‘Three’s a start and it’s more than there’ve been in a while, right?’
‘Uh-huh.’
She’s almost right, I suppose. It was more than therehadbeen in years. But recently, the flurry in my stomach has made a couple of brief reappearances in some deeply unexpected places.
I’ll give them their dues– the poor babies were probably confused, mistaking a rampant hatred for something radically different. But they flew as a troop, unified and plentiful, and I felt what it was like to have them all beat at once. Benji’s butterflies weren’t like that– they were small and few. But they werethereand they werenew, and that’s the only thing that matters.
I press my forehead against the cold glass of the car window, shutting my eyes tight and focusing in on the night.
Nudge 19
The Jeans
Raina:Third one for sure, with the boots.
Devi:Agreed. That dress is a 10/10.
Me:I’m already wearing the jeans :(
I sent four different outfit options to the group chat this morning, with three interchangeable coat-and-shoe combos, and literally no one replied. When my phone finally buzzed late into the afternoon, I didn’t even want to look.
Raina:The jeans are so cute too!
Devi:I was actually struggling to choose between 3 and the jeans!
They’re both liars– the jeans may be cute, but the dress was better. . . I already knew that before I left the house. But I panicked and second-guessed myself. . . I don’t know what the protocol is any more, and I certainly don’t know how to double that up into something I can wear to work first. Even if I’m not in the office today, I at least wanted to keep a professional vibe.
A pair of hip-hugging flared jeans were certainly a risk, but I figured paired with the right top they might be able to pass. And they probably would have if I wasn’t working with Aiden, who looked me up and down the second he met me outside.
‘Jeans on a workday? That’s unlike you,’ he said, a confused but intrigued look on his face.
‘I’m trying new things, remember?’
It looked like we both were. My jeans looked even more out of place next to the white shirt he’d shown up in. It’s the first shirt I’ve seen him in since the La La Lounge and a huge step up from his usual T-shirt-jeans combo. He nodded back at me, impressed, before we headed inside the wine cellar.
When Evie said she wanted us to hand-select the wines for the party, I imagined something similar to cocktails at the Lounge. That was not the case. This is, in fact, far less glamorous and involves sitting cross-legged on the floor as we inspect the bottles around us and make notes on our terribly balanced laptops.
You see, Evie is a sucker for attention to detail and wants the bottles to mirror the theme perfectly. She’s sent us to an extremely niche, international wine cellar hidden just off Camden Market that specialises in unknown bottles from around the world. Before the sommelier guides us through our tasting next week, we must first make our way through their basement of different bottles and research which ones come from our spotlighted countries. It’s been a trawl. We have been in this basement since 10 a.m. and not come up for air or light once.
The good news is, it’s stopped me from worrying about tonight, or my outfit. Or at least, it did until the texts came through from the girls. I look down at my legs again with my new knowledge of their opinions, the light-wash taunting me as it stretches tightly across my thighs. They’re cute, but they’re basic. Way too casual. Benji will think I don’t try. What if he’s used to girls who put an effort into their appearance? Or girls who show up and look effortlessly cute? He’ll see my jeans andhe’ll laugh, and the date will be over before I’ve even ordered my starter.
Are jeans first-date appropriate?
I nervously type into a private browser, frantically scanning the results for a definitive answer. Before I can get too far, a chocolate bar flies through the air and slides across my keyboard, briefly shocking the breath out of my system.
‘Eat,’ Aiden says as I look up at him in confusion. ‘You skipped lunch again and you’re more jittery than normal.’
This task has been so involved that we’ve barely made conversation, which, while refreshing, is increasingly rare nowadays. For a moment, I even forgot he was here.
‘If you don’t like chocolate, I’ve got other options. Strawberry grains, protein bars, a selection of crisps. . .’
‘You keep a small pantry in your bag?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’ve started to, yeah. You barely eat when you get bogged down with work. Didn’t know your snack preference so had to cover all bases. I call it myMads-Bag– like a grab-bag.’
Terrible attempt at a pun aside, the whole thing takes me by surprise. I have sat next to Pippa and Gus for four years and neither have noticed my poor eating habits. I barely notice myself until I’m sitting on the bus feeling dizzy and wondering why. To have Aiden– the man who sees me two days a week and quite frankly probably doesn’t care if I live or die– notice is incredibly suspicious. But, regardless, my stomach is growling, so I open the packet and take a bite.
‘I chose well.’ He is triumphant, watching as I wolf the bar down within a matter of seconds. ‘You want some crisps too?’
