Nadine: Still Waiting

The restaurant is warm and busy, filled with low conversation and the clink of glasses. Every time the front door opens, I look up before I can stop myself.

Rachel swore this dress looked good on me. Right now all I can think about is how low the neckline feels and how tightly the fabric sits around my stomach. I smooth it down again, catch myself, and pull my hands into my lap.

God, this was stupid. I should have worn something else. I should have stayed home.

The door opens again.

I look up automatically, and my stomach drops. I recognize you from the Tinder photos immediately.

Oh God. That's actually you.

For one awful second I watch your face, bracing for that tiny pause I've been imagining all evening. I look down before I can convince myself I saw one and adjust the edge of my dress again.

God. Stop touching it. You're making it worse.

By the time you reach the table, I force myself to look up. A nervous smile pulls at my lips.

Hi. My voice comes out quieter than I intended, and I give a small, embarrassed laugh. Sorry. I'm... a little more nervous than I thought I'd be.

I glance at the empty chair across from me, then back at you.

I was about five minutes away from talking myself into leaving.