Wait . . . I’m not nervous at all?
I hold my hands out in front of me, turning them over in the air, watching for any signs of panic.
They’re steady. No tremble to my fingers. Not even a slight twitch.
Huh. Look at that.
I press two fingers to the inside of my wrist. My pulse is stable, and my stomach doesn’t feel like I just stepped off the world’s scariest rollercoaster.
I’m not sweating.
I’m not pacing my bedroom or annihilating every sweet in this condo.
I’m not trying to talk my way out of tonight, or making up an excuse as to why I can’t make it.
This is a big deal. A huge deal, and the only reason why I’m anxious is because I’m ready for it to happen.
I’m ready. So fucking ready.
Bringing Mason with me to dinner at Juls and Ian’s house, officially stepping out with him as a couple, introducing him as my boyfriend. Any one of these would usually send me into a fit where I’d be locking myself in my room and blowing everyone off, refusing to answer my phone or faking an illness. I normally don’t do stuff like this. I never do stuff like this.
But something is different. I’m different.
Maybe it’s seeing the look on Mason’s face when I tell him he’s not alone in his feelings. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s become more than just a man I’m interested in. He’s a man I want to be with all the time, doing everything with, including breakfast dates and dinners at my sister’s house. Camping and late night drives through the city.
Or maybe it’s just him. No one else could’ve gotten me here. I’m sure of it.
Mason went from being a guy I wanted to fuck, to a man I wanted to know, to the only person I care to be around.
The only person . . .
I sure as hell didn’t see this coming, but I want it, and I’m not nervous.
I’m ready.
As I’m tying my navy cinch dress and securing the loose bow at my hip, my phone rings from on top of my dresser. I run my fingers through my loose curls before hitting the speaker phone button.
“Hey. I’m just finishing up getting ready. Mason should be here any minute.”
Picking up my gloss, I apply a thin coat of the shimmery peach shade and press my lips together as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
“Change of plans. I think Jake has chicken pox,” Juls says.
“What?” I look down at the phone. “Are you sure? How did he get it?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Playground, I guess. Ian was giving him a bath and saw the blisters on his stomach. My poor guy.”
Poor Jake is right.
“Well, shit. That sucks.” I toss the tube of gloss into my makeup case and carry the phone over to the bed. I plop down on the mattress. “You know Izzy will probably get it now.”
“I know. I’m almost hoping she does, that way I can just get them both out of the way at the same time. God, does that make me a horrible mother? Wishing a miserable infection on my child? Ian thinks I’m crazy.”
Juls, a horrible mother? Please. She kills it. She’s that mom other mom’s hate because she’s so fucking good at life.
She’s organized. Her kids are perfectly behaved and always look like they hopped out of a Children’s Place catalog. She still looks like a pin-up girl after two babies, and she rocks heels every day.
Every day. Even at the playground.
I stare at my feet. “Makes sense to me. I wish mom would’ve done that with us, that way I could still come over with Mason, assuming he’s had chicken pox before.” I feel a smile lifting my mouth. “I wonder if they call that something different in Australia. Like koala pox or spots down under.”
“That second one sounds like an STD.”
We both laugh. I pull my knees up and brace my heels on the wooden frame.
“I am bummed though. I was really looking forward to tonight. All of us hanging out.” I pick at the hem of my dress.
How long does chicken pox last? A week? Several? Is there a period where it isn’t contagious?