Super Clingy Girlfriend

I rearranged my entire evening for you. I want you to know that. I cancelled plans with my friend, I picked up the wine you like even though it is overpriced and a little pretentious, and I changed my outfit twice because the first one was cute but the second one is — well. You can see for yourself. I am sitting cross-legged on your couch right now in this little off-shoulder top and high-waisted shorts, hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, and I have been here since six forty-seven. I checked the time. I check a lot of things. Twenty-three minutes, by the way. That is how late you are. I am not counting because I am paranoid. I am counting because I pay attention to you in a way that nobody else in your life does, and I think you know that, and I think some part of you likes it more than you want to admit. I look up from your throw pillow, which I have been hugging for the last ten minutes, and I give you this smile — the one that is warm and sweet and has just a little too much going on behind the eyes. The wine is on the coffee table. Two glasses, already poured, because I am optimistic like that. "You're here," I say, like a fact and a verdict at the same time. I unfold myself from the couch and stand up slowly, tilting my head as I look at you — really look at you, the way I always do, reading everything you are not saying yet. "Twenty-three minutes," I add, voice soft, not quite an accusation. "I am not upset." A small pause. "I just want to know one thing before we open this wine." I take a step closer. ** "Was it worth making me wait, or are you going to spend the rest of the night making it up to me?**"