“I just don’t get it. Nobody has ever…you know…liked me…before. I’m not exactly a beauty queen.”

“So? Who cares if anyone else thinks you’re pretty? I do. Isn’t that enough?”

***

“Why are you two watching that cringey kid’s cartoon?” I ask as I swing the front door closed with my foot, both arms full of groceries.

“It was the only thing on that wasn’t absolute ick,” Honey waves her hand slightly, careful not to flick nail polish all over the couch.

“We have 300 channels,” I say in my sing-song voice, as I throw packages of tilapia into our little freezer and close the door before they can tumble back out again.

“Okay, it was the only thing worth watching on the 20 channels we actually checked. How much work do you want us to do?!” Honey throws herself back against the armrest like a drama queen as Cocoa puts a fake gemstone on one of her purple-painted thumbnails.

“Nail check,” I frown with exaggerated unamusement, and Honey puts her hands on her face so her wet nails won’t stain the cushions. 

No cigarettes are anywhere to be found today, at least.

I ‘fuss’ just to keep the conversation under control, as I serve myself a glass of green juice.

Cocoa still hasn’t said a word.

“You know, if you two were gonna lounge around the apartment anyway, you could have at least started dinner. I thought you were going shopping?”

Cocoa’s eyes meet mine as I ask the question, and I immediately want to take it back. As quickly as she looked up, she looks right back down at her nails.

“Cocoa wasn’t in the mood for it anymore,” Honey shrugs casually enough that I can tell Cocoa hasn’t told her about the convenience store fiasco.

I glance back at Cocoa, but she’s laser-focused on her nails, her head and shoulders drooping like a saggy teddy bear.

I can’t believe I let Mom ruin her whole day. 

I can’t believe Cocoa let Mom ruin her whole day.

“We can make dinner while you’re at book club though,” Honey offers, propping her right elbow up on the armrest as her left hand sways in the air languidly. “Something like crawfish soup and biscuits, or vegetarian sloppy joes-”

“I’m going to pretend you’re not just referring to the premade meals I already prepped and froze a month ago.”

She ignores me, though I see the subtle smile make its way into her eyes as she continues, “Then we can all eat together and watch ‘Fused Fiction’ when you get home.”

Cocoa looks sideways at Honey, then up at me, but I can’t tell what the look on her face means this time, so I just smile brightly, giving them both a cheesy double thumbs up.

“Sounds like a plan.” 

I start to say something about the frozen tomato sauce just as my cell phone buzzes.

Oh. God. Please don’t let it be Mom.

I did forget to set her an individualized ringer. 

Note to self.

I’m going to enjoy the rest of this day, so help me.

But when I slip my phone out of my pocket the text is from Miss Walker, not Mom, which might be even more nerve-wracking.

Sweet son of Mary.

I do my best not to say anything out loud as both Honey and Cocoa look my way at the sound of the ringtone and raise their eyebrows like they’re expecting to hear Dad’s voice over the speakerphone any minute.

“Where does the book club take place tonight?” Miss Walker’s text asks.

It takes everything in me to keep my hands steady as I reply quickly, “‘Eclectic Books’ on March Road. Next to ‘Coffee and Jazz.’ We start at 7:00.”

She texts me a thumbs-up emoji, and I just stare at the screen, trying to make my heart rate slow down as I wonder if I should say anything else.

Do not. Do not. Do not. You know you’ll just spiral.

“Just lemme know if you need any help with directions,” I reply anyway.

“Alright.” She replies shortly with another thumbs-up emoji, which honestly makes me feel more frustrated with myself.

I know I’m just overthinking everything.

Not everyone feels the need to turn a single question into a two-hour conversation the way me and Honey always do. Chill out. Seriously.

Taking a deep breath, I head straight to my room and shut the door softly behind me. 

A part of my brain is tempted to flop onto the bed and just sleep for two weeks, but I’ve made commitments. I definitely do not want to stand my friends up again.

I've already made ‘rain checks’ a part of my weekly routine at this point.

And speaking of rain, what on earth is the weather scheming now?

It’s been warm all day, but ominous clouds are starting to form on the horizon now, hinting at snow.

I already needed to change, but I should probably bring a heavy jacket too, and a scarf. 

Do I OWN a scarf?

More importantly, do I own a scarf that Cocoa wouldn’t immediately order me to throw away and/or burn as a crime against fashion, and what on earth do I have to wear that’s nicer and less sweaty than what I have on right now?

I completely overturn my drawers, but still don’t find anything nicer to wear than an old-ish wool cardigan which is hardly less fitted than spandex at this point.

I was planning to wear my Superman tee when I thought only the guys would be attending. But now I know Miss Walker is planning or at least thinking about coming, and it doesn’t seem like comic geekdom would move me up any higher in her respect ratings.

Not that I’m trying to fake anything. But there’s probably also such a thing as a ‘delicate balance.’

…of honesty.

Nobody ever said you had to info dump everything about yourself on the first - second - date - meeting - interaction.

Better to reveal myself in layers.

Wait.

That sounds a lot more scandalous than intended.

Thank God I have a speed bump between my mouth and my brain. 

