Except Nell was making me question everything I’d believed. With nothing but a few coy smiles and a handful of looks from those sparkling eyes, she’d lit something in me that was exciting and frightening. There was certainly nothing manufactured about the feelings she was stirring up inside me.

  “Hmm,” Nell said. “Forget you said anything? That’s usually the kind of request people make when they realize the truth is too juicy to share.”

  “Nah.” I found myself shifting uncomfortably and rubbing the back of my neck. Obviously, she was completely right in this case. Except the juicy truth would probably creep her out. Normal, functioning adults didn’t start falling this hard, and this fast for somebody they just met. And if they did, they definitely didn’t talk about it.

  Nell looked skeptical, as she probably should.

  I needed to say something or the awkwardly thick air between us was going to become suffocating. “There’s going to be a party here. Tonight,” I said. “You should come. You could be there to see how everyone likes your huge cock and balls.”

  Nell laughed. She had a hearty, genuine kind of laugh that made me like her even more. She seemed like the kind of person who was easily amused but in the best kind of way. “If you don’t stop teasing me about it, I’m going to actually try to make this thing look like a penis.”

  I squinted at it. “If this is you trying not to make it look like a penis. I’m wondering what it would look like if you put your mind to it.”

  Nell crossed her arms. “Assuming I am considering your offer of coming to this party, what would I need to wear?”

  “A dress. It’ll be a black tie for the men kind of event. Something fancy.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  I bottled up the excitement I felt inside. For all my worries about whether I was making the right choice by coming back to talk to her, I hadn’t even stopped to wonder what would happen if Nell hadn’t welcomed my interest. Thankfully, it seemed like I wasn’t going to need to worry about it, and the realization made me want to fist pump. Instead, I smiled as calmly as I could. “Perfect. I’ll see you tonight, then?”

  “Normally, I don’t really do stuff like this. But for once… sure. Why not?”

  “Here’s my number,” I said, fishing out one of my business cards. “That’s a direct line to my cell. If you text me your address, I can have you picked up and brought here.”

  She looked a little skeptically at the card. “Provide me with a ride, huh?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I’ll be stuck here making arrangements for the party and can’t slip away to give you a ride. I was trying not to presume you had reliable transportation is all.”

  “My transportation is extremely reliable, thank you very much.”

  I grimaced. I could see that I’d annoyed her. In my head, it had seemed better than asking if she had a car or money for a cab. “I’m sure it is. I hope you’re still planning on coming tonight. It would really be a shame if the dick sculptor weren’t here to represent her work.”

  “The dick sculptor? I actually prefer the title of cockitecht.”

  “I’ll be sure to get it right when I have the plaque made up. By the way, were you planning to finish this in time to, uh, erect the other bushes, or is leaving them un-sculpted also part of your artistic vision?”

  She looked to the two remaining bushes, and I could clearly read the dread in her eyes. The gardeners were supposed to be wrapping up in about an hour, and it had taken her several just to create the one masterpiece. “You read my mind,” she said quickly. “It’s a message about contrast and that sort of thing. Behind every great bush, there’s actually a huge cock and balls.”

  “Like a twist on the whole behind every great man is a great woman?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  I laughed. “Right. Well, I’ll be looking forward to tonight.”

  "I can't wait." She half-breathed the sentence, then seemed to replay it in her mind and winced a little. "Let me rephrase that in a less pathetic way. I will see you tonight, and I won't spend the next few hours thinking about it."

  “That makes one of us.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it abruptly. She made that same upward brushing gesture from before on her chest and smiled.

  I chuckled. Back to sign language, it seemed. I hadn’t been kidding when I said I was going to look forward to having her join me at the party. One minute, I’d been trying to convince myself the spark I felt was a recipe for an explosion down the line—and not the good kind. The next, I had practically jogged across the property to catch her before she left.

  When I thought back on it all, it was honestly pathetic. My resolve to stay away from Nell hadn’t even lasted a full day. But maybe that was a good sign. Maybe it meant she wasn’t going to end up like every other woman I’d dated. It was a lot of “maybe’s,” but I guessed I wouldn’t have to wait that long to find out.

  5

  NELL

  Davey looked me over and gave a nod of approval. I was standing in front of a tall mirror in the apartment he and I shared. If it were anyone else, the co-ed roommate thing would’ve been pretty weird. Fortunately, Davey and I wanted a romantic relationship about as much as a brick to the face.

  We lived together because we got along without drama, and it was cheaper to split the rent than living alone. It was that simple.

  Our place was small. To be more precise, it was so small that my bedroom had to double as a dining room during the day so we could designate what should have been the kitchen as Davey’s bedroom.

  I was standing in front of the collection of small mirrors I’d hung on the wall by the front door. It turned out that a full-sized mirror cost significantly more than a bunch of small ones. My general lack of money also meant I didn’t have an impressive collection of expensive dresses, but I did know my way around a needle and thread. I’d made a couple subtle modifications to the dress I was wearing in hopes that it’d look more expensive and elegant.

  “You look very ritzy,” Davey said. “Like a hooker from Vegas who hasn’t been emptied out by the hard life yet.”

