part0008

“C ome on, Addy. Stop sulking,” my best friend, Emilee said as I was reluctantly pulled into the umpteenth designer store of the afternoon. I didn’t even recognize the name on the classy, modern storefront sign, determining it was undeniably too expensive for me. Coach, Michael Kors, or Dolce & Gabbana—it didn’t matter; I couldn’t afford them, and I wasn’t about to let her use that as an excuse to take any more pity on me.

My capacity for pity had been maxed out weeks ago. I couldn’t bear any more.

I watched as she grabbed a vibrant blue, strapless dress off its rack, quickly twirling in the center of the aisle as she held it close to her body. She would look good in it. She looked flawless in anything, and yet she was the most indecisive person I had ever met; hence why we had already been at this for nearly six hours today.

“I’m not sulking,” I mumbled back as I picked up a pair of black and nude colored pumps.

They were cute , I thought until I flipped the shoes over revealing a price tag valued at more than my rent. The sales associate glared at me gallingly from a distance when I hastily set the heels down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Emilee making her way to the changing rooms with an armful of dresses she had already deemed worthy of the graduation ceremony.

“Can’t I just wear my black lacy dress?” I asked, but somehow it came out more like a plea. Trying to persuade her, I was determined to make my case. “It’s professional, appropriate, and no one will see it beneath those god-awful graduation gowns anyway.” My nose turned up at the thought of wearing those hideous tablecloths, but it was clear Emilee had only heard every other word I had just spoken. Even through the changing room curtain, I could tell she was distracted.

I took a seat in the contemporary sitting area adjacent to the dressing rooms, realizing time was of no concern to her, and neither was my sanity. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could survive her obsessive shopping compulsion.

I heard a faint zip of a dress and then a quick pull of the curtain, revealing what was likely to be the first of many outfits to come. She was gorgeous, clad in a maroon dress that tightly hugged her waist and followed her curves down, stopping several inches above the knees. Her European background gave her a pleasantly smooth, olive-brown skin tone and lush, ombre brownish-blonde curls.

She posed for me, slowly turning about the room to reveal the dip in the neckline that left most of her back bare. I would have felt vulnerable, exposed, but it was clear Emilee was confident in very little clothing. It truly was a beautiful dress and even more stunning with Emilee donning it.

Emilee Amato and I had met just after our first year of college when I nearly ran her over with my bike. In complete fairness, I only jumped the sidewalk to avoid the angst-filled and hormone-imbalanced teenager who had tried running me off the road. I remember the ugly, pastel blue minivan with graffiti plastered on its sides like it intended to chauffeur around a heavy metal band. Not to mention how shocked I was when Emilee, in stilettos blatantly started swearing up and down the street as if the driver could hear her over the blaring scream-o music. Emilee was a lot to take in at that moment—high heels, glam, and the mouth of a sailor.

There were times she still was a bit much, but somehow nearly being the cause of her demise made me likable in her eyes. To this day, I have tried to understand what it was about that incident that made her instantly grow a fondness toward me, but my only thought was that she thrived to live in the moment. And whether it was purely accidental or not, she certainly got an adrenaline rush that day. We had been friends ever since.

We were complete opposites and for whatever unknown reason, that seemed to work for us. There were moments where Emilee had to pry me out of my shell, persuading me to venture out into the unexplored, and then there were times where I have had to talk her out of jumping off the old railroad bridge overlooking ol’ man Thatcher’s lake.

Unsuccessfully—I might add.

Emilee pulled me out of my thoughts, bringing me back into the moment. “The one you wore to the funeral?” she asked, with more disapproval in her voice than I think she intended.

The memories were unforgettable, even months after the accident, I couldn’t fight back that floodgates of images as they coursed through my mind. As if it was that easy, I shook my head, hoping to dismiss the memories as fast as they appeared.

“Yeah, that one,” I mumbled, defeat heavy on my tongue.

