Dark Moon

by Victoria Wakefield

  I told Maryanne about Michael, trying my hardest not to gush too much. I knew from firsthand experience how obnoxious that could be.

  “He sounds so hot!” she squealed. “And he’s twenty-nine and already a doctor? Not even just a doctor. An oncologist. That’s seriously sexy! I mean, you’ve really hit the jackpot.”

  “It’s just a date,” I reminded her, but I couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off of my face. Saturday wouldn’t get here soon enough.

  ###

  Maryanne had advised me to play it cool and not call Dr. Reynolds until Thursday. “I know you’re excited but you don’t want to look too eager,” she warned.

  “What if he thinks I’ve lost interest?” I argued.

  MA had rolled her eyes. “He’s obviously super into you. Even if his ego is wounded, he’ll rebound. Trust me.”

  I thought I might see Michael during my shift at the hospital on Wednesday, but I didn’t. I tried not to feel disappointed. I knew he liked me, and it was unrealistic to expect him to rearrange his schedule every day I volunteered on the off chance that we might see each other.

  So, Thursday, in between Macroeconomics and Statistics, I pulled Michael’s card out of my wallet, and, with shaking hands, dialed the number. He didn’t answer. What did you expect? He’s probably with a patient.

  “Hey, Michael, this is Lana. Just, um, calling so you have my number. See you Saturday.” I hung up so I didn’t say anything else. I hated leaving voicemails. Too easy to say something stupid that could be played over and over again. At least if you fucked up and sounded like an asshole in real life no one could replay the moment.

  I didn’t hear from Michael all day, and by the time I got home that afternoon I was convinced that he’d changed his mind and wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Relax!” Maryanne tried to console me. “You’re being silly. He’s an oncologist, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably still at the office. And he knows he’s seeing you tomorrow at the hospital.”

  “Fine,” I muttered, feeling aggravated.

  The next morning I took extra time getting ready for classes and my volunteer job. I tried on outfit after outfit, unsatisfied with how everything looked. My entire wardrobe basically consisted of jeans and t-shirts; I’d never had anyone I cared about impressing before. But now I did, and I wanted to look feminine, sexy.

  “Try this,” Maryanne said, throwing a sundress at me.

  I pulled it on. “It’s cute,” I said skeptically, “but I’m not sure it suits me.”

  “It looks great!” Maryanne was exasperated. “That’s one of my favorite dresses.”

  “I think that’s the problem,” I replied. “I don’t feel like myself.”

  “Sometimes it’s good to get out of your comfort zone,” she argued.

  I studied the dress in the mirror. It was black, had spaghetti straps and tiny blue and purple flowers. I tugged at the top. “It’s too low cut,” I said. “And you’ve got way bigger tits than me. I barely fill it out.”

  Maryanne laughed. “You’re nuts. It looks fantastic on you. Almost as good as it looks on me.” She stuck out her tongue.

  “Ugh, I’m going to be late for class,” I muttered. “I guess this will do.” I twisted my long hair into a loose bun and secured it with bobby pins.

  “Use this,” Maryanne said, tossing me a tube of mascara. I never wore makeup. My skin was so pale already; I didn’t see the point of piling on foundation. Although I had worn it in the past, when I wanted to attract men. When I cared.

  “Does it look alright?” I asked self-consciously after applying the mascara. “Do I need anything else?”

  “That makes your eyes pop, but I think you’ll look even more stunning with dark eye shadow.” She tossed another piece of makeup at me and I dutifully brushed the dark green color over my eyelids.

  “Thanks, MA,” I said before leaving. “I’m not trying to sound like an ungrateful bitch, I swear.”

  “I know. Truthfully, it’s kind of cute watching you get all hot and bothered over a guy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I just want to look nice for school,” I said innocently.

  “Okay, Lana, you keep telling yourself that,” I heard Maryanne call as I walked out and shut the door.

