At what appears to be my parents' house from the look of the backyard), I am sitting inside with my mom and sisters, waiting on something.
I have a date with a childhood crush today (Undisclosed- initials EH).
He arrives and we are hanging out with my sister and her boyfriend. I am playing the "check me out now" card. He isn't seeming to be impressed, but I can't stop; I can't remember how I must have acted when he knew me 10 years ago.
At one point I am lying in the grass. He sees me, smiles, runs to me and leans over and kisses me. I am elated.
My other sister and her boyfriend arrive. My sister's boyfriends and my dad go outside to work on erecting what appears to be large wall, in memory or honor of something- I am vaguely recalling a 10 year anniversary of something. I am also a little angry at EH for not offering to help, but I let it go.
I also remember my friend, BL, was planning to come by. I start to worry that EH will think I have a crush on BL and hope they don't meet.
I go back inside to find my crush and my sister sitting on a bed. She is reading him a letter, that I think she must have written, about her own life. I feel jealous, but realize it was a letter he had actually written. He sees me and says he has to get going. I feel like I have disappointed him.
As I walk him out to say goodbye, I notice BL arriving. He smiles at me. I smile back and hope EH doesn't notice. BL begins helping my dad and my sisters' boyfriends with the construction of said wall. As EH is walking to his car, I find myself staring toward the guys working and see that my cat over there. Everyone is yelling at her to get out of the way, while they don't actually seem to mind her being there. She is a funny little cat. I think about how sweet and funny she is and find that I'm smiling and staring at her. I see EH notice, and hope he doesn't think that I am smiling like that at the sight of BL. I wave goodbye to EH; he leaves.
I talk to my sister about the letter.
He had explained to my her that he brought the letter for me to read, because he remembers how in touch with my emotions I had once been, and that I was a really great writer. He thought it might impress me, but my attitude toward him had made him feel unsure about letting me read it. I feel like an asshole.