57. Chapter 57
Chapter 57
Charlotte
I sighed at my reflection and bent over to scrunch and refresh my curls. It was the night of the Christmas party, and I was getting ready at the office—hogging the only bathroom with a full-length mirror. And I might have felt bad about it, had there been anyone else around. Apparently, I’d underestimated just how big of a deal this whole thing was—it was a capital “P” party, something I’d only realised when I’d shown up this morning to find only a handful of people at their desks. Everyone else, it seemed, was working from home.
Taking a step back from the mirror, I twisted to the side and smoothed the crushed velvet of my dress over my hips. It had been pulled, with a flourish, from the depths of Becky’s suitcase during our girls’ night. And, after much protestation on my part, had stayed with me when she returned to Scotland.
The dress was beautiful. A deep emerald green slip dress that fit me like a glove, showcasing my modest curves in a way that made me feel dazzling, and far more confident than I had all week. The only downside? Its low back. Don’t get me wrong, I loved a dress with a dramatic back as much as the next girl, but I didn’t love having to wear pasties to work.
Casting a glance over my shoulder and at my line-free back, I scrutinised my outfit. From my day-two curls all the way down to my wine red pumps, I looked far more festive than I felt.
It had been six days—six days, three hours and a handful of minutes since I’d walked out of that bookstore. And I hadn’t seen Aiden since. No calls. No texts. No explanations. It was as if the past eight weeks had never happened, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Was I grateful that I didn’t have to be confronted by my humiliation? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? But not being confronted by the physicality of him didn’t protect me from the pain of his loss.
I felt it all the time. At the sink, when I washed my coffee mug—singular. Lying in bed at night, staring at the side I’d come to think of as his. And whenever I passed over the spot of so many of our kisses on my way out the door? Well, I felt it then too.
I’d fallen for the lie we’d worked so hard to sell to everyone else. I had, and he hadn’t, and, as humiliating as it was, I’d accepted it. But in the wake of his silence, I couldn’t help but wonder whether I’d ever meant anything to him at all. And the knowledge that he found me so very forgettable added a layer of embarrassment to the torment of my emotions that I hadn’t been anticipating.
Twisting and pinning a couple of curls away from my face, I dabbed a tissue across my now burgundy lips and straightened. The harsh overhead lights of the firm’s bathrooms did nothing to bolster my confidence. If anything the bright white fluorescents only served to highlight the blue smudges under my eyes and the sharp angles of my collarbones. I turned to face the mirrored bathroom door and snapped a quick selfie before firing it off to the group chat.
Me:
Be honest, do I look like the next lead in a Tim Burton Christmas film?
Louise:
SLAY!
Claire:
Of course not! That dress was made for you!
You look beautiful, Charlotte.
Becky:
What she said
Me:
I really don’t want to go
But thanks guys
Claire:
You only have to stay for 30 minutes after dinner has finished.
Louise:
How do you figure?
Claire:
Well, she has to stay for dinner because it’d look weird if her seat was empty
And then 30 minutes after dinner gives her enough time to move around the room and be seen by people who weren’t at her table.
30 minutes gets her out of there before anyone gets too drunk to stand and the ’00s music pumps.
Louise:
Girl
That’s insane
I smiled at the screen as the messages poured in, my heart swelling in my chest like a balloon until my attention snagged on something Claire had said. I felt as if I’d just jerked awake from a dream, only to face a reality much more terrifying. My heart deflated and took a nosedive into the pit of my stomach.
Me:
Shit!
I’m going to be sick
Becky:
Woah, woah.
Take a breath.
What’s going on?
Me:
I can’t believe I forgot.
I forgot to email HR and update my RSVP. I’m still down as Charlotte Hall and a guest.
I don’t have a guest!
I began to walk a small path back and forth in front of the bathroom stalls as I waited for messages of reassurance to flood my screen. My steps grew faster as I tore across the tiled floors—tore as much as one was able in a twenty-square-foot space in a figure-hugging dress and heels, that is.
Becky:
Babe, it’ll be fine.
I snorted dismissively at the platitude, my fingers already typing a response.
Me:
YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!
Becky:
Yes. I do.
You wanna know why?
Me:
Why?
Becky:
Because you’re Charlotte Motherfucking Hall, that’s why!
Claire:
You can do this, Charlotte.
It’s 2.5-3 hours of your life and then it’s done.
You can do it.
Becky:
Can’t believe this is happening again, but WHAT SHE SAID.
C is right. 3 hours is nothing. You’ve sat in corporate tax training longer than that.
I huffed out a laugh as my heart settled into its usual rhythm.
Louise:
You got this.
Me:
:‘) Thanks guys
Girls’ night soon?
Louise:
Down
Claire:
Definitely
Becky:
Obviously
Bathed in the glow of my screen, a gentle resolution spread across my skin and I took a last look at myself. The mini meltdown had brought some colour to my cheeks—possibly the only side effect of my anxiety that I didn’t immediately hate—but the rest of my outfit looked undisturbed by my frantic pacing. The chime of my phone alarm tinkled in my hand, and I rolled back my shoulders and met my determined gaze in the mirror.
‘Time to go.’