Tania: WHAT
Me: And then the president of the motorcycle club asked me to demonstrate a hug on him.
Tania: WHAT
Me: And now he wants to have dinner tomorrow to "discuss the event."
Tania: Are you telling me you hugged a MC president and now he’s taking you to dinner?
Me: It's not like that. It's a business meeting.
Tania: At what time?
Me: 7pm.
Tania: That's a date.
Me: It's not a date.
Tania: Is he picking you up?
Me: ...yes.
Tania: ON HIS MOTORCYCLE?
Me: I don't know! Stop shouting. Maybe?
Tania: IT'S A DATE. What are you wearing? Send pics of options! I need to be heavily involved in this decision.
I'm still smiling when I get home. My apartment is small but cozy, filled with secondhand furniture I've draped in soft throws and fairy lights. Books are stacked on every surface because my TBR pile achieved sentience months ago, and I've simply accepted it as a roommate.
The click of toenails on hardwood announces Dolly's arrival. She rounds the corner from the bedroom, her three legs moving in that distinctive gait, and fixes me with an unimpressed stare.
“Don't look at me like that,” I tell her. “I had a very eventful day. There’s food in your dish.”
Dolly is a twelve-pound terrier mix with wiry gray fur, one ear that stands up and one that flops down, and the fearless attitude of a dog three times her size. The shelter said she lost her front leg to a car accident before she was found as a stray. They also said she was ‘spirited’, which I've learned is rescue-speak for ‘complete and utter diva.’
After I’ve taken her out for a walk and we’re back home, she follows me to the bedroom and watches as I throw open my closet.
“It's not a date,” I tell her. “It's a business dinner.”
Dolly snorts. I hold up a black dress. Professional and safe; it’s the kind of thing Maria would wear to a work function.
Dolly yawns.
“You're right. Boring.”
I dig deeper and pull out my favorite pink jeans, the high-waisted ones that make my butt look great, and pair them with a soft cream sweater that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Cute but not trying too hard. I set them on the chair and take a shower, then put on my pajamas.
My phone rings. Glancing at the screen, my stomach sinks.
Mom.
I could let it go to voicemail. I could claim bad reception. Instead, I answer, because I'm a glutton for punishment.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Karina! I'm so glad I caught you. I just got off the phone with Maria. Did she tell you about her promotion? Chief of Department. Can you believe it? We're so proud.”
