A lot.
So much something mortifying and painful became not so much of either.
I didn’t tell Laurie this.
I just whispered, “Okay.”
“I’ll also tell you that if a man like that wants a woman to leave him the f**k alone, he does not go after her in the dark in order to walk her home. He does not chase a kid for her. He does not dance in her apartment with her at midnight. He does not bring her coffee. He does not kiss her. He does not enumerate all the things he likes about her including the kiss he insinuated he didn’t like. And he especially does not make a date for pizza.”
Her voice dipped quiet.
“Bottom line, baby, he likes you. Not a little, a lot. He’s struggling with shit and he’s taken that out on you. I know the insults he hurled at you stung, boy do I know. I also know some men, or at least men like that, are not real good with exploring their feelings. So stuff comes out of their mouths they can’t control and don’t mean. With Chace, I don’t know, it could be even more. It could be his head is such a mess, he wanted to protect you from that and was trying to push you away by being deliberately cruel when he didn’t mean a word of it. Now, what you need to do is read the signs, listen to your heart and decide if you want to offer this man care, honesty, generosity and forgiveness and have pizza with him.”
She hesitated, let that sink in then went on, still talking quietly but now gently and giving me the honesty.
“It could all turn bad, Faye, it could, no doubt about it. But it could all end up being better than you ever dreamed. That’s your decision. That’s your risk. Straight up, if I was in your shoes, I’d take your risk. I’d do it again and again and again. I’m not lying. I’d relive every minute I’ve shared with Tate, even the ones when things were insane or they hurt or they were confusing, and I’d jump for joy if I was offered the opportunity to do it on a continual loop for eternity.”
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Exactly, honey, wow,” she whispered back.
“I think I’ll have pizza with him,” I decided and heard Lauren laugh softly.
Through it, she said, “I think in a couple of weeks or months or however long it takes for you to break through, I’ll bake you a cake to celebrate. Just you, me, cake, champagne and both of us smug in the knowledge that we set the world to rights while your world was tilting crazily.”
I hoped I got the chance to eat Lauren’s cake.
I really, really did.
“I’ll take you up on that and bring the champagne,” I told her.
“It’s a deal,” she replied.
I took in another breath and stated, “Now I have another problem.”
She hesitated before she asked, “And that would be?”
“Well, what do I wear for pizza at my place?”
At that, Lauren again burst out laughing.
This brought me to now, after work, in my apartment, at two to seven wearing what Lauren suggested I wear. Something comfortable but not something that said I didn’t care enough to make an effort. A nice pair of jeans. My most kickass dark brown leather belt. The plum scoop-necked, long-sleeved top I wore to work. The three-tiered necklace with the tiny spiky bits that hung down and the silver hoop earrings that I also wore to work.
I’d taken out the bobby pin and brushed my hair. I’d sprayed perfume in the air and ran through it because I wanted to refresh the scent but I didn’t want it obvious I refreshed the scent and I had no clue how to do that. So I tried the spray in the air and run through it route and I was hoping it worked.
I’d done my breakfast dishes and wiped down the counters. I’d made my bed that morning but I still made sure the pillows were extra fluffed, the comforter was on the bed perfectly right and smoothed out. I’d tidied away my packs of gum. I’d stacked books. I’d lit candles. And I’d adjusted my unwind playlist (temporarily) to take out “Holding Out for a Hero”, attached my iPod to the stereo and pressed play.
I’d also typed out a new note for the boy and printed it.
I was pretty certain I’d made the right decision to be in my tidied house in nice jeans, with a subtle refresh of scent, soft music playing and candles burning instead of being in Wyoming by the time Chace got there.
This did not mean, considering this was only the fourth date in my life, my first date with Chace, the man I convinced myself I was in love with thirteen years ago and it was happening in my apartment where my bed was an open part of the décor, I wasn’t a nervous wreck.
I was.
Totally.
And completely.