The Pact(31)

Come to think of it, I think my entire thirties were based on episodes of Full House. Not exactly realistic.

I quickly get a metal bucket out from under the sink and place it on the bed. The first drop falls in with a satisfying ping. This will have to do for now.

My alarm would be going off in a half hour anyway, so I take a shower and get ready for the day. It takes me extra-long to blow-dry and then curl my hair loosely, but since I’m going to the Lion later for birthday shenanigans, it’s worth it. My hair finally has the best cut and color, something really sophisticated and (hopefully) sexy. It’s just past my shoulders and this shiny thick chocolate brown color with red highlights that for some reason make my eyes seem bigger and bluer. It makes me look older but not in a bad way, although I have a feeling it makes my frowny, resting bitch face even more pronounced.

It’s Thursday, so I head into work and look over my list of resumes. After just over a year of operating the store, I’ve finally decided to hire additional help. I would have done it earlier but I couldn’t afford it while trying to save for a deposit for the apartment. Besides, I think I have a problem handing control over to other people.

But if I continue running everything myself, I think I’ll end up running my health into the ground. I barely manage to hit the gym after work, so now my body bounces back between curvy and too curvy, I’m often eating at the counter during store hours, quickly wolfing down to-go food that probably isn’t as healthy as it seems, and when I do get home I’m too tired to even fuck my boyfriend. I used to really like fucking, so that says a lot.

Also, Aaron is still a model. He is, as my friend Nicola describes, “hawt” – so hot you have to spell it differently.

He’s also been getting on my nerves lately but I think that’s because I’m just too stressed and overworked that I’m snapping at everyone and everything. It’s fucking tough when you’re working your ass off all the time trying to run a business and your life (and maybe they are one and the same thing) and your boyfriend doesn’t really have a clue what hard work means. He goes to photo shoots maybe once a week and the rest of the time he’s drinking and eating at exclusive parties and events and showing his handsome mug and shirtless body all over Instagram. Most days he sleeps in until eleven. I mean, he’s twenty-seven, not seventeen.

But I push all my complaints out of my head while I work on counteracting my resting bitchy face and try to lure in customers with all the markdowns I’ve put on pieces for the fall. I’m probably just nitpicking because I’m tired and no one likes working on their birthday.

Luckily, I get a barrage of Facebook posts to my wall and texts and messages from all sorts of people that make me feel all warm and fuzzy. There’s one from Penny, James’s girlfriend, and then one from James himself. Linden ends up texting me later, saying he wanted to call but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. I’m not sure if he means whether calling me while I’m working is inappropriate or just calling me in general is. Considering how little I’ve seen him lately – and that’s partly my stupid schedule – I really hope it’s not the latter.

My mom calls me when the store is closed but my dad hasn’t even sent a text. I don’t voice this to her since it will only rile her up but it does hurt. I remember how much my father used to check in on me when I was younger because he was so overprotective and concerned about Oliver, and how much it used to annoy the shit out of me. Funny the things you later appreciate.

I’m almost back at the apartment, running late as usual and hoping I have enough time to fix my face and find something to wear before I head over to the bar when Aaron calls me.

“Hey sexy birthday girl,” he says. “Are you home yet?”

“Almost,” I say, running through a yellow light on Guerrero St.

“Don’t go to the Lion,” he says quickly. “Come to my place.”

I try not to sound annoyed. He lives all the way out by the zoo in a house he shares with two other model dudes. It smells like dirty laundry and I hate going there, though I may have to more often if I don’t get the leak in my apartment fixed.

“Aaron.”

“Just for a drink. The guys want to wish you a happy birthday.”

I roll my eyes. All his friends do is ogle my boobs and my butt. They probably want to gift me a free motorboat ride. “Why can’t they come to the Lion like everyone else is?”

“Please, Stephanie,” he says, sounding like a little boy. He then adds quietly, “I never see you anymore. It would be nice to have you alone before I have to share you with everyone else.”