Page 36 of Friendshipped
I vacillate between wanting to believe her and considering joining a convent—even though I’m not Catholic. Maria might have had the right idea in the Sound of Music. But I do want a family of my own, with a husband and children, and I am turning twenty-three next month, so I need to press on.
Dating is stressful.
I’m thinking of having that written on a T-shirt. I bet I could sell those and make a decent side hustle.
“So, any hot dates this weekend?” Trevor asks as if he’s reading my thought bubble.
“Actually,” I say, staring out the window to avoid eye contact, “I have two lined up, but I’m considering cancelling.”
“After one bad date?” Trevor asks.
“I know. I feel like I can hear my dad saying Billingtons don’t quit. Though, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of online dating when he drilled that lesson into my head.”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t,” Trevor agrees.
“What was the best part of your day today?” I ask, not so subtly switching the subject off my return to the dating scene.
“You go first,” Trevor says, exiting the freeway to merge onto a surface street.
“Well, I got up to almost six rotations swiveling my office chair,” I say proudly. “That’s a record for me.”
“Productivity at its finest, Lex,” Trevor says with a smile.
“Hey,” I say. “I sharpened pencils too. Also, wrote two obituaries and scheduled my interview with the president of the garden club, so the CC Tribune got their money’s worth out of me today.”
“They’ll be especially proud of their investment if there ever becomes such a thing as office Olympics,” Trevor adds. “You’ll slay the competition and win the gold in every chair related event.”
“Exactly,” I say with a confident nod. “And I was only seasick for about an hour afterward. How about you? What was the best part of your day?”
“It was pretty level,” Trevor says, turning into our neighborhood. “Nothing stands out. I have no complaints. Any day I have access to free donuts and coffee and am left alone in my cubicle is a good day in my book.”
“Please don’t say donuts in my presence this week,” I beg him.
“Why not?” he asks.
I mumble my response. “I’m cutting carbs, fat and sugar.”
Trevor shoots me a surprised look as he turns onto our street. “Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?”
“I’m just … watching what I eat a little,” I explain.
“Why?”
I sit quietly as Trevor pulls into our driveway.
I glance over at him and then admit, “The dates. I want to look my best.”
“Lex, you look better than most women I’ve ever seen. You don’t need to diet.”
He always says things like this. He’s got astounding rose-colored glasses when he looks at me. It’s sweet, but I know he’s biased. Not to mention, those are the very words I want to hear from him, only I want him to mean them in anI-want-so-much-more-than-friendshipway.
“Thanks, but … I’m just doing this for a while so support me, okay?” I ask him.
“I’ll support you,” he says in his usually thoughtful tone. “No problem. Does this mean you’re going to start running?”
“You wish,” I say with a laugh. “I’m turning over a new leaf, not losing my mind. I will not be running.”
Trevor says, “A man can dream,” as he opens his door and starts to walk toward our house. “What are you doing this evening?”
