Reese comes over after school to help me pick out something to wear on my date. We grab snacks from the kitchen and go upstairs, where I stand in front of my closet and try to will something new and cute into existence. But Reese isn’t with me. When I poke my head out of my door, I find her stalled at the top of the stairs. Then I see why.
A flush works its way down my neck when I realize the reason she’s lingering. The guest room door is open. She can see the unmade bed, the clothes my dad wore yesterday still crumpled on the floor. She finally comes into my room and perches on the edge of my desk. Hands me my can of pop. She already knows about David from work and what my parents have been like the last couple years, but judging from the embarrassed look on her face, I’m not sure she fully got it before now.
“He doesn’t sleep in there every night,” I say before she can comment. “Just when he has to get up early for meetings and stuff.”
It doesn’t feel like a lie until it’s already out of my mouth, when I realize he has slept in there every night this week.
Reese sips her Sprite and nods thoughtfully. “Right, makes sense.”
“Yeah.” My thumb indents the side of my can. I shove a few hangers aside with my free hand. “Anyway, I hate all my clothes.”
She gets up and starts sorting through my closet. “I know the feeling. I’m pretty sure ninety-five percent of my closet is stuff Rachel picked out and wore first. Okay, how about this?”
I veto the first two options she picks because they’re skirts and it’s twenty fucking degrees outside, and settle for the jeans I wore to school and a cute V-neck sweater in a shade of purple that she says makes my brown eyes pop.
Reese keeps looking through my clothes while I get changed. “Ooh, mind if I borrow this?”
I glance at the sequined top she’s holding—one my mother bought that I still haven’t worn because it’s much more her style than mine. “Go for it.”
She puts it on and we move to the bathroom, where Reese pulls a makeup bag from her backpack. I run a brush through my hair, then tap the bristles against my thigh in an erratic rhythm.
“Nervous?” Reese pulls out an eyeliner and uncaps it.
“No.” I toss my brush onto the counter and fiddle with some of her makeup, swatching metallic gold eye shadows on the back of my hand. “I mean. A little, maybe. But I think things are going pretty well so far.”
“Definitely. Even Kevin thinks you guys make a cute couple.”
“A cute couple. Kevin used those exact words?”
Reese leans close to the mirror, a half smile tugging at her lips. “No, but he said you seem good together.” She finishes lining one eye and pulls back to look at it. “But if you want a buffer, you could always bring him to Anna’s party.”
I scrub the eye shadow off my hand. “I think it could actually be good to have some time alone with Holland.” Besides, I can just picture how awkward this party would be. First of all, Webster will be there. So there’s that. Plus if we hang out with the same people he met on New Year’s Eve, Holland will eventually realize I’m not actually friends with any of them, and while I’m sure Webster has warned him that I’m a complete outcast, I don’t feel the need to demonstrate the veracity of that claim.
“Alone time, huh?” She wiggles her shoulder at me and goes back to doing her eyeliner. “The four of us should hang out again soon, though.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
She recaps the eyeliner and reaches for her pop. “Speaking of which, the Snow Ball is coming up in a couple weeks...”
My head snaps up and I meet her gaze in the mirror.
“I was thinking we could all go in the same group,” she adds.
I twist the bottles of face wash and toner and moisturizer sitting on my counter so the labels are turned out.
Reese fiddles with the tab on her pop can. “Do you not want to go because of what happened last year?”
“What? No.” I send her a sidelong glance. “I never even think about that anymore.”
She cocks an eyebrow, looking as though she didn’t believe that any longer than it took me to say it. And she’s right, because suddenly I’m back to wondering if this might be some sick joke on Webster’s part. A long con to get me into the same situation all over again. How can I trust Holland when we’ve had only one date? After all, I trusted Webster. I’d spent way more time with him, thought I really knew him, and look what happened.
Of course, I don’t say any of this out loud. It’s not that Reese wouldn’t be sympathetic, but even I recognize I’m thinking like a conspiracy theorist. I’m trying to get better about using Bayes’ theorem properly—using it to update the probability of a hypothesis based on available evidence. And, well, I don’t have any evidence to support the hypothesis Holland would do something like that. In fact, aside from their shared interest in basketball, so far Webster and Holland are nothing alike.
