Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Anna

When my phone chimes again, my heartbeat does a funny little dance in my chest. Is it Mindy? Or Troy?

Shaking my head at myself, I say out loud, "Calm down. It's probably Brit." Which would still be a good thing, because that would mean my minimal effort of reciprocation is enough to strike up a friendship with her, and that's a positive thing. But I'm torn between hoping it's Mindy and hoping it's Troy.

When I pick up my phone and see the message from Troy, all my breath leaves me in a whoosh.

And then I'm sent into an anxiety spiral. He wants me to come over tonight? I know enough to realize that an invite from a guy to his place usually means he wants sex. But given that he mentioned his friends and their children being there, somehow that seems less likely.

I look down at the sock cuff in my lap, the ball of wool next to me, the threadbare T-shirt I have on, and the leggings with a hole in the crotch I only wear at home.

Do I want to go?

Part of me definitely does, but another part of me worries that it's too much too soon to have brunch with him earlier today and then spend the evening with him too.

But is it really?

How should I know?

Biting my thumbnail, I debate what I should do.

I really, really, really wish I could talk to someone about this. When I was in college and overthinking everything, Mindy was the one who talked me off the ledge. Obviously, she's not an option now.

Would it be weird if I called Brit?

Probably.

"Oh my god," I groan, tapping on Brit's name and pressing my phone to my ear. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I whisper to myself.

Brit picks up on the third ring. "Anna? Hey! What's up?"

"Hey, Brit, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute to talk?" I blurt out in a rush.

She chuckles. "Of course. I wouldn't have answered if I couldn't talk. What's going on? Is everything okay? You sound a little panicky."

I let out an unhinged laugh, but clamp my lips shut, cutting it off. "Yeah, uh, that's pretty accurate."

"Okay," she says more slowly. "Tell me what's happening. Do I need to come over? I'm starting to get worried now."

"No, no. I mean, maybe? It's fine. I'm fine. I'm just freaking out a little bit." I suck in a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down a bit, grateful that Brit waits quietly for me to gather myself. "I'm really sorry about this. I'm not trying to freak you out too. I just didn't know who else to call." At least that comes out sounding slightly more sane.

"It's okay," she says, her voice soothing. "Tell me what's happening. I'm happy to help if I can."

"So, um, the guy I met last night? And had brunch with today? Troy? He invited me to the cabin he's staying at to roast marshmallows at the fire pit there. And I know how that sounds," I rush to get out, "but I think he just means roasting marshmallows because he mentioned that his friends and their kids will be there. I met them last night too. The friends, I mean. They were at his table. Not the kids, though. I don't know them." I shut my mouth, just barely managing not to slap my hand over it again to stem the flow of words.

Brit lets out a low chuckle. "Deep breaths, Anna. It's okay. This is good, isn't it? You like him, right?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

"Okay. What's the problem, then?"

I force myself to breathe in slowly, doing my best to calm myself down. "The problem is, I don't know how to do this."

"Uh, which part?"

"Dating? Or … casual relationships? I don't understand how any of this works. Is this normal? I mean, we had a drink together last night, but at the time I thought it was him just being nice and rescuing me from those douchey guys that wouldn't leave me alone. And it was that, but then he gave me his number. And today I decided I needed to stop being, well, the way I am and break out of my shell and try new things, so I invited him out to brunch. And now he's inviting me over. And I don't know, is that too much? All this time in the span of like a day? Is it too much?"

"Deep breaths," Brit murmurs again, and I take a slow breath in and hold it for a few seconds before breathing out even more slowly. "Good. Okay, we'll circle back to the part where you feel like you need to stop being yourself in a bit. I have to admit that I'm maybe not the best person to give dating advice. But my years of therapy have given me a few tools or at least ways of framing things that might be helpful for you. I can't say I know what normal is or should be. The most important question, though, is how does this feel for you? Does it feel like too much? Or does it feel like something you want, but you're worried about grabbing onto it because you're worried about what other people might think or about some sort of external timeline you're not matching? And if it's the external things—other people or some imaginary timeline—why are you letting those things rule your life?"

