"Any second dates? Or promising leads?"
I snorted again. "No second dates."
We exchanged several more dresses. "But some promising leads?"
Another vibration from my back pocket. Was it wrong that I wanted it to be Mr. Nine Inches? Maybe it was. Maybe the past few months had ground my expectations down to the point that I was optimistic about a guy who seemed kind and genuine, even if he only wanted to bury his dick in someone as a means of exorcism.
"Let's try these on." I nudged Andy toward the dressing rooms. "Enough of this city has witnessed and live-tweeted my shitty dates. I don't need the shopgirls tuning in too."
We dropped onto the bench in the dressing room but made no move to change into the items hanging from the rail in front of us.
"Do you ever have days," I started, staring at the garments, "when you don't want to be a girl boss?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's complicated," I admitted. "I love my work. I love being my own boss. I love relying on myself and not answering to anyone else. I love it. I really do. But…but there are days when I want to give it all away and be a bad feminist. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't a goal digger. If I was married to a man who wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife—"
"You would never go for that. Never in a million years."
"I know, I know." As she started to protest, I continued, "But what if it wasn't him telling me what to do? What if it was him offering it to me? Or us arriving at the conclusion together like a good progressive couple should. Would I still want to conquer the world one roof garden at a time? To prove myself every damn day?"
"Yes. Maybe you'd worry less about proving yourself but you'd want all those roof gardens. And you wouldn't stop there. You've been renovating your aunt's house in your spare time and that's on top of working a ton of projects in the past year. And you read books and go to tons of ball games too. You don't know how to do nothing."
That wasn't the complete truth, but I wasn't going to educate Andy on my history of slovenly ways today. The drive to prove myself came from wasting so much time when I was younger. From flunking out of college—twice. Getting fired from no fewer than five waitressing jobs because I forgot to show up. Struggling to find anything that interested me foryears.
"I love what I do, but there are days when I wish I didn't have to do it," I admitted. "It's crazy but I wonder what my life would be like if I didn't have to do everything by myself all the time." I glanced at her. "Do you ever feel like that? Like you'd take the throwback housewife gig if it was offered to you?"
Andy regarded me for a moment, her eyes narrowed. "It's worth noting that it's two o'clock on a Tuesday and we drank wine with lunch. We have the cake, we're eating it, and we have the ice cream and sprinkles too."
I gnawed on my lip before glancing at Andy. "I know and I know I wouldn't trade my life for anything. There are just days when I want to turn off my phone and let a man take care of me."
"Now that's something I understand," she said, shaking her head as a smile tugged at her lips. "I understand that and I crave it too. Believe me, I turn off my phone and let Patrick take care of me every single weekend. Most weeknights too."
"Your clients don't call you in the evenings? Or contractors?"
"They do. Doesn't mean they can't wait for me to call them back in the morning," she said, chuckling. "Honestly, yeah. There are days when I fantasize about setting aside all my work and worries and spending my time on posting cute food pics on Instagram."
"What stops you?" I wanted to know because there were moments when the only thing holding me back was a fear of running out of money to feed my dog.
"A few things. First, Patrick and I share a brain at work so I can't abandon him. He'd have a mental breakdown and no one needs that. Second, restoring and renovating houses is my favorite thing. I like it more than anything, even posting food pics. If I didn't have this career, I wouldn't know what else to do with myself. And third, I know that I can lean on Patrick. If I wanted to pull back or change my focus or spend some time tinkering with something new, I know he'd rearrange the firm to make that happen."
Everything inside me lurched. I wanted a partner who'd rearrange the world for me. That was what I wanted. That was it. That was my thing. Right there.
I couldn't put it in my dating profiles, but goddamn, that was what I wanted.
Andy peered at me, her arms folded over her chest. "What's the deal? What's going on with you? Spill your dirty stories, Santillian."
I leaned back against the wall and crossed my legs. "Dating is draining my soul. That, and the house across the street from me is being renovated after hours. I hear nail guns in my dreams."
"You're too damn nice," she muttered. "I would've introduced myself to those fools and made sure the city inspector tagged along." She rolled her hand at me, urging me to continue. "What else is going on with you? It's not just nail guns."
"There's a guy, but he only wants a fuck buddy situation. He's getting over a breakup."
"Explain to me why you're even entertaining this," Andy said, her eyebrow arched high. The woman could form right angles with her brows when she worked at it.
I started to respond but then hesitated. WhywasI entertaining this? It wasn't the dick. It couldn't be the dick. There was more to life than dick just as there was more to life than coffee and baseball and dogs.
Somewhat.
