210. Date Night

Amy paced across the bedroom. Seventeen steps to the window, pivot, fifteen steps back to the mirror. Her new sundress swished around her knees – impulse purchase, one size too optimistic. Twenty-seven minutes until he arrived. Twenty-six, actually. The clock on her microwave was fast. “You are a grown woman,” she told her reflection, which stared back with unconvinced eyes. “You’ve been on dates before.” “Why am I so nervous?” she asked herself in the mirror. “It’s just Asa, your nice neighbor. The sundress was yellow – “Daffodil Dream” according to the tag – with tiny white flowers scattered across the fabric like stars on a summer night. She’d spent forty-three minutes and all her remaining dignity in the fitting room deciding between this one and a blue number that made her look like a corporate retreat brochure. The yellow won because it didn’t take itself too seriously. Amy wasn’t sure she could say the same about herself right now. Amy paused at the window, fingers fidgeting wit