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MAE
TEN YEARS LATER
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“WE COULD SKIP THE REUNION and spend the weekend relaxing... anywhere but here,” I finish lamely, slumped on the end of the hotel mattress, waiting for my best friend Laura to change her mind about tonight. It’s our ten-year college reunion, and doubts about attending have plagued me since receiving the invitation.
College was a lot like high school for me. Despite choosing a smaller campus to help me socialize more, close-knit cliques reigned supreme, and I found it difficult to break out of my shell. While I bonded with Laura during freshman orientation, we didn’t truly connect until our senior year after my former friend group imploded—or rather, they kicked me out.
Water under the bridge. Forget about it.
She’s the only close friend I’ve stayed in touch with from my time at Trinity, so tonight’s cocktail and dinner to kick off the reunion weekend? Not something I’m particularly excited about. Especially since Laura wasn’t a hermit like me. She actually has people to catch up with, and I don’t relish the idea of being the silent observer by her side all night.
I’d much prefer staying inside our hotel room cozied up with a book.
“Stop stressing. This weekend’s going to be fun, and you’re going to experience college like you should have when you actually attended. It’s my mission to make sure of it.” Laura grabs her purse from the hotel dresser, and we head down to her car—she's dressed to the nines in a glittery strapless dress and sky-high heels, while I look like a conservative nun in a black wrap dress with flats. Why didn’t I pack something prettier?
Because black is classy... and you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself.
“What exactly is my experience going to be?” I question, wary of the mischievous sparkle in her eyes as my seatbelt clicks into place.
“Oh, you know. The usual. A casual hook-up, for starters.”
“What?”
“A casual hook-up. A one night stand. A dirty fuck with a stranger. Take your pick because it’s happening. Little Miss Virgin will be a virgin no longer.”
Not this again.
I groan in disbelief, banging my head against the back of the car seat. In retrospect, I should’ve seen this coming, since Laura’s convinced sex will loosen me up. Relax me enough to feel comfortable around others because I won’t be so caught up in my thoughts.
I don’t believe that’s true for a second, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying to set me up on dates or pushing me towards male friends. “I’m not going to sleep with someone because you will it.” Incredulous laughter bubbles over at the idea. I haven’t been hanging onto my virginity for any particular reason; it’s just hard to lose when you’re uncomfortable around strangers.
It takes persistence to stick around long enough for me to feel safe around someone, but most people don’t care to put in the effort. And I don’t blame them. My life would be much easier if I could force myself to rush the process, diving right into conversations and relationships.
But that’s not me.
And even if it were, you know how badly things can still turn out.
“We’ll see,” Laura mutters, parking at the Basil Center on Trinity College’s campus. The cocktail party started about twenty minutes ago, but stragglers are still traipsing across the quad, sparkling dresses and dapper suits parading before our eyes.
Damn, I really am underdressed.
“Don’t underestimate my determination or your allure. Because trust me, these guys have no clue what’s about to hit them.”
A black cloud based on my appearance.
Though I appreciate the vote of confidence, even if the compliment’s unwarranted, under no circumstances have I ever been described as alluring.
Cute? Maybe.
Pretty? Possibly.
But never so breathtakingly gorgeous that men fall at my feet.
Searching for a way to discourage whatever Laura has planned for me, the short trek inside hardly gives me enough time to bolster myself before we—Laura—are bombarded by hugs and smiles of welcome. A couple of recognizable faces float in my periphery, those who lingered in my social media friends’ lists, but for the most part, everyone’s a stranger.
“Laura! Come here, girl!” Excited squeals erupt, and Laura’s enveloped in another embrace as I hang back from the growing crowd. It’d be nice if someone said hello to me, too, but everyone’s focused on Laura—a confirmation of how I feared tonight would go.
Surveying the room with a resigned sigh, I admire the effort put in to create an elegant cocktail party, despite its less-than-ideal location on campus. Bouquets of orange and white roses decorate each table, and servers rotate through the guests with trays of champagne. The school’s colors grace every spare inch of space, making me feel a bit like a pumpkin with my black dress and the room’s orange motif.
Fitting for October.
Unflattering for a woman.
“Kayla Grisham. Is that you? You haven’t changed at all!” The exclamation comes from a few feet away, where three women and their respective partners gather around two combined tables.
Kayla, Angie, and Naomi.
I used to be a part of their group—one of their best friends, especially with Kayla. But everything fell apart the summer before senior year, thanks to me.
Water under the bridge, remember?
Ignoring the nauseous roiling in my stomach, I sidle closer to Laura, who’s animatedly sharing her latest trip to South America for a photoshoot with some high-profile soccer player. As a professional freelance photographer, she’s always jetting around the world on unique assignments, which means she’s an expert at socializing—never short a funny or interesting anecdote.
I let the easy conversation distract me from the past, determined to not reopen old wounds again. That’s what therapy’s for. Not that I’ve gone in a while, but that’s a whole other issue.
Eventually, cocktail hour bleeds into dinner, where I haven't spoken more than five words the entire time. Not a unique situation, since this is how every group event I attend goes, but I always hope someone will notice me on the outskirts. That someone will want to get to know me. Even if the possibility also scares me because what if I mess up and say the wrong thing?
My old therapist's advice filters through my thoughts—essentially saying I need to learn to be okay with feeling uncomfortable, learn to not place such importance on how other people view me. Unfortunately, despite multiple sessions, I’m still not brave enough to follow her wisdom.
Shame coats my insides with the bitter pill of knowing how to change but unable to enact it. It’s one of the reasons I quit seeing her; I felt like too much of a failure.
