time permanently?
Before I can spiral any further into cursed possibilities, my phone rings, Olsen’s contact info popping up. I consider, for a moment, letting it go to voicemail. I could cozy up on the couch with a movie I’ve seen a hundred times, order some takeout, scroll Instagram, and... wonder the whole time what Lex and Lynn are doing.
“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile so I sound cheerful.
“Hi, beautiful. Have plans tonight?” Olsen asks.
“Nope, not really. Do you have something in mind?”
“I do. You up for a night downtown?”
“Oof, like, Vancouver downtown?” I mull it over, considering the alternative once more. “Sure. Why not.”
He chuckles. “Don’t get too excited or anything. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
“Done.”
I hang up the phone and spend the first five minutes of my getting-ready time searching for an excuse to cancel. I’m sure most women would jump at the chance for a surprise date in the city where they don’t have to worry about anything other than dressing up and having a good time.
There must be something wrong with me. I mean, aside from the curse.
Summoning my energy, I message Pat to make sure she’s okay to look after Winston overnight before getting all dolled up and pulling on a tight black dress I save for fancy occasions. An hour later, right on the dot, Olsen texts that he’s here. I take a steadying breath before heading out to greet him.
Olsen stands outside his car, leaning against it, with one hand tucked into his suit jacket like a movie star.Damn, he looks fucking good. And he’s going out with me! Of all people.My mind races with all the ways this can go wrong, all the things that could happen to ruin it...But what if everything goes right?
I stride toward Olsen and he gives me an appreciative whistle. He holds his arms out for a hug and I nestle against him, admiring his height and his smell and his warmth. He pulls back slowly, tilting his mouth toward mine. My heart stutters in my chest and my belly tightens in anticipation, panic setting in. I withdraw at the last second, taking his hand and twirling like a planned dance routine. Olsen’s mild confusion atavoiding his kiss, like I’ve managed to do at all our other dates, shifts to amusement.Bullet dodged.
I may have taken Lex’s advice to “take it slow” a bit too far, but crossing that boundary now feels like leaping over a huge chasm. The moment Olsen and I go from friendly outings to serious dates the curse is going to kick in, and I don’t know if he’s ready for it—or if I am.
The drive downtown is just as it always is with Olsen and me: polite, yet safe conversation, no controversial subjects broached, not delving too deep into our pasts. Anything that could risk triggering the curse I steer clear from, which has resulted in our relationship remaining surface level and, ultimately, boring; for someone who hates talking about the weather I’ve brought it up in conversation with Olsen more than I’ve done my entire life.
Finally, we arrive downtown and park. I stare bleakly out the window, confused. “Olsen, this is a laundromat.”
He unclicks his seat belt. “Perceptive, aren’t you?”
Before I can question him further, he’s out of the car and opening my door. He holds out his hand for me to take, pulling me onto the sidewalk. It stinks out here. Where the hell has he taken me? Just as I’m about to question his sanity two beautiful people exit the laundromat, laughing and smiling a hell of a lot more than anyone should from dropping off dry cleaning.
“Oh! I know!” I jump and turn, grasping Olsen’s arm and jiggling him back and forth. “I’ve heard of these places! It’s like a secret bar, right? It’s a front for something awesome?”
He flashes his perfect smile. “You’re cute when you’re excited. You know that?”
I release his arm and slap him playfully on the chest. “Come on, let’s go check it out. Is there a code word to get in?”
Grabbing Olsen’s hand, I tug him into the small building. The yellowing checkered linoleum on the floor, the aged machinesthumping away on the tumble cycle, and the baskets of laundry in the corner give a fabulous illusion.
We approach the guy at the desk, who fits us with a bored expression. “Can I help you?”
Once more, I’m gripping Olsen’s arm and shaking him. “Can I say the magic words? Please, please, please?”
