“Hey.”
“Hi. I’m just calling to tell you that you better not cancel with Brody tonight. I had a feeling you might be pacing your apartment, debating how to lock yourself inside, and I won’t let you do it to yourself or him, and Hannah.”
I simultaneously love and hate how well Melody knows me, but she’s a voice I often tune out. My conscience is stronger and louder than her firm talks. “Why would you think I’m pacing?”
“I heard you saw Tracey this morning,” she tells me.
“Seriously … how do you hear every single thing that happens in my life when I don’t tell anyone?” It’s a question I already know the answer to, but it’s frustrating.
“Well, Tracey obviously called me. She asked me if someone had spoken to you about going back to therapy because she’s concerned.”
“I’m fine, Melody. I told Tracey the same thing, so I’m not sure what the babysitting efforts are for.”
“Okay,” Melody huffs. “I wasn’t calling to stir you up. I wasn’t calling to tell you to talk to someone either. We’ve both been through hell these last several months, and we’re going to heal in our own ways. But, whether you choose to admit this or not, Brody has made you glow when you don’t realize it. He’s even made you smile, and that speaks louder than anything therapy can do for you. So, please. Go out with Brody tonight and forget about the world for a few hours.”
I’m usually quick with a comeback, but it would only be a lie, calling her bluff on my facial reactions to Brody. I know he makes me blush even when I’m one-upping him with verbal slams. He’s made my stomach fill with butterflies, and no other man has ever had that effect on me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”
“You’re going to have an awesome time. Be yourself for a change.” I almost question her statement, but I’m aware of the front I put on. “No one is going to break your walls down unless you let them, with or without your sarcasm playing a role.”
“Do I smell too?” I ask her. The truth freaking hurts.
“No, you actually smelled quite nice this afternoon,” she says with a hint of a smile behind her words.
“Thanks, Mel.”
“Call me in the morning and tell me how the night went. I can’t wait to hear. I love you.”
“Love you,” I said as I disconnected the phone.
I notice the time on the top right of my computer screen. I have forty minutes before Brody comes to pick me up. What am I supposed to wear when going out with a man and his daughter? I don’t think there are guidelines for this kind of setup. I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m supposed to be dressed warmly—my options are limited.
My skinny jeans with the fleece lining will work, and my long wool sweater and a scarf, then some lipstick and eyeliner. Fashionably warm. My goal is to avoid being called lame by a ten-year-old. I feel it coming with the way I’ve heard Hannah speaking to Brody.
I’ve had my phone in my hand, waiting for a text from Brody to tell me he’s outside waiting. I don’t expect him to drag Hannah up to my apartment, but I’m almost not surprised when I hear a knock on the door.
Rather than keep them locked out like the idea that crossed my mind, I open the door.
I blink a few times, taking in the sight of Brody in a long gray wool coat, black gloves, and a matching scarf. He looks so dapper compared to the typical t-shirt or plaid attire he normally wears.
Hannah has her hair up in a high ponytail with a white, sparkling head warmer. She’s wearing a white down coat and jeans, with a pair of striking hot pink gloves. Hannah doesn’t look like she’s in a talkative mood as she stares down the opposite end of the hallway.
“You both look very nice,” I tell them. “Come on in while I grab my coat.”
Brody shoves Hannah into my apartment despite her rolling eyes. “Thank you,” she mutters.
“You look very lovely, yourself,” Brody replies, sounding nothing like what I’ve heard from him thus far.
“Thank you,” I say, making a point of being polite for Hannah’s sake.
“Camera. Don’t forget your camera,” Brody says, pointing to my backpack hanging off the bar stool. I didn’t realize he knew my camera was in there, but I’m beginning to notice he sees more than I’ve been giving him credit for, which is better to think that way, so I don’t poke fun at his shortcomings tonight in front of his daughter. Though, I’m sure she does enough of that for the both of us.
I’m still buttoning my coat when Brody steps toward the kitchen to grab my backpack for me. “I got it.”
The gesture earns him a small smile and another eye-roll from Hannah.
“Was school totally lame today?” I ask Hannah, grabbing my purse.
