Page 53 of It's a Date (Again)

I glance around the store again. It’s all so overwhelming, and I don’t even know what I would like or if I need anything. Or if I have money? Like, how am I financially? I remind myself to dig into that.

“Up to you,” I say.

“My mind is telling me to shop, but my credit card balance is telling me to get my ass outa here.” She looks fondly at the clothing and then back at me. “I better listen to my credit card balance.”

Maya nods and makes a beeline for the exit before she changes her mind. Back in the car, she shoves her keys into the ignition, but before starting up the engine, she turns to me with a serious look. “Are you sure this all isn’t too much on you? The dating multiple guys, I mean?”

“I don’t think so—at least not yet.”

“I just want to make sure since Robbie changed his stance on the whole thing. He’s usually the voice of reason for us, so I guess I have to be, or at least try to be.” She chuckles.

I smile at the thought of Robbie keeping us out of trouble over the years.

“I’m good right now. But ... when I have to start making decisions, I don’t know how I’ll feel or if I’ll be able to handle it.” I fiddle with my nails. They’re painted a light pink, but most of the polish has peeled off. The scrapes on my fingers are nearly healed. Soon the only evidence of the accident will be the memories I no longer have.

“You will. Anything life has thrown your way, you’ve always handled. And it’s thrown a lot at you. Plus, you have me and Robbie and Debbie all by your side.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“Thanks.”

“Now let’s get you a manicure,” she says, inspecting my nails. “Because this is not cute.”

“In my defense, I was hit by a car and in a coma for several days.” I pull my hand away and examine them up close. They’re chipped and broken.

“No excuse,” she says, turning on the engine and putting the car in reverse. “I actually tried to do your nails when you were in the coma, but one of the nurses yelled at me for removing that little device you had clipped to your finger.”

“You mean the device that measures how much oxygen is in my blood and helps determine whether I need to be ventilated or intubated?”

“Yep. That’s the one,” Maya says as she points the car toward the city skyline and drives.

It’s a few hours later. Our nails are freshly painted and up to Maya’s standards. She opted for a bright red, and I picked the same color I had before the accident, a shade called Ballet Slippers. I was going to go bold, but I figured the version of me with my memories liked a more muted color, so I chose the same.

Maya and I exit the elevator of a high-rise building. I’ve been here before many times, but I don’t remember it.

“This way,” Maya says, directing me down a long hallway. Numbered doors are spaced out evenly on either side.

She knocks on one of them but then immediately opens it, not waiting for an answer. The apartment is minimalist, with largefloor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline. The kitchen and living room are open concept like mine but with a more spacious floor plan. The camel-colored leather couch, matching recliner, and big-screen TV give the whole place a real bachelor-pad appearance. A desk is tucked away in the far corner, complete with dual monitors and several stacks of paperwork. Robbie spins his chair around and pulls off a pair of reading glasses, blinking several times as though his vision is taxed from staring at his computer screen.

“Don’t you knock, Maya?” He narrows his strained eyes, then stands from his desk and stretches his arms over his head, revealing a sliver of his abdomen.

“I did, and then I immediately opened the door,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.

He rubs a hand over his face. “What are you two up to?”

Robbie moseys around the living room randomly, tidying up like he’s trying to make it more presentable for us. He picks up an empty bowl, fluffs a couple of pillows, and folds a throw blanket.

“I’m working a server shift at Gilt Bar before my set tonight, so I’ve gotta go in early,” Maya explains. “I figured since we were already in the area getting our nails done”—she splays her hands out and wiggles her fingers—“I’d just drop Peyton off, and you could bring her back when you’re done with work.” She seals her plan with a smile.

Robbie scratches the back of his neck. “Works for me. I’m finishing up, so it’ll be another thirty minutes or so before we can head out. Is that all right?”

“Yeah.” I kick off my shoes and plop down on the couch, putting my feet up on the coffee table. I run a hand over the couch. “This is nice. Is this real leather?”

“It is.” He grins. “You actually helped me pick it out.”

“Really?” I smile back. “I have good taste then.”

“In furniture, yes,” Robbie says coyly. He walks around the island counter into the kitchen area and places his bowl in the dishwasher.Only in furniture ...I wonder what it is he thinks I don’t have good taste in.

“All good?” Maya asks, giving me two thumbs-up.

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