Such a Pretty Face by Annabelle Costa

Chapter 5

Tonight I have my date with Jack.

Camille gave him my cell phone number, so at around three in the afternoon, I get a text from him that says: Looking forward to tonight! Meet at Finnegan’s?

Somehow, Camille talked me into an actual dinner and not just coffee. But it’s just at a bar, so still pretty casual. And I love his use of exclamation points. It seems like he really is excited about tonight. Most guys don’t throw around exclamation points.

Abby isn’t around while I’m in the shower getting ready for the date, so I do what I always do when she isn’t around: I belt out music.

I have a pretty good voice. No, that’s an understatement—I have a great voice. Mrs. Porter, my grade school music teacher, told my mother I had talent, but Mom didn’t think it was worth pursuing. But then Mrs. Porter offered to give me private voice lessons in her own free time. You have amazing potential, Emily, she used to say.

And I loved it. I had always enjoyed singing, but I loved it even more when I was learning songs and practicing them with Mrs. Porter. Our weekly lessons were the best part of my week. I was always belting out music in the shower or even while doing my homework. It got to where Camille was telling me to shut up several times a day. But I didn’t care.

I always felt edgy about performing solo, but every time I had a chance to join the school chorus, I always took it. I preferred to be part of a crowd, but Mrs. Porter kept saying I was good enough to sing on my own. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that she finally persuaded me to try out for a leading role in the school musical.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have let her talk me into it. Yes, I had a great voice. But I did not look the part of the attractive lead in the musical, or even her less attractive friend. In fact, between the sophomore and junior year, I put on a lot of weight. When I got up on stage to sing for my audition, I could hear everybody in the audience snickering. And then as I left the stage, a few kids made oinking noises. Needless to say, I didn’t get the part. I barely made it outside before bursting into tears.

And after that, I quit singing entirely. Except in my bedroom and the shower.

It was for the best. Making it as a singer is hard enough, and even harder when you’re a big girl. I know, I know, there’s Adele. And Lizzo. But we can’t all be Adele or Lizzo. And even Adele got skinny.

I spend forever sifting through my closet, trying to decide what to wear. I finally decide on a black shirt with an empire waist that seems very flattering in the mirror, and I pair it with a black pencil skirt. I own a lot of black clothing. And dark gray clothing. Abby refers to my closet as “the funeral attire.”

I don’t tell Abby about the date. She’s going to get overly excited and when things don’t work out, I’ll have to tell her about it. Better to tell her only if it goes well. Then we could be happy about it together.

As I look back at myself in the full-length mirror in my room, I decide, well, why can’t it work out? There are plenty of men who are into big women. Even very big women like me. Maybe Jack is one of those men. And supposedly, I have a pretty face.

The bar is uptown, so I decide to take a taxi so I don’t mess up my hair. I’m a few minutes late, which is on purpose. One of my big fears is that the guy will see me sitting at a table, change his mind, and then leave. I want him to arrive first.

Thankfully, Finnegan’s is very dark. As I walk inside, I scan the room, looking for Jack’s familiar face. After a few seconds, I spot him near the pool table.

He’s cuter than in his picture, and he has visible muscles under his sky blue polo shirt. That’s unusual—most people look far better in the photo they provide than they look in real life. I tried online dating once and had to take thirty shots to get a usable one. But in this case, Jack’s good looks make me more anxious. I was hoping maybe he’d be ten years older than his photo and overweight. This guy sitting right here would never be interested in me.

Still, it’s not like I’m going to run away because he’s cute. So I approach the table.

Jack lifts his eyes slowly. “Emily?”

“Hi?” My greeting comes out much higher than my usual voice, and also, for some reason, as a question. “Um, Jack?”

“Right!” And then he rises from his feet and grins at me. “It’s great to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much from Camille!”

I can’t hide my astonishment. He looks… pleased to see me and not even the slightest bit disappointed. He doesn’t look like he’s plotting to get away from me. He doesn’t mumble “fucking Camille” under his breath. He just smiles at me—and pulls out a seat for me.

