Saturday comes, and for the whole day, I have stomach pains. My stomach goes up and down and flip flops all around, and I know I’m just nervous. But I don’t know if I’m nervous about seeing him, or the fact that I know after tonight, I won’t be talking to him anymore. I can’t be friends with him. I spent Thursday on Pinterest finding pictures of him on fan pages. I can’t go on like this. I also check Page Six and all the hockey gossip pages I know to see if anyone had “spotted” him with someone, and I’ve come up empty, which isn’t a surprise since he’s never been on those sites before.

I slip into the gown and pull it over my shoulder and zip the side and look at myself. The gown is sleeveless, and the champagne satin comes up to my neck. The side looks like it’s folded over, pushing in my waist and having the extra material fall on the sides to the floor like a cascading waterfall of sorts. I slip on my gold shoes and then put on my pearl and diamond earrings with the matching ring. I look at myself and put my hand on my stomach and then finally put on the bracelet that I never thought I would wear again, the pink quartz one. As I grab the matching purse and stick my lipstick and ID inside, the sound of knocking makes me look up. I grab my purse and my shawl and make my way to the door. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

He stands there in a black tuxedo looking like he stepped out of a magazine ad. His hair perfectly pushed back, and his beard trimmed. His eyes light up when he sees me, and it takes him a second to say anything. “You just …” he says, and I smile and do a turn, showing him that there is no back to the dress, the skirt twirling between my legs. “I can lend you my coat,” he says, and I laugh at him.

“I have a shawl, thank you very much,” I tell him. Walking out, I close the door behind me and put my keys in my purse. He puts his hand on my back, and my whole body wakes up. “You look very dapper,” I tell him when we wait for the elevator, and my hands come up to touch his jacket.

“You didn’t drive?” I ask him when I see the town car waiting for us at the curb.

“No, figured I could maybe have a drink,” he says, and I laugh now. “Or not. We’ll see.”