I yank my drawer open, desperately digging for my phone. There’s only one person to talk to this about. When the rectangle piece of electronics is in my hands, the screen flashes and knowing her schedule by heart, she’s on her way to class. My fingers fly across the screen, hammering out a text all while praying she receives it before her class starts. The thought of waiting an excruciating hour would be atrocious.

Me: Ryland just asked me out? What do I do?

Tapping my fingers on the desk while my foot fidgets back and forth, the seconds seem like years before the swoosh of sound bings from my phone.

Sadie: I knew he had a thing for you. The first time he saw you, I sensed this tension.

Me: What do I do?

I type faster, my heartbeat panicked with the expectations of a date.

Sadie: Go.

Me: I can’t. He’s my boss.

Sadie: Is that the real reason you don’t want to go?

Pausing, I contemplate why this has brought such alarming emotions from me. I begin to calm as I try to weave my way through them.

Me: Probably not

I answer honestly because Sadie has been my shoulder for the array of emotions Dex pulls out of me.

Sadie: You can’t wait around for him to come around, Chrissy.

I can almost hear her sorrowful voice through the text. That Dex won’t be coming around for me anytime soon. That I need to move forward.

Me: I’m not…it’s just…I don’t know.

Sadie: Go out and have fun. Who knows what will happen. Maybe it won’t even be anything.

Me: True

Sadie: Hey, Dex wants you to find happiness. You have to put yourself out there in order to get it.

Her words are true, but the thought of Ryland picking me up at the house and the off chance Dex could be there is enough for me to run to the bathroom.

Me: Maybe I’ll tell him I’ll meet him at the restaurant.

Sadie: NO. Absolutely NOT! He picks you up at the house. We’ll raid my closet when you get home.

Me: I haven’t decided yet…LOL

Sadie: Yes you have. Class is starting, I’ll call you once I get out.

Me: Okay.

I put my phone on the desk and stare at the screen a few more minutes, but it’s Dex’s face occupying my vision. Not wanting to hurt him, but also comprehending I have to move on. It’s been thirty days, and if anything, we’re further apart than before. Just as I’m already coming to my answer, my email dings and a smile confirms my answer.

To: Christine Dawson

From: Ryland Davis

Subject: Nervous

If you’re the assistant I think you are, I’m fairly certain you’ve seen my question. So, will you be my date for dinner tonight?

My hand palms the mouse, my right pointer finger on the clicker. Moving it over, I click reply.

To: Ryland Davis

From: Christine Dawson

RE: Nervous

Yes

I keep it simple, because I don’t have it in me to be funny with my reply. How can my acceptance to his date bring excitement and gut-wrenching pain all in one? I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m using Ryland to forget Dex. What if something comes of me and Ryland, how would I ever tell Dex? Lucky for me, my computer dings immediately so I can stop overanalyzing my decision.

To: Christine Dawson

From: Ryland Davis

RE: RE: Nervous

Huge smile across my face. Casual attire…jeans and a t-shirt.

Reading that he’s smiling, I envision those dimples piercing the heart of every other woman around him at the moment. The fact that they’re displayed because of me has my insides tingling with the excitement.

SIX FORTY-FIVE, and I’m upstairs in Sadie’s bathroom. A hot chunk of my blonde hair falls out of the curling iron alongside my heavily made up face. I’ve never worn this many layers of make-up, and I keep wondering if I took my nail and dug it down my cheek, would a white line of my skin appear?

“Why jeans and t-shirt? I wanted to have you borrow something of mine. You’d think Ryland Davis would take you to a five-star restaurant.”

“I don’t know,” I say, because that low self-esteem surfaces and has me thinking he’d be embarrassed to waste such money on me. Or worse, that I’m not worth spending money on with an elaborate meal.

“I’m sure he has a great date planned though,” she assures me, as if she witnessed my lips turn down with the thought.

“Sadie, I don’t think I can …” I pull my legs up to my chest, my usual defense mechanism to keep others out.

She places the curling iron on the counter and crouches down in front of me, her hand resting on my linked ones. “Listen to me, Chrissy. You can and you will go on this date. Do it for yourself.”

I peek up at her, and her sincerity is palpable. I want to believe her. Believe that someone would want me, but what happens when the one you are certain should be yours, doesn’t feel the same?

“You have to let Dex go. If he can’t see what’s in front of him, or he’s too scared, there’s nothing you can do to change it. Go out with Ryland for no one else but yourself,” she continues and then pats my arm until she pries a smile out of me.

“All right,” I say, and she smiles back at me.

“Good. Now, beautiful, you’re ready for your date.” She unplugs the curling iron and leans her hip on the counter, staring over at me. Waiting for me to see the magic she did on such a plain Jane.

“Oh, Sadie. I want to screw myself,” I joke, and she cracks up.

“Glad you like it. But it’s easy to make beautiful, more beautiful.” Her hand touches my arm, and she leaves the room.

I stare at myself in the mirror, knowing I’m somewhere under the lines and layers of paint. Touching my curls, I admire the look that took an hour to accomplish. My usual is getting out of the shower and tossing my wet hair in a ponytail. On a good day, I do a half blow-dry and a quick touch of eyeliner and mascara and I’m out the door.

Sadie and I stomp downstairs as Dex is just coming out of his room. We both stop, and Sadie ping pongs between the two of us before resorting to the next set of stairs.

All of these wishes that I did this for him swim around in my head. Why won’t he admit to what we both know? “Hi,” I speak first, and he stands there staring at me with his backpack swung around his back.

“Hi,” he replies.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a hoodie, since the weather has turned colder the last few weeks. His hat forward like most days lately, concealing his eyes and facial features from prying gaze.

I begin to close the gap toward my room, and he steps up to meet me. With my hand on the doorknob, he comes a few inches away from me, and my heart picks up speed while shivers rise up my back. “You look better without all that shit on your face,” he whispers, and I shake my head and turn his way.

All the warmth that had just spread across my body vanishes, leaving a rush of cold in its departure. “I guess it’s too much to say I look beautiful.” I turn the knob but am unable to push the door open due to my body being right where it wants to be—close to Dex.

“I never said you weren’t beautiful.” He finishes the two steps to the stairs and jogs down them.

“You never said I was,” I whisper to myself in an empty hallway.