(no subject)

Paul is, Jillie is quite certain, some kind of actual living saint. She knows how he'd woken up when they'd shared her bed, and he'd actually excused himself. And, sure, part of Jillie wishes she hadn't — mostly the southern part of her — but she appreciates that he did, anyway.

But this is something entirely new. Jillie hasn't been on a date in . . . years. Even before she'd gotten sick, she hadn't so much dated as she had . . . gotten around. At least a little bit. It's nice to actually get to know the guy. And they are getting to know each other. They talk a lot. Almost as much as she and Jack talk. Almost as much as she and her therapist talk.

And today, they're going on a date. A real date.

It takes her hours to pick out an outfit. She makes Girl help. She sends pictures to Jack to double check. She's nervous and terrified and excited.

But she can do this.

She's got her hair braided up off her neck, and silver jewelry to accent her dress. Her shoes match her makeup and she's got a small clutch with her phone, keys, and cigarettes. Paul is picking her up. She feels like a princess.