Disclaimer: I don't own 'em…

a/n: Inspired (in part) by a true story….

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to this recital at Lindsey's school tonight?" Catherine asks as I fill my coffee cup with some of Greg's special brew. "It's a dance recital. I know it's not normally the type of thing you'd enjoy, but this is a mother-daughter recital."

"Tonight?" I ask. I had planned on cleaning out my refrigerator, alphabetizing my takeout menus and putting together a new Lego contraption I bought. Of course, Greg thinks I am going to go to some new club with him. Catherine's proposition does seem slightly more interesting.

"It's okay if you can't make it. I just thought I'd offer," she says almost apologetically.

I don't want to upset her. We have forged a makeshift friendship in the past year and I am in no hurry to see it dissolve over something like a missed recital. "No. It, uh, sounds like fun. I think I'd like to come."

She smiles and it lights up the entire room. "Great," she beams as she stands, her body seeping nervousness. "Great. It's a date then."

She turns to leave with a wink.

I am still replaying the word date in my head when Greg walks in. He goes to pour a cup of coffee for himself and is less than pleased when he finds the pot empty. I look up to find him standing over me staring down into my cup, a pensive look on his face. "My last cup of coffee?"

I look down at the cup between my hands and mutter what is meant to be sorry in response to his question.

He picks up my cup and takes a swallow as he drops into the seat beside me. "Why the long face, Sidle?"

When I don't respond immediately, he shakes my shoulder. I look up at him, almost surprised to still see him sitting there. "Sorry, I didn't mean to take your last cup."

"It's okay." He drains my cup of the last of its dark liquid before continuing. "I asked what was wrong. You seem down."

"Down? Wrong? No, I'm fine. By the way, I'm not going to that club with you tonight."

He grabs his chest, feigning a heart attack. "Why not? You have a hot date you're not telling me about?"

I can't help but shift uncomfortably at his mention of a date. "A date? No, I'm just going to a recital at Lindsey's school. Cath invited me."

His face, once relaxed and slack slowly grows with a full-fledged Cheshire-grin. "So, you have a date with Catherine tonight?"

He places extra emphasis on the word date as he asks his question.

"It's not a date," I moan defiantly as I stand and place my empty cup in the sink. I turn back to him and move my arms like an umpire would if he was calling someone safe, "IT'S NOT A DATE."

As I walk out of the break room, I hear him singing, "Sara has a date. Sara has a date."

XXXXX

I am standing in front of my closet staring into the vast abyss and dismal collection of drab colors that I consider my wardrobe when my phone rings.

I don't even bother looking at the screen as I flip it open. "Sidle."

"Sara, hey."

It's Catherine. My stomach feels funny as soon as I hear her voice. I walk backwards and as the back of my knees hit my bed, I sit down on it. "Hey, Cath. What's up?"

"I just realized I forgot to tell you what time the recital is."

I laugh and can't for the life of me figure out why. "Yeah, that would help."

"Seven. You know where the school is?"

"Yeah. Am I meeting you there?"

"There's a ticket in your name there. As soon as my part of the performance is over with, I'll join you."

"Great."

"And Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear something sleeveless."

"Sleeveless?"

"Yeah. You have nice arms. See you in a little while."

You have nice arms? What the fuck? What's that supposed to mean? Wear something sleeveless because you have nice arms.

I'm still firmly parked on my bed when a knock at my door breaks me from my reverie. "Come on in, Greg!" Without even looking, I know who it is. Other than takeout delivery, he's the only other person who ever comes to my apartment.

I hear the door open and shut. I look up in time to see Greg standing in my bedroom doorway. I don't bother standing or making excuses about my appearance—I'm only in underwear and a tank top.

He immediately goes to my closet. "Girl, we have to get you some decent clothes one day. Oh well, no time for that now. We'll have to make do with the Good Will rejects you have here. I mean, seriously, Sara, even the homeless wouldn't own some of the things in this closet."

I don't bother opening my mouth to respond. I'm well aware of how Greg feels about my wardrobe. Time after time, he and whatever boytoy he is currently fucking his days away with have tried relentlessly to welcome me into the fashion world. I'm not interested. Jeans and a few decent shirts are all that I've ever felt the need to buy. There is a pair of black leather pants in there somewhere that I splurged on once upon a time.

He's flipping hurriedly through the hangers of clothes and tsking and ewwing at every single piece his hands touch. "You are going to at least wear something decent under whatever I find for you in here?" he asks as he looks over his shoulder.

I look down and my face twists into a frown. What's wrong with this?

"First of all," a hand is planted firmly on his hip as he points at my underwear, "they're too large and not nearly sexy enough. Please tell me you have some black ones? A black bra?"

I groan and go to my dresser, pulling out a black thong and matching black bra.

"Good," he says as he finds my leather pants. "Put those on, too."

I walk into the bathroom. After fighting with the pants and banging into the walls and nearly falling into the bathtub, I come out. I'm partially dressed. I certainly hope there's air conditioning at this recital. If not, I might become hermetically sealed in these pants.

He looks me up and down before musing, "It's hard to make leather look bad but you're doing a decent job."

"I could really do without your catty comments. Did you find a decent top for me to wear, yet?"

He pulls out two—one purple, long-sleeved shirt that I'm not sure I bought. The second choice is a white sleeveless shirt. I look down at my black bra and reach for the purple shirt.

"Oh, hell no!" He yanks the purple one back from my grasp. "This was a test and you just failed. You're wearing this one," he extends the white one to me. "It'll look good with those pants…and that bra."