  ###

  I kept trying to find excuses to go to the sixth floor, but every time I went up there Michael wasn’t in sight. My shift was ending in an hour. And he had never called me back after I left him a voicemail. Well, this is what you get, Lana. You’ve got no business trying to have a relationship.

  It was different with Maryanne. After college we’d go our separate ways, slowly lose touch and eventually our friendship would just be a fond memory. But if I settled down with a man, had a family, a normal life, I’d never be able to hide the ugly truth from him, not long-term.

  I had all but given up hope when I finally saw Michael. He was talking to a nurse on the sixth floor, a serious expression on his face. He must have sensed me watching him, because he turned and looked in my direction. A smile played at his lips. He said something else to the nurse and walked over to where I was standing.

  “You look fantastic,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve been trying to find you all afternoon. I went to floor two so many times that I think I gave poor Evie the impression that I have a crush on her.”

  I snickered. “I’m sure I’ll hear all about it when I leave.”

  “I wish I could take you out tonight,” Michael said, “but Rose is in town to visit Becky and I have to go to a family dinner.”

  “No worries. I’m looking forward to tomorrow,” I replied.

  “Me, too.” Michael lightly, discreetly ran his fingers along my arm. “See you soon.”

  I practically floated through the rest of my shift. Is this what it’s like to be in love? I had thought it was real with Damon, but I don’t remember ever feeling quite like this.

  Whatever it was, the feeling was intoxicating. I had to keep my head on straight, though. This was just a date. I was letting myself have fun. Nothing more.

  Chapter 7

  Maryanne and I went shopping on Saturday. I didn’t know where Michael was taking me, but as Maryanne had said, “Even if it’s not super fancy, it won’t be McDonald’s. Better to dress up than down.”

  I had my parents’ credit card. They didn’t mind me using it, but since I avoided talking to them as much as possible, I always felt bad when I charged stuff to them. My parents aren’t loaded by any means, but they were willing and able to foot the bill for the part of my college tuition that wasn’t covered by my scholarship.

  They also sent me a check every month for food and gas, but I had been eating out a lot recently and was almost out of money for the month. My parents might have written another check, but that would mean I had to talk to them. Not happening.

  Still, I didn’t want to spend too much. We headed to the mall first, to check out the sale items.

  “Mom’s going to kill me if I put any more charges on her card,” Maryanne said, eyeing a pair of burgundy velvet skinny pants.

  “Those would look good on you,” I replied. Maryanne had the perfect legs for skinny jeans and pants. In fact, I’d told her many times that with her tall, slim body, big boobs and long blond hair, that she could be a Victoria’s Secret model.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to try them on.” Maryanne let out a low whistle when she looked at the price tag. “Maybe it would. Ah, what the hell.” She draped the pants over her arm.

  I laughed. “So do you think I should go for a skirt or pants?” I asked her.

  “Skirt,” she said immediately. “Or a dress.”

  “I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, though.”

  “You won’t.” Maryanne rolled her eyes. “Trust me, all he’s going to be thinking about is how hot you look, not that you’ve tried to impress him. Men are so clueless about that stuff. They believe we roll out of bed looking like sweet angels with a naturally even skin tone and perfectly sty
led hair. And that we can guzzle beer with the big boys and eat pizza and burgers and still maintain a size four figure.”

  “Well, we do eat pizza and burgers,” I pointed out.

  “Right.” Maryanne nodded. “And do you know what I do the day after I eat pizza? Work out for three hours and eat an ounce of chicken,” she said before I could answer.

  “In fact,” she continued, “that’s part of why I dropped out of my sorority. I couldn’t stand seeing the lengths some of the girls would go to. I don’t think there was one time when I visited the sorority house that a sister wasn’t vomiting in the bathroom.” She shuddered.

  Maryanne had pledged our first year, but quickly decided that sorority life wasn’t for her. She’d never really said why.

  “That’s sad,” I commented.

  “I may starve on occasion to make up for a bad decision, but I don’t vomit. That will ruin your teeth.”

  I laughed. “I don’t think that’s the biggest problem with bulimia.”

