Page 79 of All the Ugly Things
And only a few months after that lackluster evening, I was in the back of a nondescript white van, making the trek to Iowa where I was to serve ten years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit… unless you count the fact that Iwasthe one who called Josh.
All of this meant my dating life had been essentially non-existent.
It’s not a date.
Right. It was friends. Hudson clarified that all too well after my ridiculous rambling fest last night. It was ridiculous to think a guy like him could want anything more to do with a girl like me. The way he turned me down kindly was a burn to my ego. I was still trying to place salve on to cool it down.
None of this changed the fact Hudson was going to be at my apartment in less than thirty minutes to take me out for dinner to celebrate both my high-scoring B in accounting and the job Brandon offered. Which came after possibly the quickest interview in the history of interviews. Pretty sure Judith asked me more in-depth questions than my new boss Brandon had.
I fumbled through them, sitting across the table from him while Hudson paced like a tiger outside, trying to stay calm and trying to stay in the moment. After six years in a medium-security prison, staying in the moment was the only way I survived.
“It’s freaking dinner with a friend,” I mumbled, tossing another secondhand and faded black shirt toward my bed.
My closet was enormous. My clothes were less than… well, they were shit. There was no pleasing way to say it.
I paced my spacious new bedroom, complete with a queen-sized bed and a mattress sent straight from heaven. For six years I hadn’t slept through a night without waking. Now?
Holy freaking cow… I wasrestedin the morning. Amazing what a non-lumpy or bug ridden mattress could do for your energy levels.
Not that any of it was helping me now.
He’d told me to dress casual. That was it. And since I didn’t have his phone number, I had no way to ask him where we were going.
Casual.
Pffft
I grabbed my phone and typed out a text.
Out of curiosity, what does one wear on a non-date dinner thing with a friend who says toBe Casual?
I hit Send before I talked myself out of texting Angie. She wasn’t a friend, but the only person under the age of thirty-five I knew. And oh.
I slapped my forehead. Oh shit. She was on her own date.
Never mind! Abort! You’re on a date. Don’t answer this. No biggie. I swear.
But as I was typing, three more gray dots popped up, disappeared and reappeared.
Is this a “be casual non-date dinner” with Hudson?
Ugh. She needed to let the Hudson thing go.
Sure, he was attractive. Hot, some would say.
Me? I knew better.
He was a do-gooder helping his dad with being an even better do-gooder and I was the recipient. This dinner was like the welcoming committee. Only it was a committee of one. And that one was a man who wasfine.
A friend.
Hudson being the friend?
Ugh. Yes. Hudson. Dinner. Nothing to get excited about. Just DINNER. Casual. What do I wear?
Not that orange top thing you wore last week. It was hideous.
Hmmm. Maybe Angie wasn’t great.
