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“What is it that you are looking to do with this gun?”
“I’d just feel better if I had it with me. For protection.”
The man nodded. “If you’re planning on carrying it in your purse, then I’d say go with the pistol.” He silently assessed me, and I shifted under his gaze. “Do you have kids?”
“No. It’s just me and my dad.”
“You can keep it loaded, but you need to make sure the safety is on at all times. With this pistol, you can load it and then lock the safety.” He demonstrated. “If someone attacks you, you won’t have to fumble around with it. It’ll be ready.”
That’s all I needed to hear. I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll take it.”
With my permit and background check already completed, I paid for the pistol and bullets and left. In my car, I stared at the gun in my lap. Never did I think I would be carrying a loaded gun around with me. I never thought I would need to.
I rubbed my wrist as the feeling of being tied to the oven crept to the front of my mind. My hands trembled as I swiped at the tears spilling down my cheeks. I gasped for air, my skin slick with sweat. I gripped the gun, foolishly trying to transfer its power into my body somehow. But I couldn’t. I had to pull myself out of this on my own.
* * *
“What are you wearing?” Mallory answered her phone on the first ring.
“I’m trying to decide between shorts or a dress.” Actually, I was trying to talk myself out of wearing a dress. My brain had conjured at least ten smart, valid reasons as to why a dress was a bad idea.
“Go for the dress. It’s a date. You should always wear a dress on a date.”
Facing the mirror, I sandwiched the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I held the dress against my body. It was a periwinkle strappy dress with a single ruffle that hung off each shoulder. It hit mid- thigh and was just flowy enough to not be completely form-fitting.
“It’s not a date.” I laid the dress on my bed.
“A hot guy is taking you to dinner. Of course it’s a date.”
“He just felt guilty about selling me a car with a broken gas gauge.”
Growing up without my mother, I’d relied on my best friend, Carla, for help in the guy department. She’d go through my closet and toss outfits at me. She was also the makeup expert. Dad didn’t have the slightest clue how to apply eyeliner, and I certainly couldn’t ask him for dating advice.
I knew being without a mom would get harder as my problems got bigger. I glanced at my mother’s picture. I’d love to hear your thoughts about Mallory’s firework first-kiss theory.
“Trust me. It’s a date.”
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. My stomach twisted in a nervous knot. “All right. Let me go. I have to finish getting ready.”
“Send me a selfie before you leave!”
“I will.”
Against my better judgment, I slipped into my dress. I hooked my small silver hoop earrings through my lobes, buckled my white sandals around my ankles, and spritzed myself with perfume.
At seven o’clock on the dot, my phone dinged with a text from Tanner. I snapped a quick selfie for Mallory and grabbed my purse as I made a beeline for the front door.
“Where are you headed?” Dad was on the couch watching television.
“Just going to dinner.”
He smiled. “You look very pretty for just dinner.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
His face fell, and guilt stabbed me in the stomach. “Have fun. Be careful. Call me if you need me.”
Tanner
