Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
"Pray, blow me."
Mikal grinned. "Consider the radical notion that this date is about you. To see how you feel about him. It’s up to him to impress you, not the other way around. That means you should be yourself. You should ask him whatever you want to know. And you should worry about forming an opinion about him, not about if you’re making him like you."
I hate when things are about me.
"At every point," Mikal went on, "ask yourself how you feel in response to what he says or does. Do you like it, hate it, feel weird about it, whatever. If you’re yourself, you stand the best chance of evaluating his responses to you usefully."
Wait, wait. That made sense. A horrible kind of sense that, at the moment of it sinking in, cast into relief all the other dates River had been on. Dates where they had worried the entire time how they were coming off, how they were being perceived, how this expression or that story landed with the other person. Dates where they’d focused so much on making the best impression they could—because who wouldn’t want to put their best foot forward?—that it never occurred to them that dating could be anything other than trying to win. Win their date’s good opinion, attention, attraction, respect.
"Oh dear god," River said.
"Yeah. I know. Therapy, I’m telling you."
CHAPTER 14
River
When Cassidy arrived, River was in the cats’ playroom standing awkwardly in the corner to avoid getting cat hair all over their clothes before dinner.
"What are your intentions toward River?" River heard Rye ask from the front desk.
River recognized their seriousness as faux, but Cassidy responded nonetheless. "My intentions are to take them out to dinner and get to know them."
"All right, well, have them home by eleven," Rye said.
"Hey," River said. "He’s kidding. About the curfew. And your intentions."
"Curfew, yes; intentions, no," Rye said.
"Intentions don’t always count for shit anyway," River said.
"Wow," Cassidy said, eyes only for River now. "You look great."
Cassidy also looked great. He wore well-fitting dark jeans, black ankle boots, a forest green button-down shirt, and a vest in a gorgeous plaid of blue and green against a field of fine gray wool.
"You do too," River managed. It was a miracle they were able to speak at all, given the size of the nervous lump in their throat.
"Bye, Riv, have fun," Rye called after them. River turned and gave him a warm smile of thanks. Rye winked.
Cassidy had a large truck, and like all vehicles in Wyoming in the winter, its lower half was spattered with a combination of mud, snow, and salt that River was careful not to smear all over themself while getting in.
They sat, hands in their lap, seatbelt safely buckled, desperately trying to control anything they could while the rest of the world spiraled into uncertainty.
Be yourself, be yourself, they repeated like a mantra, in an attempt to keep scarier repetitive phrases out of their head.
"River?"
"What’s that?" River asked, becoming aware that Cassidy was talking to them.
"I said, is Martelli’s good for you? Or we could go to the Chop House instead. Whichever you’d prefer. I didn’t make a reservation because, well, Garnet Run."
You could walk into any restaurant in the area at eight on a Saturday night and never have to wait to be seated.
Be yourself, be yourself, be yourself.
"Actually, could we do something else?" They blurted it out so they couldn’t lose their nerve. "Dinner is so formal and I get nervous and it’s all like 'What do you do?' 'And what do you do?' and there’s so much pressure."
They’d delivered this blurt out the windshield of Cassidy’s truck, to the darkness of the parking lot, and now they forced themself to look at Cassidy.
He was frowning, but nodded.
"Of course. We can do whatever you want. The only thing is …"
Cassidy’s stomach, at that moment, let out a growl that might’ve been audible in places that required dinner reservations.
"Uh, that says it all, I suppose," he said, sheepishly putting a hand on his stomach.
River felt awful.
"Oh, no, we can go to dinner," they insisted. "Sorry, I didn’t think of the whole hunger thing. Martelli’s sounds good."
Turns out, they imagined themself saying to Mikal when asked for a rundown of their date, that people go to dinner because of this pesky human drive called hunger as well as to get to know one another in the antiquated ritual of dating.
Cassidy narrowed their eyes and River had the distinct sense that they were being solved like a math problem. They squirmed in the awkwardness they’d created.
"What if we go get some snacks and have them in the truck on the way to wherever?" he suggested.
He didn’t sound put out or irritated.
"Yes, great. Okay."
Cassidy started the truck and navigated down the long, dark road away from the shelter.