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“You good with that drive? It’s an hour,” I say.
“It’s perfect. Do it all the time for supplies,” he says. “Grab lunch first?”
“I hate missing trailers. Popcorn and candy at the theater is all I want, so you might want to eat first, Hollow Leg Jones.”
He laughs heartily. “Great. See you in a bit.”
“No sex.”
“What?”
“We’re not having sex tonight. Or today. This is a first date. Just a movie. If it goes well, I might invite you in for coffee. That also does not mean sex.”
Unfortunately, I have learned over the years that you almost always have to be explicit like this to dates you meet on the apps. Can’t hurt to keep that habit going.
“Understood,” he says, and I can practically see him dipping his chin and shooting me that solemn gaze.
We hang up, and my hands tremble. They don’t stop trembling as I run up the stairs to my apartment. Why does my stomach feel like I got asked on a date instead of winning a date of my choosing?
And yet I feel giddy and weird, like I want to blurt all of the conversation word-for-word to a friend. Instead, upstairs, I text everyone, hoping someone will offer to help with my outfit.
Serena: Sorry! We’re all helping Maisy with wedding flowers today. This bride is a handful! Send pics, and we’ll give you thumbs up and down!
My first choice is ripped jeans, on the tighter side, with my favorite Vans and aStar Warstee-shirt.
Surprisingly, Maisy, the busiest person on this day, texts back immediately.
Maisy: NO. Are you going to a nerd convention?
Charity: So rude. Mariam, you look adorable.
Serena: Well…
Alright fine. The next outfit is a prairie-style dress with a cardigan and leather booties.
Maisy: Is he taking you back to your hometown in Utah to be a sister-wife?
Serena: It’s a little Amish.
Charity: You look adorable. But maybe not. Sends the message he’s definitely not getting a kiss tonight.
Fine. Next outfit: Breezy patterned maxi skirt, coordinating crop top with a hem that hits above the waistband but definitely shows skin if I move around even a little. Combined with a thin cardigan in case it gets cold in the theater.
Finally, all three give me a yes.
I dress it up with dangly earrings and also add bangles on my wrists. My hair and makeup are always a disaster, so I comb through my curls as best I can and don’t bother trying to tame them. I don’t bother with eyeshadow, but opt for a tiny winging of eyeliner and lip gloss.
The final ten minutes of waiting pass with me pacing my apartment while my cat, Natasha, perches in my arms, purring on my chest. She always knows when I’m tense. But why am I nervous? I should be excited. Instead, I feel like I’m in high school. Is he going to try to cop a feel in a dark theater? Will our hands touch when we both reach for the popcorn? Why did I pick a date where we’ll both be silent, with sexual tension humming between us? At least on my end, it will be. Crap. Why didn’t I take him up on his offer of a gourmet French meal at his ranch? That sounds delightful and relaxed.
Why didn’t I…
My next round of beating myself up ends as I receive a text from a number I don’t recognize, but I soon realize it’s Jesse, and I haven’t added his name to my contacts yet.
Jesse: Hey, I’m in front of the bakery. Where do I go?
Me: I’ll meet you out front. The apartment door is in the alley, and the door is a pain.
This is easier than explaining how the door sticks; you have to “give it a knee” to make the latch line up right to open. One of the things I’ll be fixing once I buy this building.
