The rest of the week, I’m merely going through the motions.
I finish up my next set of final exams. I go to work. I spend some time in the studio. But all the time in between, I spend staring at the TV like a zombie. I watch all my favorite Christmas specials, but none of them bring me any joy.
I spend a few nights at my parents’ house, but I can tell they don’t really know how to comfort me. They probably think I’m still messed up about Preston, but this has nothing to do with him.
When Saturday night finally comes, my mother surprises me with an extra hundred bucks to go to the salon and have my hair and makeup done for the dance.
“I know you’ll want to look beautiful for Preston,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “Show him what he’s missing.”
I smile and thank her, but it’s not Preston I want to look beautiful for anymore.
As I sit in the chair going through this ritual of getting dressed up and perfect for a night out with Preston, I realize just how far I’ve come in the past couple weeks. How much Judd really changed everything for me in such a short time.
The fact that I used to worry about how I looked and what the label on my dress said so that I wouldn’t feel like less of a person when I got into a limousine with people who were supposedly my friends suddenly strikes me as ridiculous. Having to put on a mask around someone automatically proved they weren’t you true friend, didn’t it?
I remember the way it felt to be around Judd’s friends. How I didn’t have to worry about anything other than just having fun and being myself.
That’s what I want in life. That’s the kind of friendship I want to find.
And the truth is that I don’t know if it’s more my fault or theirs. Did Preston expect me to act that way? Or did I only act that way because I was afraid he wouldn’t like the real me? I put on a mask to try to fool him into believing I was good enough for him. But what if that mask is what ultimately drove us apart?
You can’t truly love someone who won’t even let you see their face.
“Oh, honey, you’re ruining your mascara,” the lady cries out. She dabs at my eyes and a couple of her co-workers come over to help fix the mess I’ve made of my face.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I blink and breathe in through my nose, pushing my sad thoughts out of my head so I don’t make this worse than it already is.
“It’s okay sweetheart,” she says. “We’ll get you fixed up in no-time so you can look perfect for your special man tonight.”
I force a smile as the women wipe under my eyes and go to work replacing my makeup. But inside, all I can think about is that the one man I want to be with thought I looked perfect with tousled hair and no makeup in sight.