Page 42 of Callow

“Come on, Al,” Daphne said with a sigh as she unfolded off of the couch. “Let’s go find something passibly hot,” she said, handing me the pizza menu. “Sicilian, please,” she said.

“Allie, veggie?” I asked, knowing she would never actually ask for it even though it was what she always ordered.

“Yes, please,” she said, and I watched as the girls walked into my bedroom.

I knew I’d walk in there to find just about every item of clothing I owned strewn across my bed when I called them for pizza. But, honestly, I was glad for the assist.

My wardrobe consisted mostly of work uniforms and then casual stuff I could run around and do errands, clean, or do laundry in. So mainly jeans, yoga pants, old t-shirts, or oversized sweatshirts. I honestly didn’t remember the last time I’d given what I was wearing more than two minutes of thought.

Who was I trying to impress anyway?

I resisted the urge to keep texting Callow after we set up our plans for the date. I felt really out of my depth on how to handle dating after so many years. Who texted who first? How much was too much? What was the line between interested and desperate? How could I make sure I didn’t accidentally stumble onto the wrong side of it?

I figured that less was always more with this sort of thing. Maybe it was out of vogue to say so, but I felt like men liked to do the chasing instinctively. So letting him come to me was going to be my plan until things progressed to a place where I felt like I was on more solid footing.

Besides, I’d always preferred face-to-face interactions over texting.

By the end of the night, all three of us girls were absolutely loaded to the gills with pizza. Daphne had half of her essay written. And, most importantly of all, I had an outfit for my date.

And just, you know, a few days to stress myself the hell out about it.

CHAPTER TEN

Sabrina

I had to give Daphne credit. For a kid whose style definitely ran toward the casual herself most of the time, she really knew how to pick out a date outfit that was both pretty and warm.

We mostly had my late-night impulsive shopping habits to thank for the whole ensemble, though. I’d bought the skin-tone wool-lined leggings on a complete whim when I saw how much they looked like you weren’t wearing anything at all as I thought I might wake up some day a different person who actually wore skirts and put that much care into their appearance.

Needless to say, those leggings had sat in the back of my underwear drawer for about two years. Still in their packaging.

But they finally had a chance to be worn. And I was cozy warm in them and the borrowed black and white plaid skirt Daphne had lent me. It was paired with a long-sleeved shirt under a roomy black cardigan.

The shoes selection was where I’d put my foot down and insisted I not be in heels, since I had no idea how much walking this date might involve.

So I’d put on a pair of my old combat boots from when I was Daphne’s age, pleasantly surprised they still fit. And feeling oddly just a little more like myself with them on.

“No, use the good stuff,” Daphne had said, ripping my cheap drugstore perfume out of my hand.

‘The good stuff’ was the very pricey perfume she’d bought me for mother’s day that she’d paid for by working a seasonal job over the holidays. I’d thought she’d just blown the money on fun stuff until I’d opened my mother’s day package.

“Mom, if there’s ever a time to wear the good perfume, it’s on a date with a hot guy,” she said.

And, well, the kid had a point.

So I used the good stuff, fluffed my hair, then slipped my jacket on.

“What is this?” I asked when Daphne held out a small crossbody bag out to me. With an emphasis on small. Minuscule, really. My wallet wouldn’t even fit in it.

“I know you love your mom-bag. But I don’t think Callow needs to see those depths of hell,” she said. “This has your phone, cash, a card, and breath mints. You don’t have condoms,” she added, looking disappointed in me.

“What?” I squeaked, eyes widening.

“I mean, for all the safe-sex talks I’ve gotten over the years, it seems hypocritical that you don’t have any condoms.”

“I’m not going to need any,” I insisted.

“Aren’t those the famous last words?” she asked. “Is that what you said when you ended up with me?” she added. “Not that I’d mind a baby sister. That might be fun. But, you’re kinda old…”

---