I smack myself in the face. No wonder. "Sorry, Helize! I guess I'm really nervous."
"Oh, right. Is your young man coming to the dance?"
I stand up slowly, rubbing my back. "I think so. He said he was. I haven't talked to him today, though. Do you think I should call him?"
Helize lifts her frail shoulders in a shrug. "If you feel like it, why not? Dear, check that drawer for some tissues, will you? My nose gets so drippy from the oxygen."
I check her nightstand. "Ugh, you need to stop re-using Kleenex, Helize. It's disgusting. I can get you a box from the supply room."
She sniffs haughtily. "And get charged an arm for it? I refuse to be nickel and dimed to death."
I hide a smile. My penny pinching old lady. "If you don't tell anybody, I'll bring you in a bunch of boxes from home."
"Oh, Violet, you're too good to me. Don't you worry about it." She reaches a wrinkled hand over to pat my arm. "Now, what time is it? We haven't missed the dance yet, have we?"
I check one of the five clocks she has in her room. "It's 5:53. We should go down now, probably."
Helize checks her watch anxiously. "Oh, dear. Maybe I should go to the bathroom again. I don't want to have an accident."
"Sure," I say, and wheel her back in, resigning myself to being at least five minutes late.
Helize makes a distressed sound, and I change that estimate to fifteen.
By the time I wheel her down to the dining room, it's ten after and the dance has just started. Helize immediately starts humming along to the romantic old music playing over the intercom. Tables have been cleared from the middle of the room and rearranged around the edges. Orange and black decorations festoon the area, and two long tables are set up with delicious refreshments.
I park Helize at a table next to her cronies, Mel and Gretchen, then hurry over to the lobby.
Zane is here, talking to the insanely hot receptionist Marissa. She's laughing flirtatiously up at him, and he's smiling down at her.
I fight back a wave of nauseous jealousy. I see Marissa has no problem dressing trashy in that little black see-through napkin she has on.
Zane better not be looking down her dress.
"Hey," I say hesitantly, walking up to them. I can’t help but feel like I'm interrupting something.
"Hey, yourself," Zane says, flashing that killer smile at me. He looks fantastic and sexy in an olive green dress shirt and black slacks.
"Oh, hey, Violet," Marissa chirps to me while continuing to point her perky boobs at Zane. "Does this one belong to you?"
I force a smile to my face, but I choose not to answer such a stupid question. "Thanks for coming," I say to Zane.
"You don't have to thank me." I only realize he's holding a bunch of blood red roses when he hands them to me. "Happy 'senior' prom, Violet."
"Oh," I gasp, holding them up to my nose.
"That's so sweet," Marissa sighs. "I wish someone would do that for me."
Don't ruin the moment, bitch.
"Thank you, Zane," I say, embarrassed by my shaky voice.
"No problem." He winks at me.
"Um, come on. The dance is in the dining room."
Excusing ourselves, I lead the way. I bring him straight over to Helize's table and introduce him to the ladies seated there.
"So you are the young man that has our Violet all in a tizzy," Helize declares, studying Zane with sharp eyes.
Zane shoots an amused glance in my direction, while I die a little inside.
"I sure hope so, ma'am," he says, taking her hand.
"So handsome and tall!" Gretchen beams her chubby smile at us. "What a lovely couple you two make. So, when is the wedding?"
At first, I think she's talking about my mom's wedding, so I say, "November thirtieth."
Helize's eyes widen dramatically. "Violet, you're getting married?!"
"Yeah...what?! Wait, no—"
But the ladies choose to go deaf at that moment, and the gossip chain is activated. Helize takes off, wheeling herself like the fast and the furious.
Great. The woman can't roll herself three feet to the bathroom, and now she's a rocket.
Zane is laughing his butt off while I am crimson with mortification.
By the time I get around to introducing him to the other residents and my co-workers, everyone already knows him as my fiancée. Zane takes it all in stride, but I am horribly embarrassed.
Of course, they all love him—his face and easy charm pretty much guarantee his acceptance. He works the room like a pro. My co-workers keep pulling me aside to gush about him, and Amy, one of the nurses, is disturbingly graphic in singing his praises.
Later, Zane asks me to dance. We join the few couples on the dance floor. I am self conscious until he pulls me into his arms and moves me in a rhythm that can't be taught.