She sighed, placing her hands on my shoulders, and crouched down in her four-inch stiletto heels in front of me. “It’s not every day you graduate from college with your Master’s…” The corner of her lips curled slightly; she was proud of me—I knew she was. “…and besides, that dress is filled with sad memories. You need something new,” she said with infinite determination in her voice.

She quickly disappeared out into the store, still wearing the unbought dress, returning with a handful of garments in a variety of vibrant hues, and intense cut lines more risqué than my traditional attire. “You need something with color, something to brighten your sad eyes. ”

She gave me one of her heart-filled smiles, but it soon began to fade when she realized it wasn’t like flipping a switch for me, that I couldn’t instantly find joy in shopping like she had. I knew it was going to take time to adjust, time to mourn, but how much time?

When would this dark cloud hovering above me begin to recede?

She crouched down on one knee in front of me, pulling my hands out of my lap as she awkwardly tried to balance the heap of dresses in her arms. She wrapped her hands around mine, squeezing gently.

“I know this is hard;” She looked up at me with unspoken resolve. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose anyone. I’m trying to be there for you, trying to help you through this hard time, but I need you to try too.” She pulled me into an awkward half hug. “And if you don’t,” she threatened, “I will continue to drag you in and out of every one of these stores until we reach the end of the street, and then I will pull you down the next with no remorse.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at how straight-faced she had managed to remain while giving me the threat. Part of me had hoped she was kidding, but I was only fooling myself. Emilee wouldn’t hesitate to follow through. She beamed another one of her powerful smiles at me, this one just barely tugging at my heart.

“Now,” she said gleefully, as she shoved the handful of dresses into my lap. “Go try these on.” I made my way into the changing room as I heard her yell out to me, “And I want to see them!”

I looked at the reflection cast in front of me—a girl who did not appear to be anything but miserable, with soft blue eyes and chocolate brown hair that danced on the edge of black. My face was peppered with freckles that gave me the only contrast against my pale complexion, and my cheeks were slightly flushed with a light rosy color.

Maybe I was sulking. I knew I couldn’t keep going on like this; I was determined to climb my way out of this rut, even if it meant I had to convince myself to smile until I truly began to believe it .

I grabbed the garments, hesitantly hanging them on the hooks, wondering what my friend had just given me. I stared, appalled at the first dress, quickly moving it into my reject pile.

And then the second.

Finally surrendering, I slipped into the third dress and zipped it up. It was a deep rose color with a cut that hugged my waist and flared at my hips in an A-line style, the soft, silky fabric stopping several inches above my knees. The dress was a bit short for my taste, but it was cute.

Each one of the dresses she had picked out for me was unique, unlike any other I had seen before. This one had a red lace collar of roses that wrapped its way around the back and onto the right shoulder blade, giving it an asymmetrical appearance. Pulling the hair tie loose, my coffee colored locks fell in soft waves around my shoulders. The humidity outside was so thick and heavy that the baby wisps framing my face had curled.

I stood there staring at myself. The color of the dress matched the pigment in my cheeks. Even my eyes seemed to be a richer shade of blue than moments ago. I tried it—smiling, that is. The expression seemed foreign to me; it had been too long.

Emilee was right. I needed to feel again; I needed to feel something.

When I exited the dressing room, Emilee gasped in surprise. I was so startled by her reaction; I wasn’t sure how to process it—was it a squeal of excitement or a shriek of horridness?

“Oh, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed. I barely had a moment to prepare myself before she swooped me up in a full embrace. “You’ll look amazing tomorrow,” she gleamed.

I had missed this—hanging out with her, being around people. And I was glad to see some of her gleefulness was beginning to rub off on me. She was right, all I had to do was try.

Very rarely did our explorations into a clothing store end as quickly as this one but I was relieved. I had found a dress that Emilee and I both agreed on. As I was changing, I flipped the price tag over, my breath hitching in my throat. I knew the price was absurd, but it was either clean out my savings or let her buy it—she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.

Emilee came from a very wealthy family with nobility ties, and her monthly allowance made my annual salary look pathetic. No doubt, that was her parent’s way of coping with the guilt of never having visited their only daughter throughout her five years of university or the other countless years in boarding school. In her own way, Emilee reciprocated that wealth onto me whenever she could. I knew she never meant to, but I couldn’t help but feel like a poor, charity case compared to her.

