She grabbed my hand and squeezed, squealing in delight. That was one of the things I loved most about Lia: when her friends had good news to share, she always reacted with unfettered joy. There was never any pettiness or jealousy with her. Just genuine delight.
If anyone deserved happiness, it was her.
“That’s so exciting! Congrats!”
“Thanks. Here’s hoping.”
Squeezing my hand one more time, she smiled. “I have a good feeling about this one, Mel.”
And though the words were on the tip of my tongue, I was too afraid to say them out loud.
I have a good feeling about this one, too.
9
In my time as a single woman, I’d been on a lot of dates.
A lot of dates.
But it had been a while since I’d been on a date that I actually cared about.
I mean, in a way I cared about all of them. If I didn’t think there was some tiny fragment of a chance that a guy could become my happily-ever-after, I never would’ve bothered to swipe right on him in the first place.
The problem was, I’d encountered so many terrible men, suffered through so much disappointment and humiliation, that I’d stopped looking forward to dating. It had become a chore, a burdensome task I had to check off my to-do list: Don’t wanna die alone? Better go have a drink with this random guy from the internet!
So while I remained vaguely hopeful and remarkably persistent, my enthusiasm for dating had waned. I stopped investing myself emotionally. I stopped caring.
Which is why it took some time for me to identify the source of that funny feeling in my stomach. It started as a little twinge on Saturday morning. By afternoon, it had morphed into a full-blown tremor. When I checked the clock at half past five and realized Alex would be arriving in less than three hours, my belly was churning like a stormy sea.
Only then did it hit me: I was nervous.
And I was nervous because I actually cared.
See, Alex wasn’t some random guy from the internet. Our flirtation had not been restricted to skillfully angled selfies and text bubbles; it was real life, in person. Whether or not I liked it, I was already emotionally invested. I wanted tonight to be amazing.
In other words, I wanted Alex to take one look at me and develop a sudden urge to whisk me off to the bedroom.
After giving my reflection a once-over, though, I decided I had a lot of work to do.
A quick Google of the phrase “date night beauty tips” brought up a treasure trove of advice on “how to knock his socks off.” I picked a link at random and began working my way through the items on “The Ultimate Pre-Date Checklist.”
For the next hour, I primped and preened, tweezing my eyebrows, filing my nails, shaving everything south of my collarbones. At item number seven, I hit a dead end:
Get Glowing: Brighten your complexion with a hydrating and restorative face mask.
There were no face masks in my limited arsenal of beauty supplies, and it was too late to pop out to the store to get one. But judging by the number of empty Sephora shopping bags we had crammed under the sink, Vanessa must’ve had something I could use to “clarify tone and improve texture.” Whatever that meant.
I emerged from my bedroom to look for her and, instead, found our entire shared living space covered in party paraphernalia. Flowers, streamers, and strings of fairy lights littered the couch. Silver tubs filled with bags of ice and bottles of rosé were strewn around the kitchen. Our counters overflowed with all manner of snacks and serving trays. And, of course, there were fifty tin-can lanterns in the foyer.
It was like a Pinterest board exploded inside the apartment.
Vanessa popped up from behind the breakfast bar with a giant bag of marshmallows in her hand. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” Instantly, I felt a pang of guilt. I’d been so consumed by beauty prep that I hadn’t considered asking her if she needed any help with party prep. Even though this was technically her shindig, and I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of getting in trouble with the landlord, it’s not like I’d tried to talk her out of hosting it. Our rooftop did have incredible views of the city. It would be the perfect backdrop for a springtime get-together.
Or, say, a first kiss.
“There’s a lot of stuff going on here,” I said. “How can I help?”
She tore open the bag and waved away my offer. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”
With a meaningful glance toward the cluster of tin cans blocking the front door, I asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s totally fine. I have a system.” One by one, she plucked the marshmallows from the bag and placed them gingerly on a tray, aligning them flawlessly, discarding those with surface imperfections. “Oh, I meant to ask you—how many of your friends are coming? So I know how much food to put out.”
“Just Dani, Whitney, and Lia. And Lia’s bringing her boyfriend.” I paused, swallowing a squee. “And I invited a guy, too.”
“A guy?” She cocked her head, intrigued. “Tell me more.”
“His name’s Alex. I met him at work.”
“How old is he?”
“Twenty-six.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“I told you, I know him from work. He’s with one of the start-ups there.”
“Hmm.” She pursed her lips and squinted. “That could go either way.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, if all goes well, he could be making a ton of money in a few years. But if he can’t find a good investor, he’s one step away from bankruptcy.”
“I don’t really care about how much money he makes.”
“Okay, sure.” She winked, like we were sharing some secret. “What about his family?”
“What about them?”
“Who are they? Where do they live?”
“I have no idea. Why does that even matter?”
“His relationship with his parents can influence so much about how he acts toward you. A clingy mom, a domineering dad—these things can cause problems down the line. It’s important to know what you’re dealing with up front.”
Geez. If this was the kind of background check Vanessa put all her first dates through, it was no wonder she was still single.
It was one thing to screen prospective partners for assholish behavior, like sending dick pics or committing adultery. But it was quite another to research their family history and calculate their earning potential. Not only was it bonkers, it was putting the cart before the horse. First see if there’s any chemistry, then start inquiring about messed-up parents.