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks a moment later.
“It’s just not really my thing, you know?”
Reese’s lips purse. “I’m just saying, we have a limited number of opportunities left to make memories—”
“Okay, are you dying or something?”
“Before graduation,” she finishes with an eye roll. “So why not replace a bad memory with a good one?”
Before she can continue the hard sell, her phone buzzes. She sighs. “I have to go—I promised Becca I’d drop her at her friend’s house before the party.”
I help her pack up her makeup, and the two of us make it downstairs right as the garage door rumbles open. My mom’s home.
Reese hangs back to say hello to her, and her eyes widen as soon as my mom walks in. “Whoa, Mrs. Cash. Love your new hair.”
“Thank you, honey.”
She’s completely changed the style. Dyed it auburn and cut at least six inches off. “Wow.”
Mom redirects her attention back to me. “You like it? I thought it was time for something different. Actually, I had a very similar haircut to this when John and I first met.”
Even though I know these superficial changes are the only ones Mom ever makes—new clothes, new makeup, new hair—I still get a flicker of hope that this means something more. That my mom is trying to rekindle things with my dad, that this is the start of something new. “It looks great,” I tell her, and Reese nods her agreement.
Mom beams. She sets down her bag and sheds her coat. “So, what are you girls up to tonight?”
“I was just heading out,” Reese says. “I have to drive my sister somewhere and then I’m heading to a party. I just stopped by to help Aubrey get ready for her date.”
“Yes! With Holland,” Mom says, like she earns points for remembering my date’s name. “You’ve met him, right, Reese? What’s he like?”
“He’s great,” Reese assures her. “Super nice, and smart. I’m sure Aubrey told you he wants to be a vet.” Mom nods—that’s pretty much the one piece of information I volunteered. “He’s cute, too. You want to see a picture?”
“Yes!”
“Wait, what?” I turn to Reese. “Why do you have his picture?”
I lean over her shoulder while she pulls up his Instagram account. Mom moves around to Reese’s other side.
“Wow, he is cute,” my mom says when Reese tips the phone toward her.
“Uh-huh.” I’m biting my nails again. I curl my fingers into my palm to stop myself from doing too much damage.
Once upon a time, talking about a crush with my mother wouldn’t have warranted the throat-squeezing hesitation hitting me now. I used to open up to her quite regularly on the subject. Of course, that was before she encouraged me to act on a particularly ill-advised crush, completely setting me up to fail.
“Have you guys kissed yet?”
My face. It is on FIRE. “Mom. Can we not?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says.
I stare at the ceiling and shake my head. We had the sex talk when I was ten, and again when I started high school. We are not going there now. And sure, her question may seem innocent, but I know a can of worms when I see one.
Reese is still laughing, which only encourages my mother.
“Well, you should bring him over sometime. Soon, okay? If you’re going to keep seeing him, your father and I want to meet him. I’d insist you introduce us tonight, but your dad and I are meeting for dinner and I think we’ll be gone before he picks you up. Maybe when he drops you off?”
Mom and Dad haven’t gone out together in ages. I’m so distracted by this new information that all I can do is nod.
Reese’s phone buzzes again and she grabs her backpack. “Okay, I really have to go now.”
I walk her out to the garage, arms crossed against the chill. “Have fun tonight.”
“You too.” She walks backward down the driveway toward her car. “And promise me you’ll think about the dance, okay?”
I hold up my pinkie in a silent swear. “It’s officially under consideration.”
I have no reason to be this nervous.
Holland and I are having a great time. He took me to a sushi restaurant for dinner, and we talked the whole time, not a single awkward silence, and now he’s holding my hand as we walk back to his car. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no.
Immediately a voice in my head steps up to remind me that’s actually not the worst-case scenario, that there are several ways he could respond that would be infinitely more hurtful and embarrassing.
But I don’t even care about this dance so why am I still thinking so much?
