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AS A PERFECTIONIST, Eliza Wilson was prone to morbid fantasies of all the ways her life could suddenly go wrong. The anxiety-inducing images were not restricted to her nightmares. They plagued her every waking hour.
While she drank her morning tea, Eliza fretted over whether it was truly organic or slowly killing her with cancerous chemical pesticides. She wondered the same of her mineral-based makeup and all-natural shampoo. Of the dye-free laundry detergent and her roll-on deodorant. Even the toothpaste was suspect.
When shopping, if a white garment caught her eye, Eliza’s mind painted it with Italian dressing, toner from the copy machine, and an unscheduled period before she’d even found the price tag. She questioned whether her leather handbag and fur jacket were cruelty-free, and whether animal activist would seek her out and throw buckets of red paint at her regardless. She wondered if her high heels were ruining her spine, but she worried more that flats might ruin her career.
Eliza worried about a lot these days. Even more so than usual, now that Phillip had moved out of the apartment. It was only supposed to be a break—a breather to reevaluate mutual life goals. Or so he’d claimed. But their five-year anniversary was fast-approaching, and she hadn’t heard from him in weeks.
Eliza didn’t remember being so uptight when she was younger, but the sudden solitude had a way of making her scrutinize every choice she’d ever made. Which one had pushed Phillip away? Which one had caused him to seek comfort between another woman’s legs?
The few friends who knew of her private humiliation assured her that she’d done nothing wrong—nothing that could justify such horrific treatment from her husband...but Eliza wasn’t quite sure she believed them.
Maybe if she’d gotten over her fear of flying sooner, they could have taken their honeymoon in Maui like Phillip had really wanted. But the snowy cabin in Breckenridge hadn’t been so bad. They’d spent the weekend making love in front of the fireplace, not a care in the world.
Though that hadn’t stopped Phillip from berating her in front of her colleagues upon their return. A travel agent who was terrified of flying. What a joke. He’d found plenty more of her shortcomings over the following years.
Phillip was an investment broker, and little by little, he’d determined that marrying Eliza had been a bad investment. She could tell in the way he looked at her—or rather, in the way he avoided looking at her. In the way he scoffed at everything she had to say. Phillip’s increasing hostility only made Eliza’s anxiety worse.
“Is this you?” he’d asked one of the last mornings they’d shared coffee in the apartment. The postcard announcing her upcoming class reunion was gripped in his hand.
A picture of Eliza wearing a prom crown graced one corner of the black-and-white photo collage that bordered the event details. Her black hair had been longer then, nearly reaching her waist, and curly, the way her mother liked to say God had intended for it to be. How ironic it seemed now that her high school self had prayed every night for a flat iron.
Eliza’s mouth quirked up in a shy grin, and she nodded.
“How did someone like you end up being voted prom queen?” Phillip snorted and tossed the postcard on the kitchen counter.
She shrugged, her smile slipping away as suddenly as it had appeared. “Do you want to go with me?” Maybe being surrounded by adoring classmates would make Phillip see her in a new light.
His lip curled distastefully. “I’ll be in New York that weekend.”
“Right. Of course.”
Phillip spent a lot of weekends in New York. Eliza wasn’t sure exactly with whom he spent them, but she’d found more than enough evidence of the other woman. The harlot even had the audacity to answer Phillip’s hotel phone once and pretend to be the maid.
When Eliza finally worked up the nerve to ask Phillip directly, he’d simply shrugged, given her one of his annoyed glares, and said, “Who can blame me?”
The next day, he was gone. His closet and home office cleared out.
Eliza wondered if he’d taken her sanity with him as well. She couldn’t focus at work. She’d nearly walked in front of a bus over her lunch break. And even tucked in an intimate corner booth at her favorite restaurant, with her larger-than-life college roommate, she was distracted.
“We should go on a girls’ trip,” Veronica said, smacking her hand on the table to snag Eliza’s attention. “Maybe a cruise. Your agency books those too, right?”
“Yeah, but, I don’t really—”
Veronica grabbed a passing waiter’s shirt sleeve. She handed him her empty martini glass. “Two more of these, and keep them coming.”
“I’m fine,” Eliza insisted, waving one hand dismissively.
“You’re not fine.” Veronica shot her a pitying look before nodding her chin at the waiter. “Extra dirty and extra olives.” She tossed her strawberry curls over her shoulder before biting the last olive off her plastic cocktail sword and pointing it at Eliza. “But you will be fine—once we put a few thousand miles between you and that loser.”
Veronica didn’t do sympathy. She did fast and furious pleasure distractions or revenge campaigns. And if she was being very clever, she could accomplish both at the same time. Eliza often envied her ability to thwart melancholy and anxiety.
The two of them had shared a dorm room for three semesters at SLU before they’d both dropped out—Eliza to become a travel agent and Veronica to launch a life coach business. In convincing Eliza to pursue a more adventurous job, Veronica had found her own calling. Her go-getter attitude was perfect for career motivation. Not so much for personal crisis.
“If you get me drunk before I agree to this cruise, it doesn’t count.” Eliza folded her arms and leaned back in the booth.
A vacation didn’t sound half bad, but as much as she’d tried to convince herself that her marriage could be salvaged, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone would come bearing divorce papers. The small bit of money she had stashed away in savings would have to go toward retaining an attorney.