"Ugh! I don't know!"

Brit chuckles softly. "Let's just focus on the one question that matters. Do you want to go?"

I sit with that question for a few breaths, slowing down my breathing in the process. "I … yes?"

"Why does that still sound like a question?"

Laughing, I shake my head, the certainty settling over me like a soft sheet, fresh from the dryer. "Yes," I repeat more confidently. "I do."

"Yay!" I hear Brit clapping faintly through the phone. "Good. I'm glad we got that settled. Now tell him that, and get your cute little ass over there!"

"Okay. But wait!"

"What's the matter now?" I can hear the smile in her voice, but with the way she's acted so far, I don't think she'll be mean to me for admitting my other concern.

"I don't know what to wear!" It comes out as a wail, which is embarrassing, but at this point, I don't even care anymore.

"Okay, well, it's marshmallows around a fire, so casual. It's still warm out, so I'd go with shorts, but bring an extra layer for if you stay late enough for it to get cool. But if you're worried about it cooling off too much, you could go with those linen pants you like to wear sometimes. Not too hot, but a layer of protection for the evening."

I chew my lip, considering. "Which would you pick?"

She chuckles again. "Personally, I'd go with shorts. High waisted cut offs, if you have them. And either a crop top or just a T-shirt, then I'd bring a sweatshirt or a flannel and tie it around your waist. It'll look cute and casual, give you some nice waist emphasis, and show off your curves. Not too heavy with the makeup, your usual look is great, but maybe a bolder lip just for fun? There'll be kids there, so you don't want to look super sexy, but also it's kind of a date, so you want to look good, right?"

"Right," I breathe, standing and moving to my bedroom so I can dig through my clothes to see if I can find anything that works. "I don't think I have cut offs. Or a crop top. My clothes are kinda boring."

"Oh, Anna," Brit sighs. "I'm not sure who or what has you convinced that there's something wrong with you, but your clothes are fine."

I snort. "Are you sure about that? Weren't you just telling me last night that my clothes make me look forty-five?"

Brit sucks in a breath. "I'm sorry about that. Really, I am. Your clothes are very classic. I promise we can find something that you'll feel good in. That's why you bought the clothes you have, right? Because you feel good in them?"

I pause in the middle of pulling all my shorts out of my drawer. Is that why I bought them? "I guess?" I answer, but the truth is, most of my clothes have been picked to help me feel anonymous. They're mostly neutrals, solids, and simple cuts. No frills or patterns or graphic tees for me. Though I did buy that one red top because I thought it looked good on me …

"Okay," she says slowly, like that's another thing she wants to get back to later. "I'm … okay. Let's get back to your shorts options. What do you have?"

"Hang on." I spread out the shorts from my drawer on the foot of my bed, immediately setting aside my workout shorts. Those are definitely not one of the choices. "I have three pairs of linen shorts in black, olive, and khaki, and a pair of denim shorts that I don't really like."

"No denim, then," Brit says decisively. "I think olive. And then, oh, do you have like a brick red or rusty orange top? That would be perfect. And then maybe a cream sweatshirt to tie around your waist?"

Perking up and feeling better about this idea already, I turn to my closet, zeroing in on that red shirt I was just thinking about. "Yeah. I have a red top. It's not cropped, though."

"That's not a big deal. If it's too long, tuck it in so you don't look like you're drowning in your clothes, though."

"Got it."

"Okay, I'm going to let you get changed. Send me a pic of your outfit before you go! And if you have cream or nude sandals, I'd wear those. Or sneakers. But pics either way!"

My anxiety kicks up again, but I don't protest this time. "Thank you so much, Brit. I really appreciate your help."

"What are friends for?" she quips. "And I look forward to a full rundown tomorrow over crepes!"

Grinning, I nod. "Sounds good. See you then."

Once we're off the phone, I unlock my phone and respond to Troy.