“I, well, I’m not …” I trail off, frustrated. Sighing, I give the answer she already knows. “Yes.”
She claps her hands gleefully. “I knew it!”
I roll my eyes. “It still doesn’t matter. He’s not attracted to me, and we have to plan this event. Can’t start something with him now.”
“You don’t know if he’s attracted to you. That’s an assumption you’re making. And we both know your ability to recognize social cues isn’t the best. Do you think you’d understand if he flirted with you?”
“Define flirting.”
Chelsea exhales, a sound so resigned and flat that I giggle. I know I frustrate her, but she takes it all in stride. “If he compliments you. If he seems giddy around you. If he touches you in any way that doesn’t seem needed, like pushing your hair behind your ear. If he teases you, and if he texts back right away. Obviously not when he’s at something football related, but if he answers you immediately, he’s interested.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen any of that —”
Chelsea interrupts me again. “Now, if a guy isn’t interested at all, it’s a little more nuanced. If he ever calls you ‘bro’, he’s not into you. If he’s constantly trolling you or trying to one-up you, it’s a no. If he’s really short with you, and doesn’t care about your opinion of him, he’s not interested.”
“Well, I don’t think Jamie has done anything on either one of those lists. Now what?” I ask exasperatedly. I don’t have any desire to try and discern what possible sign a man may or may not be throwing my way.
“Now, we set a trap.” Chelsea’s smile is wicked.
“I don’t want to trap him.”
“Trap may not be the best word. We’re going to tease him a little bit, and see how he reacts. We’ll know if he’s interested or not.”
“Or he won’t react to anything, and I won’t have an answer.”
She shrugs. “I doubt it. Men typically think with their dicks. If he’s into you, we’ll know.”
“We?”
“Yes, we!” she yells. “I’m invested now! I want to see him in action. Hell, I want to seeyouin action. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen you all twitterpated over a boy.”
“I’m not twitterpated. I have never been twitterpated.” I stare blankly at her, crossing my arms in frustration and defiance. Emotional attachment was never okay growing up, and I’m not starting it now.
Chelsea comes to sit next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to say you like a guy. It doesn’t mean you’re stupid, or immature, or any other bullshit your parents told you. It means you’re human. We have thoughts, feelings, and we’re naturally destined to gravitate toward one another. You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
I hate how she zeroed in on everything I was thinking. How I was raised to think emotions were inferior, and crying definitely wasn’t allowed. Any fighting amongst family members was done in private, because we had a reputation to protect. The name comes first, above all else.
“I really don’t think he’s interested,” I confess softly, dropping my eyes to my lap. Wringing my hands together tightly, I continue. “I’m afraid it’ll hurt me more when I get confirmation of that. Right now, I can live in blissful ignorance that it doesn’t matter. That we’re just peers, working together for charity. But the moment we initiate any kind of plan to find out if he’s interested, I have to acknowledge that Idolike him … and that he quite possibly doesn’t return the sentiment.”
“I have a back-up plan if that happens,” Chelsea announces. “It involves a donkey, goose feathers, glitter, and a lot of old fish.”
“A donkey?” I sputter, laughing loudly.
“Yup. Probably a baby or a miniature one. They have small donkeys, right? It’ll need to fit in Jamie’s car. Because there’s no way he’d expect a donkey in his car.”
“I think the fact that I’m a vet means we probably shouldn’t use animals in any sort of revenge plan.”
Chelsea huffs. “You’re no fun sometimes.”
We spend the evening watchingLove is Blind, and I shoot down idea after idea from Chelsea about how we can figure out if Jamie likes me or not. It was a surprisingly fun night, and it makes me wonder if this is what typical girlfriends do. I didn’t have many friends growing up. I was awkward and uncool, and my parents vetoed any potential friendships they didn’t approve of. By the time I got to college, I didn’t know how to establish a bond with other women. The first time I met Chelsea, she point-blank told me we were going to be best friends. And that was that.
Monday morning, I enter my clinic to see Chelsea with an evil glint in her eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing … much,” she replies sweetly.
“What on earth does that mean?” I shrug off my coat, hanging it on the hook behind the front desk. Some places might consider the beginning of May to be the start of summer, but in Colorado, we still get cold stretches — and sometimes snow — into the middle of the month. It’s cloudy and raining, with a temperature in the upper forties, and that cold just soaks into my bones.
“Well, I may have reached out to our favorite quarterback to request he help move some boxes this morning. You shouldn’t leave your phone unlocked when you know I can memorize phone numbers so quickly. And saving him as QB in your phone? So adorable! But it’ll help having him here to organize the boxes. You know, because he’s so tall. And built. And Jesus— so much better looking in person!” she gushes, her eyes locked on someone behind me.
