Page 59 of Can't Kiss the Chef

Mom:

I know you are probably going out tonight, so I didn’t want to call. Just reminding you that the last day to change your major is next Friday.

I toss my phone on my bed. I just don’t have the bandwidth to deal with her right now. I’m so sick of her micromanaging. Penny let her because she’s the perfect oldest daughter. Oliver is the only son in an Italian family and he can quite literally do no wrong. So then that leaves me as the forever disappointment of a child. The one who can’t even get her dating life under control.

I glance at the two outfits laid out on my bed. Both are all black.

Choice one: a pair of black slim-fit jeans and a loose, off-the-shoulder black sweater.

Choice two: a black leather skirt that hits mid-thigh and a long-sleeved black bodysuit.

I glance out my window to see the weather which has done a complete one-eighty since I got home from the barn.

So I opt for option two and throw on a pair of brick red heeled boots, added height is always appreciated.

I’m careful not to disturb the plastic wrap around my wrist, sheltering my new ink, a small horse shoe, to remember the day I started competing again.

I finish the outfit with gold hoops and layered gold necklaces, feeling like the small Italian grandma I am destined to be. After a swipe of red lipstick, I’m ready to go.

I text Dalton and let him know I’m leaving. He’s meeting me there. His practice ended at six, and it didn’t make sense to have him come to pick me up since the brewery is closer to Hamilton. Plus, it’s probably better if I have an excuse not to drink.

Indy, Marcus and Margo are all in the living room watching a basketball game when I get downstairs.

Marcus lets out a low whistle, both my roommates spring to their feet, giving me a standing ovation.

“You look beautiful,” Margo gushes as she pulls away from my hug.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Indy’s words are laced with skepticism.

“Well, it’s too late now. I just hope Byron and Dalton don’t rip each other’s heads off.” They’ve both been uncharacteristically upbeat about going tonight, which has made me very nervous.

I grab my keys before turning back to my roommates, “Wish me luck.”

“Have fun, Lo!” Margo waves enthusiastically. The ever optimistic.

“If you decide you need to drink to get through tonight and need a ride home, give me a call, and I’ll come pick you up,” Indy offers.

I shoot off a text to both Dalton and Byron–-separately— to let them know I’m on my way before tucking my phone in my purse and pulling out a piece of gum.

I find Byron and Avery right where he said they’d be. A Dirty Shirley sits in front of the open seat.

“Hey, Pips,” he says with a smile. “You remember Avery?”

“I’m the one who invited her here, of course I remember. How was your week Avery? ”

“Good,” she says. “The kids had a field trip today so I can’t complain.”

Avery’s in a pair of burnt orange corduroys and a lacy off-white blouse. Her hair is perfectly straight and makeup impeccably done. She is the type of girl every mom hopes for their son to be with.

A buzzing stops the conversation.

“Our table is ready.” Bryon holds up his phone, and a hostess shows us to our table. Still no Dalton. Not even an answer to my text, yet I can see he’s read it.

“Dalton should be here any minute.”I hope.

The first time the waiter comes around, we tell him we are waiting for one more person. When he comes around again, we each put in an order for a flight of their signature craft beers.

The bastard is really going to stand me up. It suddenly feels like there is no air in the room. I scrunch up my sleeves in the hopes of getting some kind of reprieve.

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