  She waved her hand. “Enough depressing talk. You need an outfit, woman!”

  “How about this?” I held up a turquoise skirt.

  “Try it, but it doesn’t look short enough,” was Maryanne’s response.

  Fifteen minutes later we had picked out five different outfits for me to try on. MA was going to try the skinny velvet pants and a pair of black leather pants.

  We stepped into dressing rooms next to each other. “Turquoise skirt is no good,” I said immediately when I had pulled it on. I looked like a schoolgirl.

  “Told you so,” MA called back.

  I dismissed the next two outfits as well. The rose colored dress had a nice fit but it didn’t compliment my pale skin, and I wasn’t much into pinks anyway. And the blue dress MA had insisted I try had a stupid looking ruffle at the neckline.

  “How do you like the pants?” I asked Maryanne as I wriggled into a black dress.

  “Need your opinion,” she replied. “You decent?”

  “One sec.” I pulled up the zipper on the side and stepped back to study myself in the mirror. The dress hugged every curve of my body. It fell to just above my knees, but there was a slit up the right thigh. The top was simple: scooped neck and sleeveless. The dress had a silky feel to it. I looked mature, sexy, mysterious…it was perfect.

  Not wanting to influence Maryanne’s opinion with my own, I said, “Yeah I’m ready. I need you to tell me what you think of the black dress.”

  We both stepped outside our fitting rooms. “Oh my God, Lana, you look effing amazing!” Maryanne exclaimed.

  I couldn’t help but grin. “I like it, too,” I told her.

  “I mean seriously, you’re going to knock his socks off,” she said. “And his pants.” Maryanne laughed.

  I could feel my heart racing. I had pushed all thoughts of sex out of my mind. I didn’t think Michael was like Damon and I felt certain he wouldn’t expect sex on the first date. But then again, what did I know?

  Seeing my expression, Maryanne quickly said, “Relax. This is just dinner. Sure, if you date him he’s going to want more, but he doesn’t expect you to sleep with him on the first date. No decent guy would,” she assured me.

  I smiled. “This is it then.” I looked at her velvet pants. “Those are hot!” I told her.

  Maryanne studied herself in the mirror. “I think they make my ass look big,” she said critically.

  “MA, your ass wouldn’t look big if you padded it out like a Kardashian!”

  “Ha, I wish. These pants are really expensive so I should put them back.”

  “Yeah, if you don’t feel good in them, don’t get them,” I agreed. “What about the leather ones?”

  “Oh, those are hot,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I look like a dominatrix.”

  “Only you could pull that off.” I shook my head.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Maryanne glanced at her phone. “You’ve got a few hours before your date. Let me fix your hair when we get home.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?” My hand flew to my head self-consciously.

  “Nothing, but it’s naturally wavy. I think that black dress needs stick-straight hair. Trust me, the effect will be head-turning.”

  We paid for our clothes and left.

  Maryanne helped me get ready for my date with Michael. I washed and dried my hair, and she used her flat iron to get out all of the kinks. I borrowed her mascara again, and this time, she made my eyes up with about four different eye shadows. “You use different colors for the creases,” she explained.

  When she finished, I had to admit, the end result was quite stunning. My eyes looked huge and sultry. My hair was sophisticated and the dress was sexy but not sleazy.

  Maryanne took her phone and made me pose for pictures. “I feel like I’m going to prom all over again,” I said laughing.

  “I have to capture the moment,” she said teasingly. “I’ve never seen you dressed up like this, Lana.”

  “That makes two of us.” I took the black clutch Maryanne had lent me and placed my wallet, phone and keys inside.

  “Here.” Maryanne handed me the lip-gloss I was wearing. “So you can reapply after you eat, or after you kiss.” She raised her eyebrows.

  “You’re making me nervous,” I wailed. I fanned my underarms, hoping I wasn’t sweating like a pig.

  “Can I meet him?” Maryanne asked.

  “You’re not my mom and I’m not thirteen!” I exclaimed, punching her playfully on the arm.

