Page 16 of Dial L for Lawyer
I cannot survive another night of you drowning in pajamas, wine and regret.
Also, wear the black dress. You know the one.
I do know the one. The thought alone triggers fresh nerves.
Me:
I can't wear THAT. What if he thinks it's a come-on? What if it IS a come-on?
Audrey:
Of course it’s a come on! But even if hooking up is off the table, you should look hot enough to make him forgive you for ghosting him.
Me:
Are you coming to my place to stage-manage this or just texting from afar?
Audrey:
Can I trust you to answer the door if I don’t?
Don’t answer that. I’ll be there.
As soon as I'm done at work. With hair spray, backup tights, and bourbon!
She's as good as her word. By 7:15, my apartment looks like a fashion disaster site. My bathroom counter is covered with every makeup product I own, and Audrey is standing in my bedroom doorway holding a curling iron like a weapon.
"You're overthinking," she says. "It's dinner. With a man who already knows you stress-bake and quote Taylor Swift lyrics to sound philosophical. The mystery is gone."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I mumble through a mouthful of bobby pins as I try to get my hair to cooperate. "Six months ago, we had this amazing back and forth—the banter was supreme. And then I just... disappeared. Only to reappear as the desperate client who needs his help. What if he secretly hates me and just wants payback?"
"He doesn't hate you." Audrey's voice is gentle as she tugs a section of my hair around the scalding iron. "Honestly? I don’t think he’s stopped thinking about you. Men like that don't waste their time on things they don't want."
I make a face. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
She laughs, putting down the iron and standing behind me in the mirror, eyeing my reflection critically. "Bennett said he pushed a big client to see you yesterday. That's not nothing."
The black dress hangs on my closet door like a taunt. It's beautiful—simple, classic, fits like it was made for me. But it also shows everything I usually hide. My curves, my shape, the body I've spent years trying to camouflage.
"I really don't think I should wear that," I say for the tenth time. “I don’t want to give him the wrong impression.”
"I’m about to shake you, Serena." Audrey's voice is curt in the way only a well-meaning friend can summon. "You like Caleb. Caleb likes you. You’ve both just spent six months avoiding each other and now you need him. The universe is communicating loud and clear—wear the goddamn dress."
"What if he?—"
"What if he thinks you're gorgeous? What if he's been thinking about you for six months? What if this is your second chance and you're about to blow it by dressing like my nonna at a wake?" She eyes me critically, then gives my hair a final fluff. "There. You look like you're about to close a billion-dollar deal and then seduce the opposing counsel."
I don't know whether to laugh or throw up. "I don't even know what to talk about with him."
"Talk about your case. Talk about what you've been doing. Or, and this is wild, talk about how he makes you feel." Audrey hands me a glass of bourbon. "There's nothing less attractive than pretending you don't care. Just be honest."
I picture myself being honest:Hey Caleb, you terrify me because you're sharp and funny and you see through all my masks. Also, I have an unhealthy relationship with work and a pathological need to control everything, which is probably why I'm currently being framed for corporate espionage...
I laugh—almost cry—then do my mascara. "Fine. If he wants vulnerable, I'll try."
"Try is all anyone can ask." She hands me my purse and steers me toward the living room just as my doorbell rings.
I freeze. Audrey doesn't.
