Page 8 of Just a Number (Magnolia Row #2)

MICAH

“M icah has a daaaaaate!” Kendall tells Sistine when we sit back down.

Sistine squeals and claps her hands. It’s rare to see her happy since her husband died, so even if tomorrow goes poorly, at least I was able to give her this moment.

“Y’all need to stop,” I say.

“Where are y’all going?” asks Sistine.

“Bread Crumbs,” I answer. “Tomorrow. It’s not a big deal.”

“Wear something super low-cut,” says Kendall.

“Most of Micah’s clothes are low-cut, if you haven’t noticed,” says Sistine, eying my cleavage.

“If you got it, flaunt it!” Kendall says. “I’m jealous.”

“I don’t need this, y’all. I have Garrett. It doesn’t feel right.”

“If Garrett gave a damn about you,” says Sistine, “you’d be with him tonight. As it is, you’re here. And so is Mr. Sexy Architect Man.”

I look over at Rhodes, who is leaning against the bar and enjoying the band. He catches me look at him and gives a polite, shy smile. I look away quickly.

“That guy is way too hot for me.”

“Whatever!” says Sistine. “You’re gorgeous, you have curves for days, and you’re extremely smart, which I’m sure Mr. Sexy Architect Man will love.”

“Please stop calling him that.”

Kendall and Sistine both giggle and eye one another.

I know my friends like to pump me up, and they may actually see me in a flattering light, but it’s hard to feel it myself.

I’ve always been the chubby girl. Even when we were little, I was the fat friend.

They had guys chasing after them; I never did.

Before I moved in with Nana, my mom put me on every fad diet she came across and even bought me clothes that were too small to try to motivate me to lose weight.

I only got bigger. Luckily, as I got taller, the weight seemed to distribute itself better around my body, but I’m still not thin.

My boobs hurt my back, I have birthing hips, and my bubble butt makes it hard to find jeans that fit properly.

And I’m broad. My shoulders are the size of Kendall’s and Sistine’s combined.

“Besides,” says Kendall, “if he thought he was too hot for you, he wouldn’t have asked you out.”

“Is he too old?” I ask. “He looks older.”

“It’s not like he’s on Medicare,” says Sistine, rolling her eyes. “Stop looking for excuses. Go out with him. Give him a chance.”

“Fine,” I say.

The rest of the night we listen to the band, have a few more drinks, and I catch Rhodes’ eye before he quietly slips out. Not once throughout the night did I see him checking out my friends, or any other girl for that matter. It’s strange.

When I get home, Nana is asleep on the couch. I wake her, make sure she takes her last round of meds for the day, and help her to bed. She asks me if I had fun, and I simply tell her yes without letting her know I’d been stood up.

The less she knows, the less she worries.

I return to my room, put on my pajamas, and collapse on my four-poster bed.

My room is still pink from when I was little, though I removed my holiday Barbies and Beanie Babies from the bookshelf quite a few years ago.

They were replaced with romance novels, candles, and photos from high school.

The bedrooms in the house have white shag carpet, which is in remarkable condition given how old it is.

I turn on some music from my phone and lay for a while, listening to Taylor Swift and thinking about Garrett and my date with Rhodes tomorrow.

I like to pretend it doesn’t bother me when Garrett flakes, but the truth is it hurts like hell.

And it happens a lot, more than even my friends know.

I make excuses for him all the time, but it gets to a point where I simply want to know he cares about me.

I like to think I’m above it, that it doesn’t affect me, but I guess I’m lying to myself.

Someone who cares about you wouldn’t let you drive over an hour to see them, only to cancel at the last minute.

I know he’s busy with work, but he shouldn’t have let me travel all that way before changing his mind.

I sigh, then roll out of bed to wash off my makeup and brush my teeth. I’m not even sure how I feel about this date with Rhodes. I reckon I’ll show up and see how it goes. Then I’ll decide what I want from him, if anything.

I’m so tired of thinking about men. They’re never worth it.