My friends and I were just about to head out to drown our sorrows, when there came a knock at the door. We looked at each with our cat-eyes, purses dangling off our arms. “Who’s that?”
I open the door and find one of my male coworkers standing there, soaking wet as the rain poured down into the parking lot behind him, flowers in his hand. My jaw dropped open as my girls all gasped with delight. I was friends with this guy and had told him earlier that day I’d been having a rough week. Now here he was, staging a scene out of a romantic comedy.
“I, uh…oh, you’re going somewhere,” he said, disappointed.
“You can come with us!” piped up my ever-cheerful roommate.
“Rachel?” he said, desperately seeking a positive reaction.
I collected myself. “Yeah, of course!” I said, even though I’d been hoping for a girls’ night out.
I took a deep breath, standing on the stoop with a DVD and a bag of Doritos clutched under my arm. I hope he’s home, I thought to myself. Part of me wanted to run back to my own home across the lot. We lived in the same apartment complex, we were in the same classes, and we’d shared a night together recently. We were friends…perhaps more? We were neighbors. Nothing wrong with making a social call.
