About an hour before Scott told me we'd have to leave in order to make the play, he calls to me from his room, “Hey, Mitch, I have to go do something really quick. I'll be back soon to pick you up for our date, okay?”
I agree but am a little confused as to what he would need right now without telling me about it. For a second I think what if he's ditching me? but then I tell my anxiety to stop being silly… because that's how that works.
After he leaves, I venture downstairs to go check on Lindsey. When I peek into her room, though, she's sound asleep, so I go back into my room and close my eyes as well, setting an alarm for half an hour from now so I have time to throw on the outfit I prepared and possibly touch up my face a bit.
Right around the time I wake up (if I was even really asleep-- it seemed like some weird middleground), I can hear Scott clunking around the apartment. I figure I better get ready soon in case he gets antsy and wants to leave earlier.
I put on leggings and black boots with a loose royal blue sweater, then I apply foundation and just the tiniest bit of eyeliner to make my eyes pop. He probably won't notice, but a girl can try.
A few minutes before Scott said we have to be in the car, I hear him talking to Lindsey downstairs (a voice that carries, that one) then suddenly there are some knocks on my door.
“Who is it?” I tease.
Sounding nervous, he plays along. “Sc-Scott Hoying here to p-pick up Mitch Grassi.”
I stifle laughter and creak the door open ever so slightly, only letting part of my face appear. “He’s just about ready, can you hang on just one second?”
He clears his throat and even that sounds nerdy. “N-no, I'd like to see him now, please.”
“Okay, fine, if you're going to be so aggressive, I can't really say no.” I swing the door open and let him look over me a little, but then I start to shrink under his gaze. Ah, just look at that confidence being lost.
He hands me a pink flower with a long stem.
“This is a camellia.”
“It’s beautiful. I’ve never heard of it.”
“According to the Victorian era, it means ‘my destiny is in your hands’.”
My cheeks immediately start to change color. He did research for this.
He adds, “And I got you pink because I knew that was the color you'd turn when I gave it to you.”
That only makes my face glow brighter as I don't quite meet his eyes, rolling the stem between my index finger and thumb. “Thank you.”
“Of course, baby. Come with me.” He extends his hand, wiggling his fingers to tempt me.
I take his hand with my left, attempting and succeeding to shut the door and hold the flower and the same time. He insists on us walking down the stairs together with our fingers still entwined.
Lindsey is sprawled on the couch, watching television, phone laying on her chest which moves up and down as she breathes.
“Okay, Lindsey,” Scott directs, “We're leaving and won't be back until late. No wild parties, okay?”
She nods, her eyes glued to the television.
Scott separates our hands, takes my camellia, and plops it into the vase of water on the counter he had evidently already prepared.
“Ready?” He asks, spinning back around to face me.
“You have the tickets?” I ask.
He pats the breast pocket of the stylish jacket I helped him choose for tonight. “I got the tickets, you got the smile, let's go.”