Page 39 of Knights Like These
I frown at him. “I’m going to dinner, Archer. In public. I’ll have my phone. If I’m not home by eleven, call the cops.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
He doesn’t laugh. His jaw is clenched tight, and he doesn’t look happy, but finally, he says, “Okay. Have fun.”
“Thanks.”
“Text me where you are. When you get there. When you leave.”
“Archer.”
“Sydney.”
I roll my eyes. He holds my gaze. For the first time in fifteen years, I look at him across the kitchen and think: you don’t get to have an opinion about this. You really, really don’t.
Lauren calls Friday night while I’m trying to figure out what to wear for tomorrow. If I even brought anything date-friendly with me to New York.
“Okay, walk me through it.”
“His name is Tanner. We’re getting dinner Saturday.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Tall. Blond. Nice laugh.”
“Job?”
“Finance, I think.”
I hear her shifting, probably settling into her spot on the couch. I can picture her exactly—oversized sweatshirt, wine in hand, legs tucked under her. I miss her so much that my chest hurts for a second.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she says. “Tomorrow, you’re going to go buy yourself something new. Not for him. Foryou. Get a dress, a cute top—get something that makes you feel like you’re the prize.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t argue. And get your nails done. Maybe a blowout if you have time. This isn’t about the guy, Syd. This is about reminding yourself that you are a whole person who can have a whole Saturday night that has nothing to do with your best friend and his children. I’m guessing you haven’t prioritized taking care of yourself over there.”
I swallow. And look down at my hands—she’s right, my cuticles are pretty atrocious. She’s so right that I want to fighther on it just to prove I’m not completely transparent, but there’s no point. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Good.” She pauses. “And Syd?”
“Yeah?”
“If he turns out to be nice, let yourself have a good time. Don’t spend the whole night thinking about Archer. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I don’t answer. She doesn’t push.
Saturday morning I drive to an upscale shopping area Winnie once mentioned and do every single thing Lauren told me to do. I buy a black silk top that dips low in the back and makes me feel sexy. I get my nails done. I stop at a salon and get my hair blown out. I come home with shopping bags, new lipstick, and a version of myself I haven’t seen in the mirror for a long time.
