Talk about getting off to a rough start. Part of me wants to just make up an excuse and go home, but then again, this is my first real date and maybe I’m just being overly critical. Or maybe I’m nervous and I’m letting that color my view of Jerry. Breanna always says that me losing my dad when I was eleven has made me “awkward and stupid” around men, and she might have a point.
But as we talk, I feel more and more like I’m not talking to a man, but a shapeless lump of Play-Doh or some kind of off-white paint that can’t decide if it wants to be white, yellow, or vomit green.
“So you like working at the diner?” he asks me for the second time.
I sigh and give him the same answer.
“No, not really.”
I glance around the bar, hoping to find something interesting to talk about. But it’s basic
