JESSIE
“Slut!” Holly jokes to Nat, putting her palm up for a high five as Nat walks into the bar on the morning of our grand opening.
“All you know is that I never made it home last night,” Nat tells Holly rather sheepishly, though she does give her a weak high five. “You don’t know what happened.”
Although obviously we do know what happened, I think to myself as I work on our financials from my laptop, which I’ve placed in the middle table near the bar so I can bitch to Holly about how much more this is costing us than we planned.
She got to sleep with him. She is the luckiest fucking woman in the whole world right now, and I mean that literally.
Damn it. I love Kevin, and I’m going to marry him. What is wrong with me?
I once read in a bridal magazine that it is completely normal to have a crush on someone right after you get engaged. That it is a healthy … normal (repeat: normal!) … reaction to being spoken for. And realizing that you are never going to have a first kiss again, ever, for the rest of your life, and now I’m fantasizing about my first kiss with Giovanni and … Damn it! I have got to get hold of myself.
“Well, I have faith in you,” Holly tells Nat. “Nice shirt, by the way.”
Holly is referring to a souvenir T-shirt Nat is wearing from the Napa Valley winery that I’ve been dying to go to. Seriously? She has his shirt? It’s been less than a week, and they’re already at the point in their relationship where she gets to wear his clothing?
“Isn’t it cool?” Nat agrees. “I stole it from Giovanni’s dresser this morning, and he said I looked so cute in it, I could keep it.”
I stare intently at my computer screen, trying not to writhe in jealousy. Damn it, I’m positively writhing. Nat gets to wear his T-shirt like it’s a normal, run-of-the-mill thing. Like things like that just happen. Like in the real world, a guy that ridiculously perfect just gives you his T-shirt, which also probably smells like him a little, or at least smells like the Costco detergent he must use because, yes, I recognized the scent on him when we were at Home Depot, and now even doing my laundry reminds me of him, and no, I’m not obsessed.
“So, did you talk to Sven last night?” Nat asks Holly as she lugs a box of Syrah over to the bar.
Plus he told her she looked cute in it. Seriously, what makes her so great that he picked her over me? What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t he want to give me his shirt? And, while we’re on the subject, why did he agree to go out with her when I saw him first?
“No, but we have been sending e-mails. I don’t want to look too crazed,” Holly answers.
She got to see him naked! He must look perfect naked. Like a statue or something—just beautiful. He likes her. I don’t have a shot. I missed my opportunity.
“I agree,” Nat affirms. “You know, I’m starting to realize that if you don’t obsess about a guy, you have a much better shot at happiness…”
Thanks a lot for the great advice, Nat. I’ll try not to obsess.
“And it’s all thanks to Jessie,” Nat tells Holly.
“Why? What did I do?” I blurt out, trying not to sound defensive or jealous.
“You introduced me to a really cool guy,” Nat tells me gratefully. “Someone I would never have thought was my type. You practically forced me into his arms, and for that I’m indebted to you.”
“Well, I know a thing or two about dating,” I say a bit snootily. “So, did you ask him about his ten-year plan?”
Nat winces at my question. “You know, I tried. But he thought it sounded a bit too interviewy.”
Does that mean he doesn’t see her in his long-term plans? Hmmmm …
“The ten-year-plan question is so stupid,” Holly declares, shaking her head. “I blame the self-help books.”
“That’s pretty much what Giovanni said,” Nat tells her.
“Hm. Maybe I should date him,” Holly jokes.
You do, and I’ll break you like a twig.
“He cooks, he cleans, he has a nice house in the hills. You could do worse,” Nat jokes right back.
Seriously?! How can they joke about that?
Nat turns to me. “Instead, Giovanni suggested we should ask our dates: ‘What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?’”
“See, that’s a much better question,” Holly says. “That focuses on what a person wants to do right now, not on what someone thinks they might want to do, maybe, in ten years.”
That’s a dumb-ass question. So I give the obvious answer, “I’d play the lottery.”
Nat points to me. “Me too! But he told me I wasn’t allowed to answer that.”
Holly looks up and scrunches her lips, thinking. “I think I’d swim with sharks.”
Nat frowns. “Damn. That’s a better answer than what I said.”
“What did you say?” Holly asks.
“Elizabeth Cady Stanton,” Nat answers.
Holly nods, knowing the whole backstory of Nat’s stalled script idea.
“Wait. Giovanni thinks we should judge our dates by what they haven’t done? That’s ridiculous,” I insist. “That question tells a person who you’re not, instead of who you are.”
Nat furrows her brow and scrutinizes me. “Wooowwww… you clearly have something you want to do, but you’re afraid to. What is it?”
“Don’t be silly. I just quit my job and started a business. I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Whoa. Minnie Mouse voice,” Nat says, as though I’ve given her some sort of tell.
Holly smiles as she shakes her head and says to Nat, “I was just thinking the same thing. Damn, I’d like to get her in a poker game.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask them, careful to keep my tone dismissive.
“Whenever you don’t want to talk about something, your voice goes up two octaves and you start talking like Minnie Mouse,” Holly enlightens me. “Spill! What is it?”
Kiss Giovanni—obviously. Hm … If I knew I wouldn’t fail, would I actually kiss him?
Well, this sucks. I’m supposed to say go paragliding, or learn to play piano, or even open a wine bar. I’m not supposed to wonder if my best friend’s new boyfriend would kiss me back. That makes me a truly awful person.
“I want to open a wine bar,” I answer emphatically, making sure to deepen my voice as I shut my laptop and head toward the back office. “And if I don’t get this work done, I’ll be no help tonight for the soft opening.”
“Oh, come on,” Nat implores. “Why are you being like that? I told you about my screenplay, and Holly about her sharks. Just tell us one thing you’d do if you knew you couldn’t fail.”
“I’d get out of this conversation,” I say, making my way into the office. “You guys keep doing setup. I need an hour of quiet, and then you’re free to ask me whatever second-date question you want.”
Thankfully, the girls let me go.
I use my quiet time to set up my laptop, reopen QuickBooks, and do my job.
And quickly check Giovanni’s Facebook. And his Instagram. And Twitter.
No new posts, and no change in relationship status.
Sigh. What is wrong with me?