It’s not even the baby thing.That seems improbable but not impossible.
No, the impossible thing on the list is forgiving Mom.There’s no way in hell I will be doing that."I’m not forgiving Mom!"I yell at the ceiling.Since I won’t be able to complete the list, it seems foolish to try to do any of the other things on it.
How do I explain that to TJ?He was only being helpful.Nice.Kind.Why?
What could he possibly want from me in return?There’s only one way to find out.
Me: Why are you trying to help me with this?
When my phone doesn’t ding with an immediate response, I finish the bottle of wine.Then I start pacing.Or as close to pacing as I can do in my current state.There may be some stumbling involved.He thinks I’m rude.He hates me now.I don’t want him to hate me.I want to understand why he likes me.That’s the problem with texting.You can’t infer tone.You certainly can’t understand the years of wondering when, or if, my mom was going to show up, and the tremendous shadow that it’s cast on my entire life.
She didn’t even come to see Richie until the very end.
Me: I don’t mean that in a nasty way.I really want to know why this matters to you.
TJ: It would be easier to say in person.
He’s not wrong.
I run to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and reapply my deodorant.I’ve already taken out my contacts, put my glasses on, and changed into sweatpants and an old T-shirt.It’ll have to do.My apartment is far too hazy right now to attempt to make myself look better.
Why am I always trying to figure out what to wear for this man?Seriously, he needs to accept me as I am—no dressing to impress.No, sir.I’m nother.I smile at my little rhyme.At least I find myself funny.
Then, confirming his apartment number, I stumble across the street to find out why my sister’s bucket list means so much to him.
My knuckles barely rap on the door when he yanks it open.He, too, is in sweatpants.Those gray ones.The ones authors write about and women lust over.
Or maybe they lust over that bare chest that’s sculpted and firm and doesn’t have a hint of hair.
"I hope you filmed some content in those," I say, giving him a once-over."That’s viral material right there."
A big grin filled with naughty thoughts spreads across his face, revealing straight white teeth."You can hold the camera for me."
Is it hot in here, or is it just my hormones?
I resist the urge to fan myself.The last thing I need to do is to fawn over this man.He’s not only next level, he’s next stratosphere.And for some reason, he wants to take me under his wing.Maybe he’s taken one too many balls to the head.Maybe he likes charity work.Maybe he’s a little touched.Whatever the reason, I’m not going to make the situation uncomfortable by getting feelings.
He’s objectively attractive.That’s all there is to it.That, and I’m a little drunk.
I will not make a fool—a bigger fool—of myself simply because he’s nice to me.Perhaps I should have thought of that before I put away an entire bottle of wine.In my defense, how was I supposed to know he’d want me to come over?Time to play it cool.
"Okay, hand it over.What’s your best side?"I hold my fingers and thumbs up to make a frame and squint while I look through it.I come to one conclusion: This man does not have a bad side."What am I going to record you doing?"
He walks toward the kitchen area.The cooktop is littered with pots and pans while a cutting board and several bowls occupy the granite counter."I usually try to get some food prep video."
"You cook without your shirt on?Is that sanitary?Aren’t you afraid of getting splattered by hot grease?"I narrow my eyes at his chest."Also, do you wax or what?"
I truly do not know what has come over me.
Neither does TJ."Have you been drinking?"
"Maybe I’m drunk on your physique."
He stares at me for a moment.
"Or a cheap bottle of pinot grigio," I confess.
"What are you doing going over to a stranger’s apartment when you’re drunk?Don’t you know what could happen?"
