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Just another reason why Mr. Randall is different.
“So how about a dress?” Meghan asks, pulling my attention back to the present.
“I do have that green one that I borrowed from Abby,” I agree, glancing at the piles of clothes spread across my bed.
“You borrowed it from me, but who’s keeping track,” Meghan replies dryly.
“Oh, sorry. I’ll get it back to you.”
“Ehh, it’s been like two years, AJ. It’s not like I’m beating down your door to get it back now.” My heart stops beating as realization sets in. When Meghan lost her fiancé Josh, she lost a piece of her soul. Until she’s ready to put herself out there again, she doesn’t have a reason to dress up for dates. Maybe someday, but she’s not ready.
Not that I blame her at all.
“Yeah, well, maybe someday you’ll have a reason to wear it.” I swallow over the lump in my throat.
“Maybe,” she says sadly. “I think the green dress is a great choice. It’s simple and classy, yet sexy, and if you pair it with those cute gold flats or those lace-up sandals, I think it’s casual enough for just about anything he suggests.”
She’s right. The dress is all of that and fits the bill. It’s the perfect outfit to wear tonight for my date.
“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re all worked up,” Meghan prods, waiting me out.
“Maybe I am. He’s just… I don’t know, Meggy. He’s the first guy who makes my heart flutter with excitement. I turn into a babbling idiot half the time, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”
“Then he’s a keeper for sure,” she giggles.
“We’ll see,” I deflect, trying to keep it light, breezy, and not get my hopes up. “How are things going with you?” I ask, pushing aside a pile of jeans to make room for my butt on the bed.
“Fine, I guess. Dad still comes over a couple nights a week just to say hi and make sure I’m still a functioning member of society.”
That damn lump in my throat returns, making it hard to breathe. “Dad understands, better than anyone.” My voice drops to a whisper with each word I speak.
“I know.”
We all know. Dad has been single since Mom passed away from ovarian cancer when I was twelve. I don’t recall him ever dating, nor has he indicated that he has. Instantly, I wonder if he’s ever gone out with someone. I know how much he loved Mom–I grew up watching them giggle and steal kisses whenever they could–so it begs the question: Was he able to move on with his life or has he been stuck in some sort of foreign land of loss and loneliness?
“Meggy, can I ask you something?”
“Always,” my sister replies instantly.
“Has Dad ever dated?” I feel silly asking the question and immediately want to retract it.
Meghan is quiet for so long, I glance down at my cell phone to make sure we’re still connected. “You know, I don’t think he has,” she says softly.
“Do you think he should?” I ask.
“Should? Probably. Will he? Doubt it. I think he feels guilty, you know? Like he’s moving on and leaving her behind.”
Suddenly feeling braver than I was before, I say, “It’s okay to move on. Eventually, when the time is right, there’s nothing wrong with dating.”
Again, I’m greeted with silence. “I agree. Maybe he will. When he’s ready.”
“When he’s ready,” I mimic.
“The green dress, right?” she asks, changing the subject away from the sticky topic of dating after losing your soul mate. Plus, I think she caught on to the fact I was talking to her with my statement more than I was talking hypothetically about our dad.
“The green one,” I confirm.
“I don’t want it back if you have sex in it, though.”
