Page 43 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
“It is not!” Arla retorts.
“It's an unfair world.”
“It can be, but there are better things in store for you. Maybe it's time you left this place because they don’t appreciate you there. You’re always working late and you bring your work home, and they don’t recognize it. Maybe you can find somewhere else where you will be valued.”
I slip off my shoes and curl my legs under me on the sofa.
“I was perfect for this job. I know more than Preston does. I don’t understand why he’s got the job and I don't?” Even as I say the words, I’m aware that I sound like a sore loser, still whining about it. I can’t snap out of it.
“I'm sorry,” says Arla. Why she's apologizing I don't know. It's not her fault. “Why don't we get you to go on a blind date?” she suggests, the sudden change in topic is so fast that it takes me a few seconds to let the meaning sink in.
Her infatuation with Scott has her stupidly believing that men are the answer to everything. Has she not been listening to me? Am I not making any sense?
“I don't want to go on a blind date.” I chug some more wine then refill my glass. Arla's is still full.
“I saw an ad for speed dating,” she says. “You remember that speed dating event I went on a few months ago? The one you refused to be seen at?”
I do remember. Arla came back complaining that the banker types didn't even notice her. She might as well have been a ghost. “You hated it,” I point out.
“At least I went. It made me appreciate that there are other men out there. Worthy men.”
“Worthy?”
“Scott is wonderful. I wish you’d come along to a class and meet him one day. You would like him so much. He’s just …” she clasps a hand to her chest. “He’s just amazing.”
Is this what infatuation looks like? Is this how I was with Mr. Turner towards the end? Is this why I went to him in the rain that night my mother took an overdose?
Because looking at my friend in her dark satin dress—something I’ve never seen her in before—tells me she's made an effort and crept so far out of her comfort zone. I mostly see her in loose gym clothes, but she’s becoming more daring with those as well now. She's always been conscious of her size, hence not wearing dresses or skirts, but today she looks different. I’m shocked and happy and in awe. Arla is head over heels in lust or love or something. I just hope this man doesn't break her heart.
“Scott has good-looking friends,” Arla remarks, oblivious to the doubts swirling around in my head the way the red wine swirls around in my glass. I stare down at it, thinking what an awful day it's been, then I take another sip. “Slow down! Are you trying to get drunk?”
“I'm enjoying unwinding. Let me.” I make a pouty face.
“Come with me and you can meet some new people. You might even like someone.”
“I thought you were going for drinks?”
“It’s a spin class night out.”
I raise my eyebrow. “They have things like that?”
She nods excitedly. “Come. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
“I don't want to meet anyone. Men aren't the answer, Arla.”
“You're miserable because you haven't had sex. What you need is for someone to screw that anger right out of you. If it helps, then go out and find someone.”
“I’m trying to be more discerning.” She's not wrong about not having had sex in a while. I'm not angry about that. Frustrated, maybe. Coiled up with desire after the kiss with Lance. I am filled with pent-up frustration. But hookups aren’t the answer. The next day is awkward. Especially when I get their names wrong.
“A good sex session would get that anger out of you,” Arla insists.
“No.”
“Let me hook you up with someone—”
“Again,no.”
“That's the only word that comes out of your mouth.”