So, I did the only thing I could do in that moment to protect what little pride I had left and used the last of my savings to buy the dress.

“If you keep staring at me like that, you’ll end up with permanent wrinkles,” I said, looking over at Emilee.

Now she was the one sulking, standing only a few feet away from me at the next register, clearly annoyed that my stubbornness had won her out. I smiled, mentally tallying a point next to my name for the small victory, despite my bank account taking a major loss.

After buying our dresses, we walked across the busy street to a quaint little local coffee shop. We had barely made it in the door before she protested, “Seriously, you should have let me get the dress.”

“Stop worrying about it, Emilee; it’s no big deal.” It was a big deal—only, I couldn’t tell her that.

“It is when you use the last of your savings for it. That was supposed to be for our trip this fall, or did you forget?

“I haven’t forgotten. Besides,” I said, “I have a few interviews next week, and then I can easily replenish the vacation fund. Most of them are offering sign-on bonuses too; there’s no need to worry.” That hadn’t been entirely true, but I was trying to soften the blow.

She smiled, shaking her head. “I’m sure any one of them would be lucky to have you. ”

I was studying literature, in hopes of working in publishing or maybe even a printing shop, but I had still yet to reach out to any companies; with everything that had happened recently, and now graduation, I had succumbed to a serious case of procrastination. I hated lying to her, but I wasn’t ready yet.

The line in front of us cleared up, and we ordered our drinks, a black tea for me, and a white chocolate mocha with an extra shot of espresso and double whipped cream for Emilee. We sat at a small table pushed against the large storefront window. I felt like worlds apart as I watched the chaotic hustle and bustle outside. Even through the glass, I could hear the backfire of a taxi, could almost smell the hotdogs from the vendor half a block down, or that of sloshed beer on the hot pavement, even at this hour. The city never died.

I liked knowing the disarray existed but only if I could watch from a distance and not be swallowed up by it. Maybe it was the relief I felt knowing I wasn’t tangled up in the unruliness that kept me at ease.

Suddenly pulled from my thoughts, Emilee cleared her throat awkwardly, failing to remain inconspicuous. I turned to look at her, noticing her eyes were elsewhere.

“Hey—.” I uttered but stopped when I realized Emilee was completely and undeniably distracted, not at all aware that she was staring at a complete stranger. I followed her line of sight to two of the only other patrons in the coffee shop.

I recognized the first man as Emilee’s longtime friend, and occasional bedfellow, Derek Crest, whom she would deny if ever confronted. I never understood why she was ashamed of sleeping with him; he was good looking, funny, dorky at times but all around, a decent guy. Part of me thought she enjoyed having him hanging on her sleeve, like a lost puppy chasing at the heels. And then there was a part of me who felt sorry for him, not because he wasn’t worthy of Emilee, but that I knew my friend better than anyone, and her affection for the men in her life seemed to wane after only a few weeks, months at most .

The second man, a stranger to me, wore a black leather jacket and dark, slightly tattered navy-blue jeans. He was good-looking, but there was a jolt in his step that made him come off arrogant. The stranger kept stealing a glance our way; I was sure his attention was being directed toward Emilee, as they often were when we went out. Just as the men approached us, I got up, in search of the restroom, but Emilee grabbed me, halting me in my tracks.

“Don’t just walk away,” she said in a hushed tone. “That guy is clearly checking you out.”

I rolled my eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous; it’s not me he’s looking at.” I said, hopeful that they hadn’t heard me.

As he moved closer, I noticed his leather jacket was unzipped and showed a chiseled chest underneath the tight grey cotton shirt with an AC/DC decal on it. His hair was as black as his jacket and his eyes equally dark. Everything about him gave off this bad boy vibe—cocky, yet confident, and sexy.