“You should sue that bastard for all he’s worth,” Veronica said, as if she could see Eliza’s wheels turning behind her bloodshot eyes. “I know a viper of a divorce lawyer who could get you an alimony settlement sweet enough to retire on—”
“I don’t want alimony.” Eliza shook her head. “I don’t want anything.”
“You have enough evidence of his affair to crucify him.” Veronica’s eyes swelled incredulously.
“I don’t want to be that woman.”
Veronica huffed and turned away from her to accept the martinis the waiter returned with. She tipped him a twenty-dollar bill and a wink. “That woman?” she said, locking eyes with Eliza again. “You mean the kind who doesn’t take whatever shit hand life happens to deal her?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Come on.” Veronica sighed. “What happened to the girl I fell in love with in college? You know, the one who grudge-fucked her ex and then wrote her name and number on his ass in permanent marker while he was out, just so his new girl would get a clue. Hello! Can that girl come out to play now?”
Eliza blanched and hid her face behind one hand. “Keep your voice down.”
“Geez, you act like a little old lady. You’re not even thirty yet.” Veronica smirked and downed a martini. “You know what you need? To get laid. I bet we could find some cute Caribbean pool boy on this cruise who would be more than happy to rock your world.”
“Dear god, would you stop?” Eliza hissed. “I don’t even know for certain if Phillip is going to divorce me—”
“You should be divorcing him.” Veronica’s scowl softened as Eliza’s face crumpled. “Honey, you know you deserve better.”
“I’m just...having a hard time being alone in the apartment.” She snatched up her cocktail napkin and dabbed under her eyes before her mascara began to run. “And a meaningless fling isn’t how I want to fix that,” she added before Veronica had a chance to throw out another early-onset cougar suggestion.
“Well, damn.” Her friend sighed again and claimed Eliza’s untouched cocktail. “My high school class reunion is next weekend, but I would totally skip it to go on a cruise with you.”
“My reunion is next weekend, too.” Eliza sniffled.
“You should go.” Veronica’s eyes widened with fresh excitement. “Maybe you’ll bump into an old boyfriend and hit it off.”
Eliza thought of David Vitz, the lanky kicker on the football team who had taken her to prom. They’d dated for a few months after graduation before calling it quits and heading off to college. She’d heard from a friend of a friend that he’d married and divorced Morgan Sallenger, another one of their classmates who wasn’t overly fond of Eliza—especially after she lost the crown to her at prom.
“I don’t know,” Eliza said. “I’m not sure I can stomach a few hundred people asking where my husband is and having to explain—”
“Then don’t explain.” Veronica shrugged. “You don’t owe those people your dirty laundry. Just tell them he couldn’t make it. Save the juicy details for the man you zero in on. A cozy, quiet corner, a low-cut blouse, some waterworks, and that’s how you grow a knight in shining armor, ladies and gentlemen.”
Eliza hitched an eyebrow. “Do I look like a damsel in distress? Wait—don’t answer that.” She accepted the next martini the waiter delivered and took a long drink from it, offering the sword of olives to Veronica.
“We should go shopping and find you a new dress for this thing,” she said, chewing noisily. “Something crazy hot.”
“What are you wearing to your reunion?” Eliza asked.
“My old cheer squad uniform.”
“What?”
Veronica’s eyes sparkled deviously. “Why not? It still fits, and I look good in it. Let the haters eat their hearts out.”
“You’re crazy.” Eliza shook her head.
“Enough for the both of us. Come on, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
They stumbled from the booth and paused at the front counter to pay their tab before spilling out onto the sidewalk. Veronica looped her arm in Eliza’s and dragged her along toward the cluster of shops that lined the plaza.
The sun beat down on them from a cloudless sky. It baked the pavement and reflected off the cars packed in against every inch of curb. Sweat prickled the back of Eliza’s neck and the bends of her elbows almost instantly. Midwestern summers were sticky.
Twenty minutes later, inside a popular and overpriced boutique, Veronica held up a white, lace cocktail dress. The layered, tulle-trimmed skirt made the dress look like a shorter version of the one Eliza had worn to prom. Veronica grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her toward a dressing room, demanding that she try it on.
Retail therapy had always been their go-to mood lifter, ever since college. The only thing that had changed about that coping method was their budget. Thrift-store hipster threads might have cut it on campus, but their occupations demanded a bit more class.
A lump rose up the back of Eliza’s throat as she stared at herself in the trio of mirrors inside the tiny booth. She tried to recall the way she’d felt the night of prom, with her entire life sprawled out before her. She’d had such big dreams. When had they all disappeared?
Veronica poked her head inside the dressing room and whistled.
“There’s no way I can wear this.” Being tipsy and carefree with an old girlfriend wasn’t enough to stop Eliza’s visions of doom and gloom.
Veronica blinked at her and then looked down at the dress. “Why the hell not?”
“It’s white. What if I spill something on it? What if Aunt Flo decides to make a guest appearance?”
“Girl, pack a tampon and a Tide stick. That dress was made for you, for this very occasion. You’d be a dummy not to wear it. In fact, I’m buying it for you.”
Eliza opened her mouth to protest, but Veronica had already closed the door. She sighed and gave herself a small smile in the mirror. The dress did look good on her. She could admit that much. Even if she was convinced it wouldn’t survive the reunion.