  “Well at least take some obnoxious selfies so I can get a look at this hunky doctor of yours.”

  “Maybe.” I perched on the edge of my bed. “Not long now.”

  Michael arrived exactly two minutes early. He called me, saying he was in the parking lot by the dormitory.

  “I won’t wait up,” Maryanne said as I left. I had the feeling she was glad I was going out. She hadn’t said she had a date, but Maryanne was awfully dressed up to be spending Saturday night alone. She was wearing her new leather pants and a red top that barely covered her midriff. I suspected one of her boyfriends was coming over.

  Michael was standing outside his car, typing something into his phone, when I walked up.

  “Lana.” His eyes lit up when he saw me. Michael leaned in to hug me, kissing my cheek.

  “Hey, Michael.” I tried to play it cool.

  I’d only seen him in his scrubs and, if possible, Michael was even more gorgeous in normal clothes. He had on a navy button down top with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone, sleek black pants, and his hair was disheveled in the bedhead-but-I-really-did-this-on-purpose way.

  “You look amazing,” he said. I blushed at the way he was looking at me. Michael touched my face. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said back, flashing what I hoped was a flirty grin.

  He opened the passenger side door and I sat down on the sleek leather seat.

  “Our reservation is at eight-fifteen,” he told me. “We’re going to The Red Door. Have you been there?”

  “No, but I’ve heard of it.” The Red Door was a trendy new restaurant that opened two months ago. It was expensive, and supposedly you had to book a table weeks in advance. “How did you manage to get a reservation?” I asked.

  “I’ve got my connections,” he said mysteriously. He laughed. “No, seriously, it’s nothing that impressive. I treated the owner’s wife last year. At her last follow-up, he told me about this restaurant he was opening and said if I ever wanted a table I could call him personally. And tonight seemed like the perfect night to take him up on that. I wanted to go somewhere special with you.”

  “Anything would be a welcome change from the usual campus food,” I joked.

  We got to the restaurant and Michael handed his keys to the valet. “After you,” he said, opening the door.

  I stepped inside. The décor was really fun. The low lighting had a red tone to it and black booths
lined the walls. There was a long bar at the far end, and in the middle of the room were high-top tables.

  The place was packed. We made our way to the hostess and Michael gave her his name. A couple of minutes later, we were led to a secluded booth in one of the back corners of the restaurant.

  “The owner promised me the best table in the house,” Michael said, “but I didn’t expect it to be this nice.”

  “So you haven’t been here before?” I asked.

  “No, you’re my first.”

  A waitress brought us menus and a wine list.

  “Do you drink wine?” Michael asked me.

  “That’s what I was drinking the other night,” I said laughing. “When I ran into you outside of my dorm.”

  “You were so adorable,” he said. “I knew, of course, that you were lit.” Michael grinned.

  “My roommate Maryanne and I were having a night in,” I told him. “I don’t drink a lot,” I added hastily.

  “I’m not one to judge. Is red okay?” Michael asked me.

  “Yes, but remember I’m twenty. What if they ask for ID?”

  “They won’t,” he responded.

  Sure enough, the waitress brought the bottle of wine that Michael ordered without questioning my age.

  I took a sip of the Chianti, trying not to gulp it down but hoping it would help to calm my nerves. I should have asked Maryanne to get a bottle, so I could have had a drink before we left.

  But I didn’t want to make a fool of myself, either. I was wearing Maryanne’s gorgeous stilettos that looked fabulous with the dress but weren’t the easiest shoes to walk in. The last thing I needed to do was get wasted and fall flat on my face.

  “What made you decide to become an oncologist?” I asked Michael. “And you’re so young; how long have you been practicing?”

  “It will be two years next month,” Michael replied. “My mother died when I was in college from stomach cancer, which is what spawned my passion for oncology.”

  “That’s horrible! I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It was the darkest time in my life. I had been such a fuck-up before then. I was barely passing school. Spending all of my time with friends, drunk, partying, playing video games.”