“Uh-huh. He’s taking her out on a date on Friday.”
Note to self: do not say anything to Grace you don’t want repeated and printed in the San Francisco Chronicle.
“You’re taming the wild man, eh?” Dara says to me.
I shrug, not really knowing how to respond, so I settle on redirection and obfuscation. “Not really. It’s not a big deal. He just asked me out.”
Dara puts a hand to her hip and cocks one side out, showing some serious cool-girl attitude. I don’t know what to make of it. “Did you not know that Nick doesn’t date clients at Lotus House?”
I pucker my lips and shrug again. It really isn’t my business whom he dates.
“Did you take one of his classes?” she asks.
“Yes, I took his aerial yoga class last Friday.” Shoot! That reminds me that this Friday, I technically have a blind date my mother set up. Now I also have one with Nick. How in the world did I go from having no dating life to having two in one day?
“Oh, so you’re not just Grace’s client. You’re Nick’s too? Mmm-hmm, I see what’s happening here,” Dara says with a pout and a chin bob like she’s got it all figured out, while I have no clue what’s happening between Nick and myself.
“Which would be what?” I inquire, genuinely wanting to know her take. If the laundry is out drying, might as well let it fly in the breeze.
“The Italian Stallion took one look at you and saw nothing but light. Same as I see. Only you’re drenched in purple goodness, honey.”
“Purple what?” I’ve gotten lost somewhere.
“Your aura, sweet girl. It’s purple with a tinge of light brown. I don’t like seeing the brown there.”
“Ooookkkaaay. I’m sorry,” I offer, not really knowing what else to say, but I make a mental note to go online and purchase a book on auras from Amazon.
Dara tips her head back and laughs. Grace does as well.
“You can’t be sorry for your aura. It is what it is. Just means we’ve got some work to do. You’re not very confident right now in the situation or in where you are in your life. It’s okay. We all have times in our lives where we’re in a state of flux. You’ll find your way.” Dara leans forward conspiratorially. “And if that happens to be in the bed of an Italian man, more power to ya, sista!”
Pinpricks spark all over my nerve endings with her suggestion. “All righty, then. I’ll have the cinnamon roll and a very strong latte, as well as whatever she’s having.” I point to Grace and pull out a couple of twenties and drop them on the counter.
“Mmm-hmm. I get you, girl. You’re nervous about the Stallion. I would be, too. He’s a definite catch.” She nods and finally carries on with her work.
Grace beams. “Thank you, bestie,” she says, breaking up the tension and gesturing to the money on the counter.
“Least I can do. You taught a great class.”
Dara gets our items, and I take the tray while Grace bounces over to the table with the foursome she knows. They each give her hugs, smiles, and all of their attention. What I wouldn’t give to be able to feel free and safe in my own skin.
Grace pops back over and sits in the chair opposite me, her braid swinging along with her enthusiasm.
“You know, I admire you.” I surprise myself when I admit my thoughts out loud. Then I mentally give myself a pat on the back because Dr. Hart would be proud of that. I may even tell her about it.
My new friend’s eyebrows furrow. “Why? You’re the one with the perfect hair, skin, eyes, and body. I mean, your boobs are sooooo awesome!”
I burst out with laughter. An absolute first for me, especially in a packed dining space.
“Not gonna lie.” She lifts a finger and points to my left and then right breast. “My brother is going to love those. He’s a boob man. You should totally wear a shirt that shows off the ta-tas on Friday! He’ll lose his dago mind! Oh, I know! We should go shopping this week! Find you something awesome. What do you say? Say yes!” Now I see this is a familial trait with the Salernos: well-meaning but pushy.
Then again, I haven’t gone shopping with a female since my college roommate. We didn’t even like each other but had been stuck in the same space for four years and attempted to be friendly. Turns out our problem was me being too prissy and she too gothic. Needless to say, we didn’t share the same tastes in clothes, let alone stores to shop at. With that—retail therapy—having been my one and only foray into female bonding, I figure it couldn’t hurt to go with Grace. It’s definitely getting out of the house and following the new list of things Dr. Hart suggested I do. Venturing out was a big one.
“Sure,” I agree once more, breaking out of my hidey-hole.
On that note, Grace pokes her finger into her cinnamon roll, scoops up some frosting, and then plops her finger into her mouth. Absolutely abhorrent manners. There is never a reason one should place their finger into their mouth. Ever. So because she did it, I do it too. A little thrill of excitement at breaking good-girl societal rules ripples up my spine.
I let out an unladylike moan once the frosting touches my taste buds. “It’s so good.”
“Told you!” Grace shimmies in her chair, dancing to a beat only she can hear.
“Grace, where would one purchase good-quality yoga attire like what you’re wearing?”
She lifts her head, and I swear the smile she gives is one of the cat having eaten a canary variety. “What’s your budget?” Her honest question comes out around a mouth full of roll. Gross and yet still endearing. I’m beginning to think this woman could be
