Page 31 of Any Girl But You
At my kitchen table, I take a deep breath and tear into the first one.
SIXTEEN
QUINN
Glue is a spectacular substance. It can hold so many things together, from paper, to wood, to stones. And skin.Ugh. I worked until the last minute trying to put together aSanta this waywooden sign with an arrow, and right now, I’m pretty sure I got more glue on me than the actual wood. As my conditioner sets, I’m scrubbing my fingers in the shower like I’m performing an exorcism, andfinally, the last of it balls off my skin and runs down the drain.
A heavy knock sounds outside of the door. I already know who it is based on the annoyed fists. “Dude. I just got done with a workout and need a shower,” Frankie yells through the door. “If you use up all the hot water, I’m going to wipe my sweat all over your pillow.”
“You are so disgusting,” I yell out while rinsing my hair. We seriously need to invest in a bigger hot-water heater. “Okay, okay, just one more minute!”
I hop out of the shower, stub my toe, and knock over the hair dryer with a crack.Shit. I attach the pieces back together, gather my stuff to get ready in my bedroom, and try to breathe out the nerves.
Nerves. Okay, fine. I’ll admit it to myself—but absolutely no one else, no matter how many times Morgan and Frankie ask. Yes, I’m nervous for tonight. It’s not a date. My mind knows it’s not a date, but fails to send this message to the rest of me. This evening, I ransacked my closet for an hour and must’ve tried on twenty different outfits, swung by the drugstore for new makeup, and could barely choke down dinner because my belly is all twisted. Even my limbs are shaky.
However, the limbs shaking might very well be because of everything I’ve done this week. The less than a month countdown until the shop opens the day after Thanksgiving ticks away like a time bomb. Between keeping up on posting about the farm activities on social media, and unpacking merch, and overseeing the crew working the grounds, building racks, and shelves, I am tired.
After Zoey and I assembled the third artificial Christmas tree today to decorate inside the barn, my skin was raw and beat-up from all the scratches. I’ve checked and rechecked the list my aunt and uncle left me, but I just know I’m missing something. And if I don’t figure it out, I’ll ruin the opening day. For more than a decade, they failed to capture the Christmas spirit the way the community wanted. So, who knows if the list they left is everything I need to do.
And what if no one comes? What if the entire community has already purchased their artificial tree, or still drives a few hours away to the nearest tree farm, or they hate it and everything fails? I plant my hands on the counter, take a deep breath, and try to reassure myself everything will be fine.
A ping pops up on my screen and my belly does a flip at Zoey’s name.
Not a date. Not a date.
I have something to tell you when you get here.
Ummmm. How should I read into that? It sounds so ominous, like when a boss says, “Can you come into my office.” Before I figure out a response, another message pops up.
Oh! That sounded so suspicious. It’s good (I think!)
And it’s like she knows me already. I send her a raised-eyebrow emoji response and pull out an arsenal of hair products to tame my mane. Knowing I will be here forever trying to get my curls to pop, I put in my AirPods and turn on theLove ’Em or Leave ’Empodcast to be entertained by Ruby Reanne’s relationship wisdom.
“Hello, all my friends. A listener wrote this question last week and I knew it was perfect to spark some conversation with my audience. Sometimes I thank my lucky stars that me and my wife, Amelia, have been together for so long, because diving into the dating pool with all that uncertainty and angst and hesitations… Yikes. I’m not sure I’m cut out for that. I digress. Here we go?—”
I flip my hair to the other side to diffuse. Dang it. The AirPod slipped out. I adjust it and hit play.
“‘Hi, Ruby. There’s a woman in my graduate school night class who I’ve grown close to this entire semester. She’s smart and funny, and after one minor hiccup, we hit it off. We study together, have done two group projects together, and we’ve found ourselves more often than not sharing a pizza in the corridor and talking about personal stuff instead of schoolwork.
“‘I’ll be honest. I was a bit of a loner in high school, and have only dated maybe a handful of people. So, I cannot tell if she likes me as a fellow student, as a friend, or as more. I want toask her out, but am as equally scared of the rejection as I am of losing our fun time together. My question is: How can I tell if someone likes me as more than a friend?’”
The blow dryer is too loud. I click it off, lean against the counter, and listen for the response.
“This is tricky. Like, hello, vulnerability! Right? It’s scary when you don’t know where you stand. But I can help give you some clues,” Ruby says. “When you walk into the classroom, does she consistently seek you out? After class, does it look like she’s lingering or maybe making an excuse to talk? That might be one indicator. Another one is physical touch or at least sending some body cues. Does she touch your arm, or back, or hand, and has it happened a few times? She might be just a super friendly person, or it may be just for you. Pay attention if she does that with everyone, or if it seems like she’s singling you out.”
Physical touch. I do this with Zoey, and she does this with me. Does that mean… I shake my head and turn back to the mirror to put on some makeup. I’ll diffuse after this segment.
“And this might be super hard, but you could just ask her. If that is too intimidating, you could say something like, ‘I always wanted a girlfriend with your sense of humor,’ and see what she says. If she says something like, ‘Oh God, no, you’d never want to date someone like me,’ as opposed to ‘And I’ve always wanted a boyfriend like you,’ then this may open the door for more conversation. Good luck to you! Please write back in and let me know how it goes.”
I shut the podcast off. Ms. Ruby Reanne is making me think too hard right now, and I don’t want to think. I go back to prepping. An hour later, after I’ve scrunched my hair until it reaches the stars, I tug on my shoes and run out to the car. Frankie and Morgan are in the front seat, I’m in the back, andI’m trying to settle my insides as we roll down Main Street to Zoey’s.
Not a date, not a date.
All of this would be so much easier if Zoey wasn’t as smart, kind, sweet, or beautiful. Like if any of those could fall off the list, I’m sure my brain would interpret this message and shoot it to my cells in a way more efficient manner.
Frankie pulls down the alleyway and puts the car in park. “Do you want to call Zoey and let her know we’re here?”
My hand is already on the door. “Nah. I’ll just run up and get her.” I don’t know why I feel like I need this bit of alone time with her, but I do. Even though I was with her all day, I can’t get enough.
