Page 11 of I Think He Knows
“And how did you come to that conclusion, Ant?” I ask dryly as I begin my second set of shoulder presses.Anthony and his crazy theories.
“Because whenever you have time booked off to come back to Atlanta, you call it off with whoever you’re seeing in LA right before you go.”
“No I don’t.”
Anthony gives me a smug little smile and wiggles his notebook at me. “I know your schedule better than you do.”
I shake my head. Sure, when I’m home in Atlanta, my number one priority is to spend time with Lana Mae and her daughter, Allegra. But that has nothing to do with my romantic relationship status.
My friendship with Lana Mae has been the happiest accident to ever happen to me. She’s the most important person in my life, bar none. I’ve long since shoved down any feelings I may have felt at the beginning in order to preserve our friendship. Because losing her is not an option.
“The breakups are a coincidence,” I tell Ant with a shake of my head. “Lana’s my friend.”
Anthony holds up my phone. “Well, sweetheart, yourfriendjust texted you back. She says to meet her at the mall as soon as possible because she needs your opinion on… dresses?”
I practically dive forward to retrieve my phone from his grabby little hands, and the mirthful laugh that inspires is ginormous.
“I didn’t realize you were pivoting to personal styling, Carter?” Anthony hoots, running a gleeful eye over my decidedly unstylish faded Lakers t-shirt and gym shorts. “Rachel Zoe better watch her back.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m helping my friend for a date she’s going on later. With another guy. Because, you know, she and I arejust friends,” I emphasize.
And it’s true. Lana Mae is actively dating again after years of not dating at all. She apparently decided out of the blue one day that she wanted to find a boyfriend. Not that we talk about this stuff much. Or ever. We’re not really the type of friends who discuss their romantic lives.
“Well, you better run, Carter. I’m sure your cute little bestie can’t live without that well-known fashion expert opinion of yours.” Anthony chuckles way too indulgently. “In a purely platonic way, of course.”
He’s still laughing at me as I make my way to the shower.
Like I said, the man is good at keeping my ego in check.
5
LANA MAE
“I look like a tube of Pillsbury biscuits that someone popped open then tried to reseal.”
Carter looks up from his position sprawled in a nearby armchair and chuckles. “Now there’s an image that’s going to be stuck in my mind forever.”
I may be acting like I’m joking around, but I’m serious. This dress is the most unflattering thing that has ever graced my body. The bottom half looks—and feels—like I’ve been squished into a woman-size finger trap, while the top half has cavernous amounts of room to spare. I could seriously use some assistance in the form of those jiggly chicken-filet thingies you put in your bra, and even then, I don’t think my sad little excuses for breasts would begin to fill out the expanse of fabric.
Sigh.
Breastfeeding deflated what little boobage I had to begin with into a sad, floppy situation that I prefer not to think about, ever. Models usually have flatter chests, and people find their figures appealing. So we’re going with that train of thought. Because,positivity. It’s something I learned in therapy: your thoughts contribute to your feelings of anxiety, so learning to change your thoughts can help change how you feel.
I take a tentative step forward, the silky, royal blue fabric straining uncomfortably in a way that suggests that, unlike all my favorite leggings, this material haszerostretch to it.
“Nope,” I declare solemnly. “This isn’t the one.”
It’s the sales assistant’s turn to sigh. “Why not? It looks… good.”
She took way too long to think of the word “good” for my liking.
We’re in a store in Lenox Square mall because, for some reason, I decided that a new dress might somehow make tonight’s date go differently than all the rest. So far, we’re not off to a great start. This place stocks merchandise that’s a bit of a reach beyond my usual H&M price tags, and I can’t afford anything in here. But I don’t say that out loud, because then, Carter will do something dumb, like try to buy me something.
“Well, you see… I need, uh, pockets.” The lady looks unconvinced, so I keep going. “To store my snacks. I’m a tad hypoglycemic at times.”
Melodramatic, more like.
But she doesn’t need to know that.