We’re at his car now, and he’s opening the passenger side door for me like a total gentleman, like someone out of a movie. I slide into the car and, while he walks around to his side, I check my reflection in the side mirror to make sure my nose isn’t running too bad. I discreetly wipe it on my mitten as Holland gets in and starts the engine.
My palms start to sweat as we wind down the parking structure. I yank off my mittens with my teeth and sit on my hands while Holland feeds his ticket into the meter and pays.
“Everything okay?” Holland asks when the gate lifts. “You’ve gotten awfully quiet over there.”
“Yeah, I’m great.”
Holland nods, and we pull out of the structure, heading toward Woodward Ave. and hitting the first red light. Holland fiddles with the radio, and I stare at the center console. A small metal pin inside one of the cup holders snags my attention. I pick it up to get a closer look. It’s made of brass and navy enamel, with the caduceus medical symbol.
“What’s this?”
Holland spares a quick sideways glance before turning his focus back to the road. “I got that when I finished the junior EMT program.”
“Wait, you’re an EMT?” I look down at the pin, then back at Holland.
“Technically I still have to be certified.”
“But you’ve gone through the training? Have you ridden in an ambulance?”
Holland laughs. “Yeah, I have. But just as an observer. Now that I’m eighteen I plan to get certified, though. I want to volunteer as a full EMT this summer.”
“Wow. Guess I know who to call if I’m feeling faint.”
I set his pin back where I found it, and spend the next mile or so mulling over this newly unveiled side of him. And possibly picturing Holland in an EMT uniform.
The distraction lasts until we get caught at the next red light, at which point Reese’s voice starts to play in the back of my head again.
I’m not going to pretend to be as sentimental about high school ending as she is. But it does seem very un-Bayesian to form an opinion of school dances based on one bad experience with someone completely different. That night sucked because of Webster, not because of the dance itself. And not asking Holland because of Webster would be just as counterproductive as sitting back and waiting for him to interfere with our relationship. It’d be giving him too much control.
The light turns green.
“So there’s this thing,” I blurt out.
Holland glances sideways at me. “A thing,” he repeats ominously.
“Yeah. Like, a school thing. A dance thing.”
“I see.”
“And I know school dances are kind of awful. Or—I don’t know, maybe you’re like Reese. Reese loves them. I’m not the biggest fan.”
“Okay...” I risk a glance at him, and his brow is furrowed, teeth caught on his bottom lip. He must feel my gaze, because he sends me another quick sidelong glance. “When is this dance-type thing?”
“Um.” I wipe my palms on my jeans. So sweaty. “Friday after next.”
Holland nods. His fingers drum against the steering wheel. “So...to clarify, are you asking me to be your date?”
“Oh. Yes.” I frown. “Did I not say that part?”
Holland laughs softly. “Not yet.”
If my face wasn’t red before, it sure is now. Like, to the point where I can’t even blame the cold.
“You’re pretty cute when you get flustered.”
“I’m...” I shake my head. “Not flustered.”
“Oh, okay.” He’s smiling harder now. It’s as adorable as it is obnoxious.
“God.” This is excruciating. He’s actually going to make me say it. “Okay. Holland, will you go to a dance with me?”
He pulls up to another red light. “I’d love to.”
“Yeah? Okay. Cool. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” His amusement is evident in his voice.
I groan and sink back against the seat, half smiling and half cringing until we pull into my neighborhood. Holland knows his way around it well after visiting Webster so many times.
“It’s funny,” he says as he turns onto my street, “because I was actually planning on asking you to the dance at my school, but it’s the same night.”
“Oh. Would you rather go to that one?”
“Nah. Besides, you asked first.”
He sounds sort of happy about that. Flattered, even. Heat kisses my cheeks for an entirely different reason.
“Plus, this way we’ll be able to go in a group with Webster.”
My smile freezes. Holland pulls into my driveway, and I glance over my shoulder at Webster’s house. I want to tell Holland I already agreed to go in Reese’s group, but I know that’s a weak excuse, since there’s no reason Webster couldn’t be included. Besides, with others there as a buffer, I probably won’t even notice Webster.
So I ignore the tightness building in my chest again and brightly as I can, I say, “Can’t wait.”