  “Ritzy is good. I’m not a fan of the Vegas part. Maybe I could look like a mysterious, worldly woman who might be hiding some kind of exciting past? Like I was a Russian spy who had to kill her partner to protect her own identity?”

  “Umm, no. Not really. You look more like somebody who would probably rather read a book than go skydiving. The dress is nice, though.”

  I frowned. “Is that skydiving thing supposed to be an insult? Because, to me, that just sounds like you’re saying I’m not insane.”

  Davey shrugged. “You look great, Nell. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

  I signed. “Would you actually tell me if I didn’t look good?”

  “No, but I’m a bad liar. You’d see right through me.”

  “Well, thank you.” I groaned and flopped myself down on the couch. I was careful not to mess up my hair, which I’d spent half an hour trying to get perfect. “Did you see the penguin I sculpted this morning?”

  Davey laughed. “Oh, it was supposed to be a penguin? Did you start with its crotch and forget to finish the rest?”

  I couldn’t even correct him. At the end of the day, I had accidentally crafted a giant, green penis and balls that were going to be on display at Harry’s fancy, rich person party tonight. On top of that, I still wasn’t sure if he was inviting me because he liked me, or because he thought it’d be fun to laugh at me in front of his party guests.

  That wasn’t entirely fair, I decided. Nothing about Harry had made me think he would do something cruel. My inner skeptic was just trying to find a way to prepare myself for the inevitable let-down. Things like this didn’t happen to me. Handsome men who had their lives together didn’t just swoop down from their mansions and invite me into their lives. There had to be a catch. The only way I could avoid heartbreak was to keep reminding myself of that fact.

  Maybe he had bodies in his basement. Or perhaps those flickers of some inner black cloud I’d glimpsed through his eyes were the answer—except the thought of Harry being somehow damaged only made me feel more drawn to him. Whatever it was, the idea that he simply liked me felt hard to grasp. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I was worth liking. In fact, I was probably my favorite person. Nobody could make eggs as good as mine, I could tie shoes with one hand, and my shower singing was absolutely on point. Trivial talents aside, I was also proud of myself because I still refused to give up, even when it felt like the universe was desperately trying to tell me to stop going after my dreams.

  But the universe could suck it because I was too stubborn to quit. I might not exactly know what my goal was or have any concrete plans to achieving my vague, half-formed dreams, but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

  “You know,” I said, still lying on the couch. “It’s not that I don’t think I’m worth being liked by Harry, but I don’t exactly get it.”

  “So you think he should like you, but you don’t get why he likes you?”

  “I understand how the world works, Davey. There’s a pecking order to things, especially dating. Everybody has their invisible score—it’s like some combination of their social status, personality, and attractiveness get averaged out. A guy like Harry is at least a ninety-five out of a hundred, and that’s only because I’m docking five points on the assumption he’s not as perfect as he seems. Maybe he pees all over the seat every time he goes to the bathroom or likes cats more than dogs. Something has to be wrong with him.”

  “Something is wrong with him. He has the hots for you.”

  I lobbed a pillow at Davey, which he easily dodged.

  "Seriously, though," I continued. "I'm like a seventy out of a hundred on a good day. Tops." My job was a shakily held sham. My bank account was a joke. And I wasn't exactly the kind of pretty that had people lining up to plaster my face on advertisements and beauty products. I was pretty enough for nice old ladies to stop me and compliment me, but not pretty enough for hot guys on motorcycles to try to get me to roll down my window on the road. Then again, my windows didn't work so the joke would've been on them, anyway.

  “I’d give you at least a seventy-two,” Davey said.

  “You’re lucky. I’m out of pillows.”

  “Obviously your little system doesn’t work. If these invisible scores are so important, his is either a lot lower than you’re thinking, or yours is higher. What matters is a guy isn’t going to invite his gardener to a fancy party at his house unless he’s interested. Stop trying to figure it out and just accept it.”

  “Yeah, well, after the mess with Chuck, I guess I want to make sure I really get what a guy wants and expects out of a relationship before I commit.” Looking back, I kept thinking I would’ve seen more warning signs with him if I’d just been paying closer attention. So, Davey could make fun of me if he wanted, but I wasn’t planning on making the same mistakes twice. My time was too important to me to waste it on another jealous, manipulative scumbag masquerading as a good guy.

  Davey nodded slowly. “I get it. I’m not saying you should rush into anything. I’m just trying to say that emotions don’t always have a good, logical explanation. Maybe your number system is right, and maybe he is way out of your league, but he likes you anyway. Are you going to turn him down just because it doesn’t make sense to you?”

  I sighed. “No. And you’re making a good point. I’ll… try to stop thinking about it so much, but I can’t promise anything. Mental diarrhea is kind of my thing.”

  “Maybe we should talk about something else. Get your mind off this guy for a little bit.”

  “You know,” I said suddenly. “I’ve always wondered why restaurants don’t give you scissors when they serve spaghetti. I mean, you could spend all day twirling your fork, or you could just take a quick snip and get the perfect bite.”

