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“AHHH!” Josie says, leaping up and dropping the chip bag.
As Wynona grins and I eye her, she sits back down, picking a piece of lint off her pink cowl-neck sweater, clearly embarrassed. “OK, minor overreaction. But seriously, Sierra, when was the last time you went on a nice date with someone actually promising?”
“He’s not promising,” I argue. “He’s a jerk, remember?”
“A gorgeous rich jerk,” Wynona says in an awe-laced voice as she tilts her head to the side.
“Anyway,” I continue. “That doctor was OK.”
“That doctor was a cheap ass,” Josie reminds me firmly, eyes narrowing more with every word. “Remember? He tried pressuring you into coming to his place, then, when that failed, insisted that the only thing he was willing to do otherwise was take a walk in his giant garden.”
“It was a nice garden,” I recall, trying to smile and failing. Edward, that’s what his name was. The creep. “Had lots of these nice flowery shrubs. Though him trying to yank me into his house put a damper on it all. But anyway, I haven’t been dating that much lately.”
“And it is just a first date,” Josie points out, evidently having come to her senses. “He might turn out to be a mega jerk anyway.”
“True,” Wynona says, not without adding, “A gorgeous rich jerk.”
“OK, OK,” I say. “Can we watch the movie now? Please?”
“Movie away,” Wynona says, pressing the start button.
It only takes a minute before we’re laughing again.
That night, after the twins have gone home, I’m about to get into bed when my phone goes off.
It’s him: How was the movie?
Good, I text back, then pause. As much as part of me wants to ask him how his night was, and just make idle chitchat, I’m mostly just tired. About to go to bed now.
—What a coincidence, same here! Your bed have a mattress too?
I chuckle, then type: God, we’re so alike.
—Don’t tell me… you have five fingers too?
Actually, there was an accident and…
—Shit. Sorry. Way to screw up the evening.
Just kidding.
—You wicked, wicked woman. Although I can’t say I’m all that good myself.
I find a reluctant smile curving on my lips. Something about this man…
Another text pings:
—Scared you away already?
I bite at my lower lip.
Damn it, why am I getting flustered over some stupid texting, anyway?
I force myself to type out my response, the first thing that comes to mind: Not yet. Guess we’ll have to see about that.
—Guess we will. Goodnight Sierra.
Goodnight Nolan.
As I lie there in my bed, despite my fervent wish for sleep, my mind plays out what we would’ve said if I hadn’t mentioned sleep, where the conversation would’ve gone.
And even though I’m all set to not be able to pay rent on time once again, and there’s pills on my old sheets so big my cracked heel catches on them, I find myself smiling.
It’s only when I wake up that I realize it: I slept with my phone under my pillow. Like Nolan Storm’s a special wish I hope some fairy will grant me.
Ridiculous.
As I chow down ramen à la carte for breakfast, a knock on the door has me heading to it.
“Here’s the baby,” Mom coos as she sets down Horatio, his gray short-haired form wriggling uncooperatively until all his four paws are on the ground. “He was so good. Only peed on my favorite carpet a few times.” She smiles valiantly and I groan.
“I thought, after last time… I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Mom crouches to give Horatio an affectionate little pat before he trots off, probably in search of some food—or some more mischief he can cause. “It gave me something to do.”
“I can buy you a new one?”
“That your way of saying you’ll take that IT position that’s still on the table? Your uncle says that if you ever change your mind—”
“Mom,” I say. “I just mastered the use of Gmail, OK? I’m not sure IT is really up my alley.”
“You’re a fast learner.”
“And in this case, I’d be an unwilling learner.”
“Honey,” she says, shaking her head sadly as she eyes me, “when are you going to get out of this phase?”
I take a step back, shaking my head too.
I love my mom, but she’s never going to let this go.
“How about never? This isn’t a phase, Mom, it’s my life. I love journalism, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Seeing that arguing anymore is useless, Mom finally lets it go, though she sure doesn’t look happy about it.
“Want to come in?” I offer.
I feel bad shutting Mom down like I just did. But she never misses a chance to bring it up. It’s not like I don’t have enough to worry about.
But Mom’s already shaking her head. “I’d love to, but I have plans. Brunch with your sister at Beckta, if you…”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, before she can finish that very unappealing sentence. “I just ate.”
