Page 17 of The ABCs of You & Me

“I’m coming, keep your panties on!”

“I’d say the same to you, but there’s no way you’ll be able to wear any in that dress.”

Shit, she’s right. I’ll be going commando while going out with the hottest man I’ve ever met .

I wake up every single day and mentally slide a line through the date on the calendar. I’m a ball of nerves. It’s like one of those balls made out of elastics, and each day I add another one.

Foster makes me nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind of nervousness that has me jumping out of bed in the morning and giggling when he compliments me on one of my patterned blouses.

During my second week I’d been wearing one with bees, and talking about various bees had been a gateway to a productive session with one of the kids. I went home and ordered a bunch of blouses with different flora and fauna. Foster telling me the idea was smart had me flying high for two weeks after.

“How many of those cows can you name?” one of the teachers asks me when I sit down at the table across from her in the staff room.

I look down at my blouse. “Six.”

“Which one is stumping you?”

I point at the bright pink one and hear Foster laugh beside me. “She’s good with cows.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I grew up on a dairy farm,” I admit.

She stares back at me as if the longer she looks she’ll be able to smell the cow. “I would have never guessed it.”

I don’t know what to say to that so just offer a smile before stuffing my mouth with a garlicky roasted potato Foster brought as a side today.

The comment is still rolling around in my mind though. Should I be acting a different way? Be dressed in head-to-toe Wrangler jeans? I knew farm kids who were deeply entrenched in the life. They were born to work with their parents and then one day take over. I never once saw that as my future, nor was I ever pressured to make that my future. One of the reasons I loved going over to Cass and Foster’s house was that I got to go to bed late and sleep in. There were often times I’d stay up even later than Cass just because Foster did. We’d play a game on his PlayStation or gossip. More than once I’d wake up on the couch in their basement with a blanket over me. I knew who put it there, even though we never acknowledged it.

The night before the gala I have a sudden worry about what I’ll hyper-fixate on once I’m home tomorrow night. What if it’s a disaster? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I cry? What if I lose it on Gregory’s new girlfriend? What if people want to know what happened? Will Foster still want to be my friend if any of those things happen? What if the dress was a bad idea? Is it too low in the back? You can see the top of my ass. What was I thinking? I can’t wear that around a bunch of academics. What if I trip walking up onto the stage to receive the pat on my back and bare my ass for all to see? Tears sting my eyes as a wave of dread overwhelms me.

Breathing slowly, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to pull something out of my mind to focus on instead. Pete’s new dedication to using his crutches less. My dad laughing over the phone last night when he was telling me about Mom mistakenly using salt instead of sugar on top of scones. Foster’s smile every time he sticks his head around my office door. Foster’s eyes lighting up when he talks about any of the students accomplishing something. Foster’s voice when he’s doing an impression of Pete. Foster.

NINE

FOSTER

Sophie had said she’d meet me at the gala, but I reminded her that if we wanted people to buy that I was her date-date and not her friend-date, it would look better if we arrived together. I’ve been super anxious about tonight but in a good way. Walking into an event like this with Sophie Hore on my arm? My god, dream come true.

I take three deep breaths before knocking.

“Hey, just give me one second,” Sophie says, opening the door and immediately disappearing from sight.

“What if it was a murderer and not me?” I call out.

“No murderers are out at this hour,” she hollers from somewhere toward the back of the house. “Oh, fucking fantastic!” I hear her curse, followed by the sound of something crinkling.

“Everything okay back there?”

“Yes, sorry!” She rounds the corner, looking down at the coat she’s buttoning up, hiding most of her outfit from me. I can see that it’s long and green, the fabric cascading below the hem of the coat. “The dry cleaning tag was pinned to the dumbest spot, and I ripped a button off when I pulled at it.”

I step back to take her in. “I can’t tell.”

“Well, that’s good. I guess it’s not like I’ll be wearing the coat for long, right?”

God, I hope not.

“Shall we?”

---