All The Happily Ever Afters

Carla

CARLA

T he light dusting of snow steals my attention as it blows in the bright lights of my headlights and across the sidewalk. It’s dark already, even though it’s only six, but I’m wide awake with the nervous butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

The sound of the keys jingling is all I’m left with as I turn off my car and sit in the driver seat. Rustling in my bag, I find the stick of sheer berry lip gloss. It matches my nails that I just had done yesterday too. I spent way too long thinking about what I was going to wear. It’s just a holiday party, and hosted by my best friend, Lauren. So it shouldn’t matter.

Every other Saturday I park my car right where it is now, and head straight into her house without an ounce of makeup on and only in my PJs. I have no shame when it comes to girl’s nights. And a holiday party of just close friends normally means making sure I’m wearing real clothes, complete with a bra – even though I hate bras. Not the designer skinny jeans and flowy white silk blouse I picked out just for this night.

My phone pings with a text from Lauren just as I’m smacking my lips together: You here yet?

Just pulled up.

My phone buzzes again with: Shit, I have no red wine!

My lips quirk up into a grin as I snap a picture of the two bottles in my passenger seat and send them to her with the line: Got you covered .

You are the fucking best. My smile widens but with her next message, it falls.

Now get your ass in here!

Deep breaths. Dropping my phone into my bag, I open my car door and grab a bottle of wine in each hand which means I have to bump my car door shut with my ass.

It thuds as it closes and so do my heels in the bit of snow.

My coat’s not shut tight enough with the loose tie, but even with the chill, I’m burning up with nerves.

He’s going to be there. I swallow down my anxiousness as my heels crunch down the snow and I get closer to the front door. I can hear the laughter, the chatter, the faint sounds of Christmas music.

I should be excited, - merry , so to speak – but I can’t shake the apprehension, knowing Michael Davis, my high school boyfriend, my college on-again-off-again-can’t-keep-my-hands-off-of-him-when-we-run-into-each-other-occasional-fling is going to be there.

All of these nerves because of one very important detail.

He’s coming back home; he’s moving in down the street from me, back into his old house. It was one thing when I could travel a thousand miles and put distance between us after we had a rendezvous. It’s completely different when he’s a block away and we’ll run into each other constantly.

I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands to myself. I don’t know if I want to try to pretend like I don’t still want him.

Ringing the doorbell, I tell myself the scary truth that has me shaking in my cherry red heels, I don’t know if he wants me at all now that he’s back. That’s the part that makes the butterflies in my stomach beat their wings a little too hard.