In the bathroom, with its Toulouse-Lautrec prints and hammered copper sink, Sam confronted herself in the mirror. Her eyes were shining in circles of mascara and her cheeks flushed, her damp tank clinging to her nipples. The overall effect was fetching in a louche, heroin-addict kind of way. Sam used the facilities and redid her braid, tucking her fountain pen back into it, then texted Drishti.
Hey D, you there? I’m at dinner with that writer I told you about, the one who wrote me the insane praise letter.
The three dots, then:
hallefuckinglujah! its about time you get laid.
DRISHTI.
dont worry i’m sure youll remember how. they say its just like riding a... man!!!!!
DRISHTI. FOCUS.
kk sorry. so ur finally gonna get some????
I’m not 100% sure it’s like that.
what else could it be like????
It could be professional.
nope. not if he asked u to dinner. whats he like
He seems great. Charming, kind. A straight, solvent creative professional. Do you know how rare this is?
mmmhmmmm. so whats the problem?
That IS the problem, I can’t tell. What’s wrong with this picture?
does he have all his hair?
Mostly but with those weird showy silver streaks—and a GOATEE??
he can shave. teeth?
WTH, Drish, we’re not that old!
married?
I didn’t see a ring.
which means literally nothing
I know.
did u ask?
We haven’t even gotten our food yet!
girl have i taught u nothing? trust but verify
I will. Oh, he did tuck my hair behind my ear.
the man is a MONSTER
Also he runs a support group for writers. Over-giver? Virtue signaling?
ok listen to me. u r SPINNING. props for reaching out but srsly... overthinking is just as much a symptom of what u have been thru as anything else. stay grounded but be open.