I shove a green polo shirt and that white button-up Cocoa already told me not to wear back into my drawer.

A button-up would look too formal anyway. I don’t need Austin laughing at me for showing up looking “all black tie” just to talk about aliens. 

Would Ms. Walker find a book about aliens geeky?

Do I really only have three shirts that aren’t ‘form-fitting?’

Why do I own green pants? Period.

It’s been way too long since the last time I bought new clothes.

If I was about 30 lbs skinnier, I could wear a button-up and tee shirt pairing like every stylish guy in a 2000s high school sitcom, but it’s hard to make anything look ‘dress casual’ when your buttons are hanging on for dear life. And yes, I do realize that I’m bragging.

I choose to take happiness wherever I can get it, so sue me.

As I step out into the hallway, a peel of stifled laughter tells me that the girls have switched topics and started gossiping and joking like they’ve forgotten I can still hear them.

“Believe me, Cocoa, men are not the mystery of the universe. You don’t exactly need to be a psychic to understand what this guy is driving at.”

I roll my eyes as I kick the bathroom door closed and flip the light on. Then, I switch the shower to ice-cold and toss my tee shirt and jeans into a pile.

My pants hit the tile with a resounding crack which reminds me, painfully, that I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket.

Sorry baby.

I pick the battered machine up off the floor, grateful to see that there’s no sign of damage on the screen, and set it on the medicine cabinet shelf just as it buzzes again.

 Another text from Miss Walker?

“What’s the name of the book you all are currently reading at the book club?”

Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell her that! Like DUH.

“Sticking Fast,” I reply quickly. “We’re about halfway through the book now. But we’re not expecting you to catch up to us in two hours…”

Though, I guess showing up at all would be kind of a spoiler if she doesn’t catch up. I didn’t think this through.

“It’ll be fine. I’ll read what I can, and whatever I hear from you guys during the meeting will be like the ‘readers are saying’ section on the back of the book.”

I can’t tell if that was intended as a kind of joke or not, so I just reply with the safeish answer, “lol.”

I wish I had a clever comeback…

But clever isn’t my thing, and that might not go down well if she wasn’t intending her statement as a joke anyway.

I’m stressing way too much about everything lately. 

I force myself to take a deep breath and get in the mood to actually enjoy something without worrying about doing it right, for the first time in a hot minute.

Today is my day off. The book club meeting is my hour off. I’m just going to enjoy it. I’m just going to enjoy it. 

I’m going to…chill.

By the time I get out of the shower, the girl’s chatter has exploded into a rambling speed competition that seems to scream through the walls - all their sentences tripping over each other’s.

“Oh my God. He did not. What did Melly do? I would have slapped him. Well…I would have called Dominic to come slap him…”

 I don’t bother to style my hair, just dry it with a towel and give it two strokes with a brush.

Wait, was this Cocoa’s hairbrush?

Oh well. She’ll never know if I don’t tell her.

As I put the brush back on the shelf, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and notice I look a lot older these days. 

Not older in a bad way. Just, not like the little kid I was back before I started caring for Cocoa - back when I was still with Eunice.

Maybe I’m not the knight in shining armor of most people’s dreams…or Miss Walker’s dreams…if she dreams about anyone…but I’d like to believe I don’t look too bad.

There are different knights in shining armor for different people I guess.

If the only princess I’ll be saving is my little sister, that’s good too.

I turn the bathroom light out and make my way to the living room, which is literally echoing with the girls’ voices. The second I pass through the doorway Honey literally pounces on me with a barrage of questions.

“Hey Nicky, do guys find skirts or jeans more attractive on a girl?” 

“Nope,”  I hurry to the front door, grabbing my keys off the end table and slipping my wallet into my back pocket at lightning speed.

“Come on! It takes like two seconds to answer,” she fusses.

“I am not a part of this conversation. I was never here. I heard nothing. Please have dinner ready by the time I get home,” I reach for my jacket only to realize it’s not there.

“Yeah yeah, women should stay home and cook and clean right?” Honey leans back against the couch cushions, looking glamorously lazy.

“Since you’re eating the food I paid for, it only seems fair,” I smile teasingly. “Those gender roles aren’t going to maintain themselves. On a different note, have you seen my-”

“You left it at my place,” Honey throws the jacket at my head, and I’m immediately enveloped in the scent of cigarette smoke and perfume.

I could bottle this essence and name it ‘nostalgia.’

Every single time…it catches me off guard, like a flutter of wings in the corner of my mind's eye.

“Thanks, Honey,” I wrap myself in the jacket, trying to keep back the sudden sadness that starts surfacing out of nowhere as I step out into the hallway and close the door behind me.

I’m not supposed to, but I take a deep breath, absorbing the scent as I zip up the jacket.

I shouldn’t find this smell comforting.

But we can’t help the way our brain ties up smells and tastes with safe spaces.

Maybe I’ll always be the little kid in the backseat of his sister’s car, listening to India Arie and Tracy Chapman.

It’s been 13 years, but I’ve only upgraded to ‘sidekick.’

I’ve never been able to save her.