“Okay, well, I’m sorry for insinuating that you have it easy, Jay. Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.”
I leave the room, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
Selecting an outfit for my date is harder than I anticipated. I try to call Michelle for advice, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I suppose she’s probably trying to sleep last night off. So I’m on my own. It’s times like this that I could do with a female parent.
I settle on a pleated pastel blue skirt that reaches past my knees and a white short-sleeved blouse that buttons up to the neck. The look is very fifties preppy, and I finish it off with a pair of white and navy boat shoes. I blow-dry my hair, curling the ends and putting it up in a high ponytail. I’m feeling confident that I look good. I just hope that Owen is impressed.
When I come downstairs, Jay and Dad are in the living room, chatting. I step inside, and their conversation quietens.
“Where are you off to, chicken?” Dad asks, smiling, his legs crossed as he lounges back in his armchair.
Scratching at my arm nervously, I answer, “I have a date.”
“A date? Well, isn’t that just wonderful. You look very pretty.”
I give him a small grin. “Thanks, Dad.”
Jay’s been staring at me silently the whole time. I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and turn to leave.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says then, hopping up from his seat and following me out. I walk to the door and step outside before turning to face him. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, studying my face.
“Don’t be nervous. The douche chef is lucky you’re giving him the time of day. Tell yourself that. Repeat it in your head over and over. Be the confident Matilda who’s hiding in there somewhere, the one who never stopped smiling,” he tells me, his voice a little strained.
I take a deep breath, and his words actually do make me feel more confident, like I can handle this. “I’ll try. Thanks, Jay.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, then runs his hands over the fabric of my top and teases, “Look at this fucking outfit, so angelic, puts me in a mood to do some corrupting.”
I look at him, my mouth hanging open. He leans down and places the softest, most feather-light kiss to my cheek. I put my hand to it as I walk away, heading for the bus stop. God, how I wish it was him I was going to lunch with instead of Owen. Not that there’s anything wrong with Owen. I’m sure he’s not a douche, as Jay puts it. It just seems like all men pale in comparison to the illusionist under my roof.
When I get to the restaurant, a stylish bistro, I hesitate outside for about five minutes. My heart is pounding way too fast, and my hands are shaking. I breathe in and out, needing another pep talk from Jay. He’s not here, though, and I have to go inside sooner or later. I’m definitely not going to allow myself to chicken out and leave.
When I finally walk in, I spot Owen sitting at a table for two outside on the terrace. Every step feels like a mile as I walk toward him and he lifts his eyes to mine. He stands when I reach the table, coming and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I’m disappointed that it doesn’t give me butterflies like Jay’s kiss did.
“You’re Matilda,” he says.
“Yeah, I am,” I reply stupidly.
He smiles. “I’m Owen.”
He pulls out my chair for me, very politely, and I sit. There’s a menu on the table, so I pick it up just to have something to do with my hands. A waiter goes by carrying a tray of drinks, and I wonder why I didn’t think to have one or two myself before coming here. Being tipsy would make my nervousness less obvious. Although being obviously drunk probably wouldn’t look so good, either.
“So, you’re the chef. What would you suggest I order?” I ask, trying to sound mature and confident. My voice sounds weird, even to my own ears.
Owen smiles. “Well, I don’t work here, but the chicken main sounds good.”
“I like chicken. Although, not the fake processed kind. It has the consistency of rubber.”
Did I just fucking say that? Kill me now.
It’s not a complete disaster, though, because Owen makes noises of agreement. “Yeah, that stuff is awful. I refuse to believe it’s actual chicken.”
That makes me laugh. “Oh, my God, what could it be? Do you think they’re feeding us spices and glue?”
Owen leans in, whispering, “It could be anything. But let’s not talk about it here. The walls have ears.”
I laugh even louder this time. This is actually going well. Colour me surprised. We talk for a while about our jobs, and I tell him all about my dressmaking. He seems alert and interested, which is a good sign. I’ve often gotten stuck talking to men in bars with Michelle, and their eyes would completely glaze over when I spoke about myself. And most of those glazed eyes were focused on my chest rather than my face.
Just after our food arrives, my phone beeps loudly with a message. I decide to ignore it, but Owen insists I check, since it could be something important. It’s not. It’s from Jay.
Sherlock Holmes at your Service: Watson, where do you keep your lawnmower?
Yeah, that’s what he programmed his name in as. I immediately correct it to a simple “Jay.”
Matilda: It’s in the shed. I’m not even going to ask what you want it for. P.S. I’m not keeping your name like that, you big geek.
Jay: In the shed now. Can’t find it. I want to mow the lawn, what else? Keep the name or face the consequences.
Matilda: Why are you bothering me with this? Can’t you ask Dad? I laugh in the face of your consequences.
Jay: He’s gone out. Laugh at my consequences, will you? I should spank you for your insolence.
I don’t know what to say to that, and I’m actually blushing. My finger hovers over the screen, trying to think of a clever response, when another message comes in.
Jay: I forgot to ask how your date’s going…?
Matilda: It would be going better if you weren’t so rudely interrupting it!
Jay: So it’s going good. Is he being a gentlemen? He better be. I don’t wanna have to go over there and whip out the fists of fury.
Smirking, I shove my phone back in my bag now, deciding I’ve left Owen waiting long enough. We continue with our conversation and our food, and my phone beeps several more times with messages. In the end, I turn it off. Whatever Jay wants, it can wait. Owen seems a little perplexed that I’m ignoring my phone. Great, now he probably thinks I’m a bitch who ignores her friends’ messages.
Our date ends, and Owen walks me to the bus stop. It turns out he walked to the restaurant since he lives close by. He quietly suggests we do this again sometime, and I smile at him as I agree. Then we exchange numbers. When my bus comes, he moves in for what could either be a kiss or a hug. My nerves get the better of me, and I hop quickly onto the bus, furiously waving goodbye like a dope.
God, that was awful. I think I might have just ruined the semi-success of the date with that stellar move. I’ll just have to wait and see if he calls.
As I ride the bus, I finally decide to check Jay’s messages.
Jay: Oh, come on, Watson. Don’t leave me hanging.
Jay: Still waiting…
Jay: He better not try to touch your boobies.
Jay: Fine. I know when I’m not wanted.