Page 12 of Unwritten Vows

Liza

I sit, staring at the phone in my bedroom.

It’s been a few days since mine and Derrick’s first date, and while I’ve seen him once when Daddy invited him over without asking, I know the ball is in my court now.

And it feels like things aren’t finished between us—certainly, Daddy seems to think so. I need to call him.

The problem is, if I call Derrick—from my cell phone, since using the house phone just feels cringey—I feel like I’m giving into something. I’m taking a step I would never make if I wasn’t interested in a guy. Which means that I might as well be declaring my interest.

There are tons of attractive men at the school I attend. I need to do something that shows that divide between us—that chasm we can’t cross. Then my body will stop responding this way to him, I’m sure of it.

This is where I get my best idea yet to shut this shit down. I dial his number with a smirk on my face.

“Good morning, Eliza Andreeva.”

I have the strangest urge to laugh. I’m suddenly very nervous. “Hi, Derrick Stepinov,” I say with a giggle.

“So, you called me. Go ahead. Tell me why.”

I jump right in, without preamble. “So, Daddy wants us to go on another date.”

I swear I can hear his smirk over the phone. “Oh yeah, dear Liza? This is all Daddy’s idea?”

I clear my throat and speak. “Yes. But you chose last time, so this time, I get to choose.”

He gives a low chuckle. “Where would you like to take me? To Candy Land?”

I sigh and shake my head at his stupid “little girl” joke. “You know what? Candy Land would probably be a super fun time. Even you’d like it. Who doesn’t want a land full of candy and chocolate?”

He chuckles. “You’re not quite getting my joke, you innocent little doll.”

I roll my eyes hard. “You’re gross,” I say, trying to keep the playfulness out of my voice. “It’s not going to be like that, okay?”

“Womp, womp, womp.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s going to be the theater, which is a place I love. I mean, if you even wanted to do something like that. I’ve filled my club quota for the week, you know.”

“Sure,” he says with a shrug in his voice. “I haven’t been to Broadway. I’ll go see a show with you.”

“Oh, no, sweetie,” I say, an evil grin spreading across my face. “I don’t mean that kind of theater. I mean the opera.”

I expect a pause. I expect a painful denial. I definitely don’t expect him to agree.

“Okay.”

I open my mouth to argue just before realizing that there was no denial. “Oh, so you… Do you like the opera?” He has admittedly caught me very off-guard. I thought he was either going to laugh at me and say no, or half-heartedly agree and be miserable the whole time.

“I haven’t been since I was a lot younger, but I’m fine with it. I know Italian and a bit of German, so that helps.”

I try to regroup. There’s no way that an unprincipled heathen like him is some secret lover of the opera. I’ve never even met a man who likes the opera. If they go, it’s because a parent or significant other forces them.

I want to pick one that is over-the-top enough to turn him off completely. “ Turandot . I haven’t ever seen that one.” I haven’t seen it because it seems to fit the bill for both sappy and strange.

“Sure.” I can just see him shrugging his broad shoulders in the same indifferent way he always does.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not fighting me on it. Because if a man doesn’t like opera, that is a huge red flag to me.”

“Mmmhmm.” He seems distracted. Maybe he’s just agreeing because he thinks he’ll be able to surf porn on his phone the entire time and I won’t notice. It’s not gonna happen; I’ll make sure he realizes just how serious I am.

“Okay, so I’ll get tickets for tomorrow night, then?” Might as well just get this over with.

“Sounds like a good time. I’m excited. I’ll pick you up at 6, and we’ll have dinner.”

“My choice!” Maybe he’s trying to get me sidetracked somewhere so we miss the show. I’m about to get very expensive seats though, so that’s not happening. This man will be sitting through this opera no matter what.

“Okay, but Mexican food doesn’t agree with me.”

“I don’t like Mexican either,” I blurt out, before realizing I could have used it to make him squirm. But I don’t want to make the guy sick just to prove that we’re not right for each other. “It’ll probably be a bistro.”

“Sounds good, little Liza. I’m looking forward to it.”

I almost accidentally say, “ Me too ” on instinct, but luckily he hangs up before I can. Thank goodness. Because that would be a lie, ofcourse.