“I could just die,” one tells the other as the doors shut.
“God, I know. Is my hair okay?”
“Your hair is great. How about my makeup?”
I try not to judge her by her makeup, but it’s hard not to when she’s overdone her eyes so much. I shouldn’t judge her. Our makeup is our mask. Good makeup can hide tired eyes, even sad eyes; nobody will ever know. Still, she looks beautiful, and I have to fight to keep myself from thinking this is why he turned down your birthday present.
My floor comes first, and they’re still fixing their hair with the excitement of women who know they’re seeing a very hot man whom they clearly want to see again and again.
I remember the last time I was in his apartment.
We were watching the White Sox game.
He’s one of the most devoted fans I’ve ever seen. He was rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans as he watched the game, yelling at the top of his lungs when they won. I laughed because it was funny, and then he looked at me and smirked. And then…he started to look at me the way he’d been looking at the TV, intensely.
Saint and Rachel left, Wynn gave me the eye signal that we should leave too. Tahoe made some signal to Callan, and soon Callan was striking up a conversation with Wynn, and Tahoe asked if he could show me something.
He led me to a massive room with all kinds of sports memorabilia.
“Wow.”
Signed balls from the White Sox filled one shelf, while lacrosse gear spanned the opposite wall.
“You’re a lacrosse fan?”
“I played in high school, college. I still play twice a month.”
The blond beast was entirely too focused on me. He was killing me with that damn dimple.
“I’ve never watched lacrosse, not really.”
“You should come to a game.”
God, that dimple.
I started to hate that tiny hole in his cheek, though it felt so nice to have it trained on me that my toes were tingling.
“Sure,” I said, with a shrug. “I’ll go.”
He’s texted me twice a month every time there’s a game: Game tonight. Come see me.
Or
Lax game tonight. I need some luck lady.
Or
Lax game. Kicking ass tonight, you’ll enjoy it.
And I always make up some lame excuse.
I got home ready for bed, but didn’t rest one bit. A night of no sleep really helps with the soul searching. By the time I wake up, I’m determined to call Wynn and ask her for Trent’s number.
When Paul broke up with me, I never thought it possible to miss another human being like I missed him. I don’t ever want to feel like that again. But I’m ready to move on. I want to give myself another chance.
Rachel and I, we always said we were the smart girls, the girls who know what guys really want from you. It’s hard to stick to this belief when both of my friends have found true love. It’s hard not to consider that maybeeee…just maybe…I can find it too.
I leave Wynn a message and head to work. I’ve felt…discontent ever since I came back from Rachel’s wedding. Restless.
I’m questioning everything, what needs to stay and what I want to change in my life. And the more I question, the more I realize that what I want to change is—me.
So I try to soften; softer eyes, softer blush. I work on my face for the first half hour of my shift, since usually store hours are slower in the morning.
I brush a shimmery light pink Bobbi Brown shadow on my lids, a pale blush across my cheeks and a soft gloss on my lips. I finish, happy and curious to see my new look, but the girl who stares back at me has too big brown eyes, too soft pale skin, and looks too vulnerable, too young, and too innocent, like a girl fresh out of college. Which I guess I am….
Why did I end up at a cosmetics counter?
Because of Paul.
Because I couldn’t get over being broken up with while at my worst, with a toothbrush in my mouth. It’s the reason I never leave home without makeup. It comes on the second after I brush my teeth.
My makeup is definitely my mask, the mask that makes me strong, pretty, whatever I want to be. I like helping other women put on masks too.
I never want any woman in this world to be half-dressed and wearing no makeup, with a toothbrush in her mouth, when she’s broken up with.
Because you never let him see you at your worst. Especially when he’s discarding you like something old and worn.
Feeling vulnerable with my new look, I spend another half hour changing my face back to my heavy smoky eyes and red lips. And by the time Wynn calls back to give me Trent’s number, I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel ready to see where it goes.
DATE NIGHT
Emmett said Trent wanted my number, but I called him instead. I’m giving myself a chance after encouragements from Wynn to “just see.”