Cooper takes a step back from me and down one of the wood stares. “Goodnight, Mae,” he says, but hesitates, as if he wants to say something else, but I’m crumbling.
I feel exposed.
“Goodnight, Cooper, thank you for the ride.”
His chin dips, and I close the door behind me before collapsing to the floor and letting it all out. I cry for the shit show my date with Jacob was, and for the really crappy way it made me feel, even if it is for the best.
It doesn’t matter that I kept my composure and told him off with as much fake confidence as I could muster. Trying to date again, despite a whole different set of circumstances, made no difference, and I’m mad. I’mmadat myself for thinking I could.
What was I thinking trying to date when my past is nothing but failure? I was serious when I told Cooper I have a bad track record. Part of me thinks he assumed I was being humble. But why would he want me? Why wouldIwant me? It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I work, or try, or put myself out there. I keep being shoved back to step one, and I don’t think I’ll ever leave it.
Yet … Cooper.
Can I trust that he meant what he said? What if he asks me out again, and I tell him yes, then he’s disappointed?
I don’t think I could bear that. I don’t think I can take another hit to my battered confidence, and it’s barely breathing as it is.
I pull my phone from my pocket and start to call Mom. Maybe hearing her voice will help. But my thumb pauses on the button, realizing the time. I don’t want to wake her up because it’ll worry her. And I worry about them, and then we’ll all spiral into a pit of worrying about each other. I just need to go to bed.
Pulling my tired spirit off the floor, I force myself to get ready for bed instead of grabbing a glass of wine and crying myself to sleep without washing my face. I’ll still probably cry myself to sleep, but at least my skin will be makeup-free.
Despite the train wreck of my date, I had a great time with Cooper, but I refuse to get my hopes up. In fact, I think it would be smart for me to go back to my original plan. But I know what they say aboutman’s plans.
***
I sigh and put my phone down, staring at the calendar on the corkboard in the shop office. It’s barely been a month. I don’t have new wedding clients, and I got a call for one funeral. Something has to change.
The shop phone rings and I realize it’s not on the desk and sprint to the front where it sits in the charge.
“Paxton Flower Shop, how can I help you?” I ask, breathing hard.
“Hi, I’d like to order a bouquet,” the man says.
I pull an order sheet and grab a pen. “Okay, and do you have a specific occasion?” I ask.
“Sort of, but I don’t know what kind of flowers would work,” he says.
“That’s alright. I can help with that. Could you tell me a little more about the event or person?”
“Uh, well, I’m trying to get her to go out with me, so I thought I’d send flowers.”
I smile and write the note down. “That’s very nice. Do you know if she likes a specific kind of flower or color, maybe?”
“I don’t, but I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”
I ask him a few more questions about budget, the size of the bouquet, and whether he wants it in a vase or not.
“I can deliver these later today. Is that alright?”
“Perfect,” he says.
I ask him for his card number over the phone and enter it in.
“Last thing, I need a delivery address, and do you want to send it with a note?”
“Sure, no problem. On the note, can you put, Mae, will you go out with me? And then put my phone number below it.”
I pause and pull the phone back from my ear. It doesn’t have caller ID. Maybe it’s another Mae.Weird.
