Page 4 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Spill it,” Louis demands as we sit down, digging into his mountain of sugar. “You’ve got that look. The one where your brain’s going a million miles an hour but nothing’s coming out of your mouth, which is basically defying the laws of physics for you and might lead to an explosion.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m going to start dating,” I say, then quickly fill my mouth with more yogurt, to shut myself up.
Louis’s spoon freezes halfway to his mouth. A blob of chocolate-covered gummy bear slides off and lands with a plop on the table. “OK…”
“I’ve got a plan,” I say quickly, sensing his doubt. “A detailed, methodical, extremely well-thought-out plan with backup contingencies and emergency exits that would make a fire marshal weep with joy and?—”
Louis’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Em?—”
“—I’ve watched Lea and Declan together, and yes, I know that’s weird, notwatchedwatched them, but seen them interact, and while they make me want to projectile vomit sometimes with all their lovey-dovey crap?—”
“Em—”
“—there’s something kind of nice about it, and I’m tired of being alone with my pile of stuffed animals and my perfectly alphabetized Netflix queue and a choice of sushi or pizza on Uber Eats?—”
“EM!” Louis practically shouts, drawing looks. “Are you sure you’re ready? College guys aren’t exactly known for their emotional maturity.”
“That’s why I’m going to use dating apps, with my parameters set for guys over twenty-two.” I explain. “Meaning men with fully developed prefrontal cortexes who understand consent and don’t consider Axe body spray a substitute for a shower.”
“Dating apps.” Louis sighs. “For someone who’s never dated, that’s like learning to swim by jumping into the middle of the Atlantic.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s a bit dramatic.”
“It’s a baptism by fire, Em,” he insists. “Those apps are meat markets at best, cesspools at worst. Especially for someone with no experience.”
“I dated in high school,” I protest.
“One guy. Who turned out to be Satan incarnate.” Louis’s voice softens. “Look, I’m not saying you shouldn’t date. Just… maybe wait a bit longer. Graduate, meet some grown-ups in the real world.”
“That’s years away!” I stab my spoon into my yogurt, ruining the perfect arrangement I’d created. “So what’s your suggestion? Move to a convent? Become one of those women who collects ceramic cats and talks to her plants?”
“You already name your houseplants.”
“That’s not the point!” My voice rises with frustration. “I’ve spent years hiding. Years where I couldn’t even look at a guy without panicking. And now I finally feel like maybe—maybe—I could try again, and you’re telling me to wait?”
Louis reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I’m saying you shouldn’t rush into something, especially not with dating apps. Those things are designed to make you feel like shit about yourself, and the guys on there?—”
“Are the same guys who are in bars and coffee shops and everywhere else,” I finish for him. “At least online I can vet them first. Run background checks. Make sure they’re not on any sex offender registries.”
“You’re going to run background checks on your dates?”
“You think I wouldn’t?”
A reluctant smile tugs at his lips. “Fair point.”
I pull my hand away and fiddle with my spoon. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But Louis, I’m afraid that if I don’t try now, I never will. It’s like… it’s like when I was little and afraid to jump off the high dive. Remember that summer at camp?”
He nods. “You sat up there for two hours, calculating the exact angle of entry that would cause the least pain.”
“And the longer I sat there, the scarier it got.” I meet his eyes. “I’m sitting on that diving board again, Louis. I’m scared out of my mind, but I need to jump. I need to prove to myself that I can.”
Louis is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. I can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs my determination against his concern. Then, with a resigned sigh, Louis tosses his spoon into his empty cup and rests his elbows on the table.
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll stop playing overprotective cousin.”
I perk up. “Really?”
“One condition.” He holds up a finger. “I get to vet potential dates.”
