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“And you really need to restyle your hair. Your curls are all messed up.”
“Mom, all I need is the number.”
“Here.” She passed me her phone and took one of the roses from the vase, smelling it.
Copying the number quickly, I handed her back the phone. “Thank you. Bye.”
“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” she said, taking the rose with her.
I waited until she was gone before focusing on my phone. After that letter, what was I going to say? I spent way too long just staring at the screen before finally giving up and texting.
Yes, to dinner. —Odette
I moved to put down the phone when he messaged back.
What time is good for you? —Gale
I didn’t have anything to do. 7:30 or 8 is fine.
7:30 it is. I will pick you up.
He would pick me up? You have an American license?
Correction. I do have an international license, but I cannot use it now. So, Iskandar will drive. I will come to the door like a gentleman, and we will go together. Is that all right?
Yes. It felt a little like going to prom or high school, getting picked up from your mom’s house, but he wanted to, so no big deal. I will see you then.
Okay.
Falling onto my side, I rested on the bed and stared up at the roses, a symbol of renowned beauty and grace, he said.
He was clearly exaggerating when it came to my appearance, and yet, I felt like that was how I wanted to look tonight. Outfits, hairstyles, shoes—they all flashed through my mind, and I felt excitement...actually, my nerves were rising. But I didn’t have to try to make him like me, right? He needed me to marry him no matter what. That thought annoyed me, too.
“Ahh, see.” This was why I hated dating—emotional stress.
But there was no avoiding it.
One of these days, I hoped to become one of those blessed women who effortlessly looked beautiful. One who just rolled out of bed, looking like a supermodel, who could throw on a dress, look into the mirror, nod, and be on their way. Today proved I was still a long way from being that type of woman.
“This might be too much,” I muttered, wishing the slit at the side was just a little bit less—bam! This showed my whole leg. “Maybe I should just wear the green one.”
“You look stunning. I swear, if you change one more time, I will lose my mind,” my mom replied, still fiddling with those roses.
“You would say that no matter what dress I wore.”
“Yes, I would,” she said, walking up to stand beside the mirror. “Because it is true. Now for the finishing touch.”
“Mom, not the roses.” I sighed as she pinned them into my hair.
“What? He gave it to you. Why not show you liked them? Besides, there are so many. Hold still.”
I did, too tired from changing two dozen times to even bother.
Ring.
Ring.
My stomach dropped. “Is it seven thirty already?”
