Nick knocked on the bathroom door. "Dude I'm sure you look great, c'mon out so I can take a leak!" He banged on the door with his fist.
"I'll be out in a sec!" Brian yelled back, his voice faught with nerves. Nick sighed and leaned against the wall across from the bathroom door. After a five minute interval - checked and rechecked every 30 seconds by Nick - the door opened and Brian stepped out.
Nick choked as a toxic amount of aftershave came out like a calvary. He waved his hand in front of his face, and looked Brian over head to foot. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, "What're you doing? You look like fucking Prom Night Ken."
Brian looked down at his black-tie attire. "Too much?"
"Dawg, you look like a penguin," he said.
Brian sighed, "I don't know how to dress," he admitted.
Nick shook his head, "Sure as hell not like that."
Brian reached to undo his tie and, frustrated, ripped it off and threw it into the bathroom sink. He sighed. "Nick, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know. I feel conflicted. I feel guilty because this is like a date, isn't it? Isn't it like a date? But at the same time it's not. It's not," he insisted as Nick raised an eyebrow.
"So what if it is?" Nick questioned.
"My wife just died," Brian answered.
"Like six months ago," Nick replied.
Brian fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. "It's not a date," he whispered. "I don't know how to dress for it."
"C'mon," Nick grabbed Brian's hand, "I'll help you."
"I dunno Nick," Brian said, hesitantly, looking at Nick's bright red gym shorts, which he'd paired with a button down flannel shirt in earth tones. He had on sandals.
"Trust me," Nick said.
Brian followed Nick into his bedroom and Nick pulled open Brian's closet and started rummaging through it. Brian glanced at the clock, knowing he had to leave in a half an hour. Within fifteen minutes, Nick had an assortment of clothes separated into outfit choices. They all included t-shirts and jeans. One was even a wifebeater and jeans. "Trust me," Nick repeated, "You'll look great. All the fans love you in this," he tossed a grey wifebeater to Brian.
"I think this says casual date," Brian said, holding it up and staring at it, "Or workout video." He threw the wifebeater onto the bed and stared at the other outfit options Nick had assembled.
Lauren walked past the open bedroom door, pushing the vacuum cleaner. Seeing Nick proudly holding aloft the outfits, she turned the vacuum off and poked into the room. "What's this?" she asked, waving a hand at the outfits.
"Brian's options for his non-date," Nick replied.
Brian looked at Lauren with pleading eyes.
Lauren rolled her eyes, "Please. You," she pointed at Nick, "Go finish vacuuming. You're like the worst person ever to ask about this." She turned to Brian, "He showed up for one of our dates once in swim trunks and a t-shirt that said Grabbabootie & Pinch on it. Do not trust him."
"It's not a date," Brian stammered.
Nick shook a finger at Lauren, "You liked that shirt, thank you."
"Not when we're going out into public," Lauren answered, "It would've been good for the stage."
"I wore it on stage!"
"You also wore it to The Ivy," Lauren pointed out.
Nick frowned, "So?"
Lauren waved her hand at him in a shooing manner. "Go finish the vacuuming, you're clueless." Nick wandered out the door of the room, grumbling to himself about picky women and a moment later the hum of the cleaner filled the air again. Lauren turned to Brian's closet. "Here," she said, quickly pulling out a red and blue plaid button-up shirt and a pair of khakis. She pulled open one of his dresser drawers, came up with a fresh undershirt. "Wear this. Keep the shirt unbuttoned part of the way. Wear your sneakers."
"Thanks Lauren," Brian said, taking the clothes from her.
"No problem." Lauren smiled and started for the door. She paused in the door frame. "Never let Nick dress you," she advised. "Ever."
Emma came down the stairs wearing a light green sundress with a wide belt around her thin waist. Her fishing cap still on her head, she had applied some make up around her eyes and was carrying a small brown leather purse with flipflops. She stood in the kitchen door way. Molly looked up from the food she was preparing and smiled, a flour smudge on her cheek bone. "You look good, Em," she said, smiling.
"Thanks," Emma answered, blushing.
Molly winked, "Soooo," she said, turning back to the food, "Are you sure this isn't a date-date?"
"Positive," Emma answered.
"Did you say it was a date?"
"No."
Molly poured some oil into the bowl she was working with. "Did you say it wasn't a date?"
Emma hesitated, "No."
Molly smirked.
"It's just to thank him," Emma assured her. "Really."
"Uh huh."
"I wouldn't want to be with Brian now after... everything."
"Uh huh."
"Besides," Emma continued, "It wouldn't be fair to him. He already lost his wife, he doesn't need to--"
"You're going to get better," Molly interrupted her.
Emma sighed. "He just doesn't need that in his life right now."
Molly wiped her hands on the apron she'd tied around her waist. "Don't sell yourself short, okay? Don't assume because you're sick that nobody loves you. Don't short chance Brian because of the past."
"I won't, but it's not a date."
The sound of a car door slamming interrupted them and they both quickly turned to look out the window at the walkway to the front door. Brian was just coming around the corner of a large bush that blocked the view of the driveway when Emma's eyes locked on him. Molly looked at Emma, "He's dressed nice. You're dressed nice."
"So?"
"Honey, it's so a date."