I settle down into the chair gingerly, wincing as it creaks. I’m feeling cautiously optimistic right now, and I don’t want anything bad to happen.

“I’m so glad we finally got together!” Jack says. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Me too,” I admit. “I, uh… I don’t date a lot.”

Then I grimace at my admission. Why would I say something like that? It makes me sound like a loser.

But Jack doesn’t seem to mind. “Oh, me too!” he chimes in. “It’s rough out there. And my parents… I never hear the end of it from them.” He makes his voice artificially high and whiny. “Jack, when are you going to get a nice girl?”

I laugh. I like this guy. “I know. I hear that from my mom and my sister.”

“Well,” he says, “maybe we can help each other out.” And he winks at me.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Maybe we can.”

_____

I have the absolute best time with Jack. Best date ever. Hands down.

We can’t stop talking through the entire meal. We like all the same movies and TV shows. And he is funny. Gut-bustingly funny. Also, I can’t stop staring at him all night. He’s really cute.

As the night goes on, I start to fantasize about this night ending in a kiss. Maybe this will be the date I’ve been waiting for. Maybe Jack is the guy I’ve been waiting for.

At one point, an old Ke$ha song comes on the radio. Jack’s face lights up, he leaps out of his seat, and he offers me his hand. He calls me to my feet, and then we’re dancing. To Ke$ha. He’s got me pulled close to him, and his lips are inches away from mine. He’s so close, sweat breaks out under my armpits.

I lift my lips to his.

But then he just… sits down again.

Fine. I wanted him to kiss me, but it’s not the end of the world. Maybe he’ll do it later tonight. Maybe he’ll take me home and kiss me at my doorstep. And I’ll tell Abby all about it.

The thought of it gets me so excited, I can hardly breathe.

At around eleven o’clock, Jack glances down at his watch. “Damn, didn’t realize it was so late. I’ve been having so much fun with you, girl.”

I feel myself blushing. “Me too.”

“We need to do this again,” he says.

“I agree.” I can’t believe I owe Camille an apology.

“Also,” he says, “we need to discuss our arrangement. Like, seriously. This is so great.”

I shake my head. “Arrangement?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head. “With our families, like we were saying. Getting them off our backs.”

“You mean…” I suck in a breath. “If we’re dating?”

“Exactly!” Jack snaps his fingers. “Oh my God, this is so amazing. I seriously love you right now, Emily.”

My heart speeds up. “Oh?”

“God, yes.” He makes a face. “My mom especially will not get off my case. It’s all I hear. And, I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but I just can’t tell her the truth. She would seriously have a heart attack if she found out I was gay. I can’t do it to her.”

He’s… what? “Gay?” I squeak.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He rolls his eyes. “This is the twenty-first century and I ought to just tell her. But you don’t know my mom. It will kill her.” He reaches out and takes my hand across the table. “If I bring you home with me, then she’ll finally shut up about my love life. And obviously, I can do the same for you. This is so amazing.”

I get a sick feeling in my stomach. This evening finally makes sense. Jack was never interested in me. I mean, he’s a nice guy, and I actually sort of want to help him out, but at the moment, I mostly feel like bursting into tears. I can’t believe I was so stupid. And Camille…

I’m going to kill my sister. How could she set me up with a gay man?

“I have to go,” I mumble. I rise to my feet, nearly knocking over my chair. Then I turn and my butt takes down a glass of water. “I’m sorry.”

Jack’s eyes are wide. “Did I say something wrong?”

I don’t want him to know what I was thinking. He’ll think I’m completely deluded. It’s humiliating enough as it is. “No. I just have to get home.”

I reach into my purse and pull out my wallet. Jack waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Emily. The meal is on me.”

But I throw a twenty on the table anyway. When he finds out I won’t go along with his charade, I don’t want him to feel like I took advantage of him for a free meal.

It isn’t until I get out in the street that I burst into tears.