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Norah
It’s the end of another work week. All the talk of me and Colby has finally stopped. We’re old news now, and rumors of some other unfortunate soul are circulating through the gossip channels. I feel like I can relax now that I don’t feel everyone’s eyes watching me everywhere I go or overhear my name on everyone’s lips at all times of the day.
My family is still overjoyed that I’m settling into what they’ve deemed a stable relationship, and they’re even happier that it most likely means I’ll be staying in Waverly permanently. When I originally moved back, I wasn’t sure if I would, but now I don’t think much could pull me away. Being with my family again has been a balm to my heart. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them while I was away.
I don’t know how to tell them that this thing with Colby is doomed to fail, though. The way my parents talk about him…it’s like he’s their golden child. I’d be a little offended that my parents so clearly like him more than me if I didn’t agree with them. He came and trimmed their bushes for them last week and refused to take the cash my dad tried to give him. He saved my mom from having to make family dinner last night, thus saving all our tastebuds. I love my mom, but she really should stick to takeout. And he bought me a book! I think Hannah suggested it to him. He left it on my desk earlier with a sticky note asking me out on a date tonight. It had a place to check yes or no, just like in elementary school. Gosh, he’s cute.
So, of course I checked no—just kidding. I checked that yes with the boldest checkmark imaginable. And then I circled it with a red pen. And then I drew arrows pointing to it, just to make sure he didn’t miss it.
He texts me to let me know he’ll pick me up at six and that I should dress nice. I gasp when I look at the time on my phone. It’s already almost four, and I have to shower. My hair looks like birds are living in it, and I’m pretty sure I could beat Sasquatch in a leg hair competition. I’m all for being au naturale if that’s what you prefer, but that’s not me.
I toss my phone in my purse, grab my water bottle and the stack of papers I have to work on grading this weekend, and I run out the door. It takes twenty minutes to drive home, thanks to being stopped by literally every red light in this tiny town. Most of them could be stop signs.
I run inside and shout a quick ‘hello’ to my mom in the kitchen.
“Uhh, where’s the fire?” she asks as I run up the stairs, tripping over my feet in my rush.
“Have a date tonight. Look like a trash panda. Have to shower!” I shout back down to her as I continue up the stairs. I hear her laugh as I slam the door to my room and throw my things down on my bed. The contents of my purse spill all over the place, but that’s fine. I was planning to switch out purses anyway.
I shower as quickly as possible, which is to say not quickly at all, thanks to my finicky hair and hairy legs. Thirty minutes later, I step out of the shower and begin the rigorous process of adding all the creams and gels to my hair, and then I scrunch and scrunch and scrunch. I say a whole host of prayers that it’ll cooperate for once.
I step into my room, wrapped in a towel. I squeal in surprise when I see Layla rummaging through my closet and tossing stuff onto a pile of clothes on my bed. There are shoes scattered on the floor. It looks like either a tornado or a teenage girl has been in here.
“Layla, what are you doing?” I ask. I wrap the towel around me tighter. She rushes over to me and grabs my hands to pull me over to the closet.
“Okay, if it’s super fancy, I was thinking you could wear this!” she says, holding up a silver sparkly dress that I’m certain is now two sizes too small, considering I haven’t worn it in over five years. A lot of snacks have been enjoyed in those five years.
“Layla, what are you doing?” I ask again, slightly louder this time.
“Mom said you’ve got a big date tonight. I’m helping you pick out an outfit.” I open my mouth to tell her I can pick it out myself, but she has on her megawatt smile. I can’t deny her when she has that smile, and she knows it.
“Okay. That’s too fancy schmancy,” I say. She pulls out her next choice: the red dress that I’ve been dying to wear again. I haven’t had a reason to wear it until now. My hands reach out to take it from her, but I pull them back at the last minute. This is the most daring piece of clothing I own. What if he sees me in it and realizes he’s not attracted to me after all?
