Page 57 of Spotlight
“Thank you for watching her tonight.”
“Any time. You know I love hanging with her.”
I do know that, but it still feels like an imposition when I constantly need to rely on my friends or family.
The bells on the front door jingle and my heart lurches until I see a young woman step inside.
“Hello,” Ruby greets her.
“I’m guessing that’s not your hot date,” Sabrina says.
“No. Not yet, but I better go. I need to reapply some deodorant. I think I’ve already sweat through mine.”
Sabrina laughs again. “Are you going to sleep with him?”
“What?” I screech. “Of course not.”
“It’s not the craziest idea.”
“It’s bananas. We haven’t even kissed.”
“Well, start there and see what happens.”
My body flushes hot. “I might need to brush my teeth again too.”
I run my tongue along the front of my teeth.
“Have fun and I’ll see you tonight.”
I nod.
“Olivia?”
“Sorry. I was nodding. Yes. I will see you later. Text me if you need anything or if Greer does.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“Okay, then text me if I need anything.”
“I don’t think you’re going to need it, but I will text you in a couple hours to give you an out just in case.”
“Thank you. You’re a true friend.”
“Love you.”
“Ditto.”
I hang up and then let out a long breath. Ruby is talking with the customer as I walk back to the office. I check my teeth in the mirror and swipe on another layer of deodorant before I check the time.
Three minutes. My stomach is performing Olympic-level somersaults and twists. Sabrina wants me to think about sleeping with him. Is she for real? It’s taking all my effort to keep breathing at the thought.
Inside the office, I close the door and let out a long breath. I wander over to the back wall where the lunch notes my grandfather has written Gigi are pinned up. I’m always struck by the sheer volume. One every day doesn’t sound like that many until you see how that adds up over a decade or two. The entire wall is covered in them.
Newer notes cover old ones, but I occasionally like to peel them back to read something that might have been written five or fifteen years ago. I do that now, lifting the bottom of a yellow Post-it that says,I love you, and revealing a faded receipt with the words,Don’t forget the milk, scribbled onto it.
Not romantic but very real. And isn’t that sometimes the most romantic thing?
I get lost in them, rereading my favorites and finding new ones.