He winks as he watches me pull the shirt on. I snap every button but the top one. He quickly rolls his eyes and comes over and undoes the top three. I can't help but frown. You can see the top of my bra now.

"Now, you look worthy of a date with Catherine."

"It's NOT a date."

He hands me a pair of black heels that I slide my feet into. I check the time and realize I need to leave in the next half hour if I'm going to be on time.

He reaches up and fluffs my hair and adds, "Put a necklace on and you're done."

As quickly as he had breezed into my apartment, he breezes out. I open my closet door and look at myself. I have to admit, I do look damn good. I don't know why I'm worried about how I look. It's just a recital at Lindsey's school. It's not a date. It's not.

On my way to the recital, I decide that it would be sweet gesture to give Catherine and Lindsey some flowers after their performance. I stop at the first florist I come to and run in. I only have a few minutes. I look around and then open the cooler in the corner and pull out a single yellow rose and a single red rose. I pay for them and head to the recital.

XXXXX

Twenty minutes into the recital, I notice Catherine and Lindsey finally come onto the stage. I can't help but lean forward in my seat. The two are doing dance to "Baby Mine." It's not quite ballet, but that's the closest type of dance I know to liken it to. I'm mesmerized by her fluid and graceful movements. I know I'm smiling because my face hurts. I don't often exercise those smiling muscles.

The song ends and the two of them move to the front of the stage and bow to a roaring ovation.

I'm watching the next pair of dancers when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around in my seat and there stands Catherine, looking as fresh as a daisy. I quickly move over to the seat beside me and let her sit down.

I lean toward her, "You were wonderful. I didn't realize you could dance." I'm careful to keep my voice low so that none of the people around us hush me.

Even in the dim light, I can see the blush color her cheeks. "It's definitely not the kind of dancing I'm accustomed to. I just kept telling myself, don't fall." She reaches over and grabs my knee and squeezes it as she speaks. I nearly jump out of my skin at the contact.

Only then do I realize the flowers I still have in my hand. I suddenly can't decide if I should give her the red one or the yellow one. I settle on giving both to her. I can buy Lindsey and ice cream cone to show how well she did.

"I bought you a little something." I had the flowers to her and turn away so that I don't have to watch the expression on her face.

She leans close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin, "They're beautiful. Thank you."

My heart is pounding my chest. She loops her arm through mine and leans against me as we watch the rest of the recital. Occasionally, she points out who the child or the mother on stage is. None of the names she's mentioning to me mean a thing, but I pretend she's pointing out the stars to me and discussing their stellar position—then it's like she's speaking a language I understand.

All too soon, the recital ends. She stands and I follow. Once again, she loops her arm through mine. As we walk backstage, she's finally able to see what I'm wearing. "Sara," she freezes midstride. "You look amazing. Those pants," she runs her hand over my hip, "well, all I can say is wow."

I know I've turned a bright shade of crimson. Before I can say anything in response, Lindsey comes bounding up to the two of us. "Sara! Did you like it? Was I any good? Did you see Mom? She missed two steps. Did you see that? I don't know if anyone else noticed, but I did."

She doesn't give me a chance to respond as she rapid fires questions at me. When she pauses to take in a breath, I see my opportunity. I kneel in front of her, "You did an amazing job. You were absolutely beautiful." I look up at Catherine, now standing beside me and smiling, "I didn't notice that your mom goofed up. Maybe you shouldn't tell anyone else. You know how old people hate to have people know that we messed up."

I stand back up and Catherine immediately hooks her arm through mine again. Lindsey wraps her arms around her waist and says, "See ya in the morning."

"Come on you sexy beast, you're taking me home now." Catherine grabs my hand and leads me through the backstage area to the parking lot.

"You didn't drive?"

"No, I knew you were coming. Nancy dropped us off on her way to work," Catherine explains. "I knew you wouldn't mind taking me home."

I open the passenger door and she climbs in the car. As I go to shut the door she winks and says, "I guess chivalry isn't dead after all."

My mind is swimming as I walk to the driver's side and climb in. The entire drive to her house, she's twirling my hair around her finger and making small talk. I can barely speak. I have no idea what's going on here. I am so out of my element. Maybe Greg was right. Maybe this is a date.

I chuckle as that thought quickly enters and leaves my head. "What's so funny?" Cath asks.

I look at her and back at the road, "Nothing."

"Oh, come on. I want to know what made you laugh. Were you thinking about me dancing? Did I look that silly? Is it because I missed a few steps?"

She leans back over against her door and begins to pout.

"No. It wasn't you. And I didn't notice that you missed a single step on that stage. I thought you were wonderful."

She doesn't say a word, only lifts her eyebrow as we pull into her driveway.

"Alright, fine. Greg gave me a hard time all afternoon. He kept teasing me about my date. He even helped me get dressed for tonight."

I climbed out of the truck and walked over to her side, opening the door and offering her my hand to help her out. She took it, but quickly let it go as her feet hit the ground. I walked behind her to the door.

She put the key in and turned to face me.

"Thanks, I had a nice night."

She reached up and stroked my cheek, "Thanks for the ride home. I'm glad you had a nice time."

There's this voice in me that tells me to lean down and kiss her. I ignore the voice and back away from her.

"See you tomorrow at work," I say as I take another step backwards.

She bites her lip and turns back to her door. She unlocks it and goes inside. I'm left standing there, feeling like an idiot. I'm still standing there when the door swings open and Catherine pulls me to her.

She doesn't give me time to think as she leans in and gently kisses me.

She pulls back and runs her fingers through my hair. She pulls me into the house and shuts the door. Before she pins me against her now shut door and inspects my molars, she says, "Greg was right."

A/N: It was a date my friend.