Penn:
What’s it look like?
Butterflies flutter, and I get the sudden urge to throw the dress on and send him a picture. But I tell myself to calm down and type a normal response.
Olivia:
Burgundy, velvet material with long sleeves.
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and a pang of disappointment hits me that the conversation ended so quickly. The phone rings in my hand, causing me to jump and almost chuck it across the room.
He’s calling. Why is he calling?
“Uh, hello?”
“Hi,Olivia,” he says, his voice all smooth.
A wave of warmth floods my insides. It’s the first time I’ve heard him use my name and notBarbie.
“Hi,” I repeat.
“Tell me about this Christmas party?”
“Oh. Uhm, well, it’s a company party my parents throw every year at our country club.” The moment I say it, I cringe. He’s probably going to think I’m a spoiled rich girl.
“Country club, huh?” he says, but there’s no hint of judgment or surprise in his tone.
I lie back against my pillow. “Yeah. My father owns six, but the one closest to us is the first one he ever opened. So, they throw this big party every year for the employees and their families.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“I guess so.”
It’s very fancy. Lavish decorations, expensive meals, imported wines from France, and gifts. Tons of outrageously overpriced gifts, and for people they don’t even like. It’s all for show. I used to admire my parents for showering their employees with presents every year, but I quickly learned it’s not about the act of giving. It’s the image they’re projecting. They want everyone to talk about how generous they are. It’s probably not fair for me to complain since I still live off their ‘generosity,’ but it always comes with a price. Mine is my freedom.
“Have a date for this fancy party?”
“No.”
“Good to know.”
“It is?” I ask, confused, and he chuckles.
“Yeah. I’m going to ask you out on a date, Olivia.”
“Oh?” I say, playfully.
“Yes, so tell me what you like to do for fun. Besides drink fruity shit and dance.”
“Hey!” I scold, glad he can’t see how red my face probably is.
“I’m teasing you, Barbie, but I’d be down to do that again if you want.”
I hear the smirk in his voice and relax a little. “I’m good.”
“Okay, so what do you normally do for fun?”
“Well…” I rack my brain but come up completely empty, other than crocheting, but he already knows I enjoy that. “I study a lot, so I don’t have much time for other stuff.”