He appeared laid back and knew precisely what he wanted. I had realized it too, following his gaze across the room to Emilee; I had quickly learned that going anywhere with Emilee was basically like carrying around a magnet for men. I don’t believe we’ve been able to venture anywhere without some guy asking to take her out sometime. So, the moment the two men finally made their way up to us, I knew it was my cue to leave.

I once again tried to depart, desperately wanting to get out of the spotlight without drawing any unwanted attention my way, when the man asked, “Running away already?” His voice was rich and thick with an accent I couldn’t place. Both of his ears were pierced with small metal hoops, and his eyes were a dark brownish-black. Despite the bad boy vibe and being friends with Derek—of which I still didn’t understand—there was something off about the man. I couldn’t help but notice how the air seemed to shift around him, and the hairs on my arms stood on end. I wasn’t sure what made me suddenly so cautious around him, but I didn’t like it .

I shrugged my shoulders in response, not knowing what else I was supposed to say to him. “Um…” I stumbled to find the right words. “Yeah, you know, restroom,” I said, pointing to the rear of the shop. Stealing a glance toward the sign directing me to the restrooms in the back of the cafe, I nearly made my move when I caught a glimpse of Emilee’s taut, tight-lipped face, squished in anger.

I knew that face all too well.

Haphazardly, I threw my hands up in surrender and planted my ass back in the seat.

One might have said I had imagined the glowering expression, because not a millisecond later, she turned to the guys, with a false wide-eyed look, all remnants of the anger completely vanished.

“Derek, you remember my friend, Addy, right?” Emilee asked.

Derek was a shorter man, no more than five-foot-seven, but he was full of life in ways many people only wished they were. He was quirky, with a never-ending positive outlook on life and when asked a question about even the most mundane topic, he would give some deep philosophical answer leaving you questioning the meaning of life in its entirety. With thick black framed glasses, wild, untamable golden locks, and a satchel full of leather-bound books, he looked like he might have been plucked right out of a library.

There was a good chance that was where he had just come from. He once joked that he had been conceived in a library, but I couldn’t tell if he had been serious or not. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Derek tried brushing his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but it would not yield. Gracelessly, he forfeited and let his hands fall to his sides, a twinge of nervousness peeking through the unconvincing rhapsodic façade. “Of course!” he grinned ear to ear, embracing me in a familiar hug. Just before I pulled away, he whispered in my ear, “Don’t hate me, this wasn’t my doing. ”

For a moment, I had wondered what he was referring to, but then it struck me, Derek with a mystery friend suddenly—and conveniently, I might add—running into us on the opposite side of town from where he could normally be found.

Ever since I had hit my lowest point, she felt the need to intervene, and it was her belief that flirting and spending time with the right man or getting laid was the answer to all of my problems. She thought that sex was how I was going to get my life back on track. But that wasn’t me. It might have worked for her in the past, but we were still two very different people.

This had gone too far already. I held up my finger before the name left the stranger’s lips, squashing any and all attempts Emilee had conjured. “This” I gestured to the four of us, “has been lovely. Awesome get together, really. Just great catching up,” I said, the sarcasm oozing from my words, “But I have to pee.”

Turning to the prospective date, I gave him a polite smile and said, “I’m really not the best tour guide, especially since I’m directionally challenged. If you’re just looking for coffee, I hate it. I’m more of a tea kind of gal—but that wasn’t an invitation. I’m not looking for dinner or dessert, or long walks on the beach either. In fact, I’m not even available. Emotionally, physically, or any other form,” I paused briefly to catch my breath. “and if I were—you wouldn’t want to date me; I snore, hog the covers, and have a bad case of toe fungus.” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “A very contagious kind.” I had nearly finished speaking when Emilee interrupted.

The stranger’s face contorted with disgust and hesitation as he took an extra unnecessary step out of my reach.

“Why don’t you write down your number, and I’ll make sure she calls,” Emilee said, in a hopeless defeat.

I tallied another point next to my name.

Derek’s friend stood there, not having heard a word Emilee had just said, as he mulled over my best attributes and qualities. He didn’t need to say the words themselves; I knew from the haunted look etched into his face, even that bad boy didn’t want a piece of this.