  “I changed my mind. Let’s go back to talking about Harry.”

  I laughed. “What more is there to say?”

  “How about how you managed to be so absolutely horrible at bush sculpting that you ‘accidentally’ made a huge ding dong out of his bush?”

  “A better question is why anyone asks to have their bush turned into a penguin building a snowman, anyway? It’s like he was begging me to make it phallic.”

  “Oh, sure. I wouldn’t ask anyone to sculpt that unless what I actually wanted was some cock and balls.”

  “Maybe that is what you really want,” I suggested.

  “I have nothing against cock and balls, but I prefer the soft touch of a woman, Nell.”

  I smirked. “Then we need to find you one. Maybe if you could forget to be so shy for a few hours, I could help set you up.”

  “I’m not shy when it comes to dating, I’m practical. Look at me. I’m not exactly the prototype of a sexy guy. Obviously, I’ve got a great personality, a killer sense of humor, and an amazingly low center of gravity that makes it hard to knock me down, but let’s be real, none of those traits are headline material for Tinder.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re perfectly datable.”

  Davey scoffed. “What would you rather eat, a perfectly edible apple, or a scandalously delicious dessert?”

  I grinned at him. “Is that what you want to be, Davey? Scandalously delicious? Maybe we could get you some assless chaps, then.”

  He laughed. “Scandalous, yes. That would be. Delicious? No. Not unless you were starving for some shame and regret. You, on the other hand, are very datable. You need to stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t make sense for him to ask you out.”

  “I don’t even know if this is a date. He just asked me to come to the party.” I mockingly batted my eyelashes and struck a hoe-pose. “Maybe he just wanted some hotties to be wandering around.”

  “What does that have to do with him inviting you?” Davey asked with a completely straight face.

  I glared. “I was joking. But you’re not supposed to act like it’s such a ridiculous idea, asshole.”

  Davey laughed. “You’re not hot. You’re wholesome. Look, I mean this in the nicest way possible, so stop looking at me like that. I’m going to explain. Guys want hot girls when they are in the no-commitment stage. They screw around with them, have some fun nights, and move on. Nobody in their right mind seriously expects to settle down with the typical hot girl. But wholesome girls? Those are the ones guys start looking for when they get serious.”

  I had my arms crossed. “I hear you trying to dig yourself out of that comment, but all I can see is you getting deeper and deeper into the hole. Feel free to keep digging, though.”

  Davey smirked. “Think about it. You know it’s true. You’re a catch. You’re just the kind of catch that most guys start trying to reel in once they’re done being idiots. The kind of catch a guy isn’t just going to want to have some fun with and then toss back into the river.”

  “I think you lost your metaphor a little there, but I’m going to give you a pass because I think you’re not trying to be a jerk—even if you are unintentionally being one. And for future reference, you probably don’t want to try to compliment a girl by telling her she’s not hot. Even ‘wholesome girls’ want to be hot. Plus, look at this and tell me it’s not sizzling,” I said as I hopped up from the couch and whipped my hands down by my hips, twinkling my fingers.

  Davey laughed. “When you make that face? It looks like you just had some bad Indian food, and you’re signaling to somebody that you need to know where the bathrooms are.”

  I sighed. “How did we get off the topic of you being too shy to get a girlfriend and onto me?”

  “I think we should be more worried about making sure you learn to not suck at bush sculpting. Once this party is over, we’re going to train. I’ll drive the car behind you while you jog and run you down if you go too slow. Whatever it takes to make you an artistic wizard with those shears.”

  “That might not work as well as you’re hoping if tonight’s date goes badly. I may just let you run me down so I can end the shame.”

  “Would a little optimism kill you?”

  “Optimism has probably killed way more people than disease and famine combined. I can totally make this jump. I don’t need ropes to climb this mountain. Taking a selfie with this gorilla would be a great idea!”

  “Okay, for starters. You’re way under-estimating the toll disease and famine have taken on the human population. But you also kind of have a point. Let me rephrase. Optimism might kill you, but it’s better to die of optimism than live in a stinky, depressing bucket of pessimistic fear for the rest of your life.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. I never said I wasn’t going to go, anyway. I was just thinking out loud. Calm down. I’m going, I just can’t promise it won’t end up being the social equivalent of a nuclear explosion.”

  “You mean the scientific pinnacle of chemistry?”

  I laughed. “No. I was thinking more about the part where everything explodes, and the only thing left is a radioactive wasteland where life and happiness once used to reside.”

  “Great. I’m glad you’re really getting the hang of this optimism thing.”

  I drove my beat-up Corolla that sounded like it had been chain smoking cigs for thirty years down Harry’s driveway. Every single car I passed was gleaming, sleek, and worth more than I’d probably earned in my entire life. I decided to double back and park a little distance away from everyone else. I usually wouldn’t have cared about people knowing I was dirt poor, but I was so far outside my comfort zone already—the last thing I needed was to give myself more reason to feel nervous.

  I walked up the long driveway to his house and started to hear the distant sounds of a party. It even sounded like a rich party.

 

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