“I see your hesitation. Let me just tell you, that man will be drooling the second he lays eyes on you in this.” She shoves it into my hands and turns me around toward my bathroom. She slaps me on the backside, and I trip over a shoe as I walk to my dresser to grab my undergarments.
I slip the dress on over my head, careful not to mess up my hair, and inspect myself in the mirror. The dress comes up to my collarbones in the front, but the back opens up all the way down to the small of my back. It’s a teensy bit shorter than I normally wear, but not so short that I can’t function comfortably. I wonder what Colby will think of it.
I walk out of the bathroom and hold my hands out for Layla’s inspection. She doesn’t disappoint. She covers her mouth and gasps. “Oh my gosh, it’s perfect!” she says, waving her hands around wildly. She grabs my arm and pulls me over to my vanity and pushes me down onto the seat. “Okay, how bold do we want to go with the makeup?” she asks as she backs away and studies my face. I don’t respond because she’s not actually looking for an answer from me.
She gets to work on my face, and I’m ready with ten minutes to spare. She’s done me up to perfection. Winged eyeliner, rosy cheeks, and red lipstick. Bless her and the hours she has spent watching makeup tutorials online. I do okay on my own, but it’s nothing compared to her skills.
I spend the last ten minutes pacing my room, contemplating changing my dress to something that hides me better…and is maybe less flashy. He said to look nice, not fancy. What if it’s too much? He’s going to think I’m ridiculous.
The doorbell rings, and I’m out of time. I grab my clutch and throw my phone, keys, ID, debit card, and lipstick inside. I rush downstairs so I can get to the door before anyone else. But my heels slow me down, and I’m too late. Colby and my dad are talking by the front door when I turn the corner from the kitchen. My dad looks at me over Colby’s shoulder, and Colby turns to follow his stare. He looks at me with a wide grin, and I do a little spin to show off my dress. When I look at him again, his chest rises and falls with a deep breath. His hand is on the back of his neck, and he drops it and holds it out to me. I take his hand in mine, wondering if he can feel them shaking, and he says, “Come on, we have to go if we want to make it on time.”
I walk out the door in front of him. I hear his footsteps behind me, and my pulse races. He looks so good in his black slacks and his black button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and I cannot look at his arms right now. I have very little control over myself at the moment, so there’s no telling what I might do if I get a glimpse of those veins snaking up his forearms. Jump on him and cling to him like a koala…that’s what I would do. It would be highly unladylike in this dress.
I feel a tug on the skirt of my dress, and Colby says, “Turn around and let me look at you.” Oh, my stupid heart. Why does everything he says have to turn me into a puddle? I oblige and turn to face him, but I can’t look him in the eye. I focus my eyes on his Adam’s apple. It’s suddenly very fascinating. “Hmm, you look delectable,” he says. He grabs my waist in both hands now and pulls me toward him before wrapping his arms around me. All the air rushes out of my lungs right before his lips land on mine. For one moment, I’m so stunned that I freeze, but then his arms pull me in tighter, and I find myself plunging my hands into his perfectly styled hair and kissing him back.
Slowly, thoughts begin returning to my brain, reminding me that he’s not really my boyfriend, this isn’t going to last, and I can’t give him my heart or I’ll wind up heartbroken. I place my hands on his chest and pull back. His eyes are still closed, so I take a moment to look over every single one of his features. I’ve done a very good job messing up his hair—and my lipstick, if the red all around his mouth tells me anything.
He opens his eyes and smiles at me widely. He opens my door for me and helps me into his truck. “Let’s go,” he says after he climbs into his seat.
I flip the mirror down and try my best to fix my smeared lipstick. I find some takeout napkins shoved in the glove box and a half empty water bottle and get to work. After I’m satisfied with my appearance once again, I hand him a napkin, and he scrubs the lipstick from his mouth.
“You know, that first day I saw you in January, I couldn’t stop staring at your red mouth, and I hated it,” he says as I reapply my lipstick. I toss the tube back into my clutch and turn to face him.
“Oh yeah? And what do you think of it now?”