"You're being too quiet. Speak." A guy across the table flicks a hand in my direction and all eyes turn to me.
Oh, no.
Squirming under the stares like an insect stuck beneath a microscope, I shake my head and force a smile. "I'm good. Thanks."
"Come on. Just say something. Anything."
"I don't have anything to say." God, I hate this. Every once in a while, there’s one person who tries to push me into conversation. As if shoving me off a cliff will teach me to magically swim... or, in this case, transform into a social butterfly.
"Gage, leave her alone." Laura steps in to defend me. "She doesn't have to speak if she doesn't want to."
Gage raises his hands in exasperation. "I'm not trying to be a dick, but seriously, why are you here if you're going to sit there like a statue? You were weird like this in class, too."
Icy dread trickles down my spine despite my heart pumping double time, heat rising to the surface, searching for an escape. I wanted to be noticed, not harassed. Not pressured.
Everyone stares at me.
Some look sympathetic, but others wear a similar annoyed expression as Gage. God, I can't even sit in silence without bothering people, and it'd almost be funny if it wasn't so pathetic. If it didn't confirm once again how undesirable people find me.
My family.
Former friends from Trinity.
And now these ex-classmates who probably thought the same thing back then as they do now.
"How dare you—"
"Excuse me." I interrupt Laura's mounting anger by getting up from the table. She tries to stop my escape with a hand on my arm, but I shake her off and a silent conversation quick fires between our eyes before she lets me go with a sigh of understanding. Gage scoffs and mutters something under his breath, drawing Laura’s ire again, and I swiftly maneuver around the dinner tables set up in the banquet hall.
Double doors stand sentry at the back of the room, a beacon of safety calling my name. It may be cowardly to avoid Gage’s pointed questions. It’s definitely cowardly leaving Laura to fight my battles for me. But I hate conflict, and what can I say to satisfy him? He already thinks I’m weird for being quiet—I can’t suddenly morph into something I’m not.
If only...
My hasty escape slows as I near the exit, already imagining the respite I’ll feel outside these four walls. But then someone's chair shifts to block my path, and one of the wooden back’s pointed corners digs into my stomach as I stumble into the sudden obstacle.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you.” The familiar voice belongs to Angie. She's flanked by her partner and Naomi, the latter continuing her previous conversation with Angie as if I'm not even there—though twin smirks play about their mouths.
Guess not much has changed in a decade if they're still treating me like I'm a worthless wad of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoes.
Scurrying towards the doorway without a word, I swallow the acidic taste of bile rising in my throat and swipe at a couple of rogue tears burning my eyes. This is a nightmare. First, Gage. Now, Angie and Naomi.
I never should've let Laura talk me into coming. I should've stayed safely at home reading. At least then no one would consider me a bother or weird or—
The heel of my flat slips off the back of my foot, rough carpet skinning my knees as they hit the floor of the lobby. And just like that, I’m done. Rolling to rest on my hip, a cyclone of emotions swirls into a breakdown where anyone can find me vulnerable and pathetic, frozen in place.
You shouldn't have come.
Why’d you think anything would be better?
Trinity isn't the safe haven it used to be for me anymore. I learned hard life lessons here, and apparently, it's not done teaching me.
The rumble of conversation hums in the background—bonds growing stronger after a decade apart—and I hate that my brain couldn’t come up with a witty retort to Gage, that my heart’s still bruised from Angie’s actions ten years ago.
Defeated, I wallow in melancholy for another minute before exhaling a final breath of self-pity and searching the floor for my lost shoe, determined to find a private nook where I can read until dinner ends. Laura's my only ride back to the hotel since I doubt Uber is available in this small town, so I’m stuck here until she’s ready to go, anyway. Might as well enjoy a fictional world where a girl like me gets a happy ending after the disaster of this evening.
Besides, why ruin Laura’s evening? She’ll leave early if I ask, but she’s not the odd one out.
I am.
As two men enter the lobby, a swoosh of fresh air coasts over my heated skin. One shoots a concerned glance towards me before spying his friend heading my way—presumably to help—and bypasses me for the banquet hall. I’m thankful the guy ignores my moment of weakness, but it doesn’t look like his friend will do the same as he nears with purposeful steps.
A charcoal jacket drapes broad shoulders while black leather loafers complete the suave attitude emanating off the man in spades. Of course, a hot stranger would be the one to catch me blotchy from crying in the middle of the room with only one shoe on. My night is now complete.
"Hey, are you hurt?" With three long strides, he's lowering to his haunches to examine my prone form, hazel eyes narrowed with worry. "Your knees look pretty banged up. Did you fall?"
Gentle fingers trace the angry red lines crisscrossing my knees, and I shiver at the unexpected contact, stunned by the spark of electricity it elicits. “I slipped, but I’m fine. Just a little shoe snafu.”
“You mean this flimsy thing?” He waves the wayward flat back and forth in his hand.
How’d he get that?
“No wonder you fell. This hardly qualifies as footwear if I’m able to fold it in half.” As if to prove his point, he brings the toe and heel together, the slipper-like cloth bending easily to his will.
“Fair point. But it’s comfortable for the most part.” Unless I’m sweating uncontrollably from nerves, making it far too easy to slide off. “Can I have it back, please?”
Because tonight keeps spiraling from one humiliating event into the next, and I’m desperate to prevent another—like being awkward around this attractive stranger. I just need my shoe, then I’m good to run, a Cinderella in the making. Minus the pretty gown, the getaway coach, and a Prince Charming.
So, really not a princess at all.
More like one of the ugly stepsisters that no one wants.