I can almost hear her shrug in response. “In my defence,” she says, “he was a very convincing devil.”
“I’m sure.”
“And also in my defence,” she continues easily, “you looked fine. You had wine. There were snacks.”
“You drank most of my wine,” I remind her. “And snacks? I had a bowl of dry tortilla chips with a side of social anxiety.”
“Same thing, really.”
I sigh, kicking aside the jeans with unnecessary force. “Anyway, I met him there.”
“And you got his number?”
“Yes.”
“Wait . . .” My sister pauses. “You’re not talking about Steve Jobs, are you?”
“Well . . .”
Another ear-splitting shriek. “Are you kidding me? You did it? You talked to him?”
“Fell into his arms, actually,” I admit, somewhat proudly.
“I need to know everything. Every single detail. You can’t just fall into someone’s arms and not tell me about it.”
“I will, but not right now.” I glance back at my wardrobe, which now looks like it’s been looted. “I have a date with this guy, and I don’t know what to wear.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, snapping into a tone of exaggerated seriousness. “Describe the options.”
“I have a black dress.”
“Too date.”
“A blouse and jeans.”
“Too not date.”
“A skirt—”
“What kind of skirt?”
“I don’t know, a . . . skirt-shaped skirt. With a very slight hole at the bottom.”
“Helpful.”
I groan. “This is why I don’t do this.”
There’s a pause, softer this time. “Well,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice, “maybe you should start. You don’t have to be so careful all the time, you know. You can have fun, too. Like me, and that devil.”
I hesitate, fingers brushing over the fabric of the black dress again. “I know. This one is nice,” I admit, quieter now. “I like him.”
There’s no teasing this time. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Another small pause. “I’m happy for you. You should have more fun. Live on the wild side, sometimes.”
I don’t reply to that. “It’s just a date,” I say instead, trying to bring down her expectations, “and don’t worry. I’ve checked him out, and he seems okay. Safe.”