Chapter 7
I’m getting ready to go for a morning walk in the woods when I knock sounds at my door. I open it to find Amanda standing there, dressed in the latest Saturday fashion trend of tan ankle boots with distressed jeans and a pale pink slouchy sweater. She looks like effortless grace, but I know that casual look costs hundreds.
She smiles brightly as she holds up a tray of to-go coffees and a paper bag. “I thought since you’ve been too busy to text me back that I’d come to you. And I brought treats.”
“Text you back?” I ask, trying to catch up with what Amanda is saying as I move back to let her into my apartment. Amanda sets the treats on my coffee table, unwrapping the bag and handing me a coffee before nestling into the couch, turning so she can look at me while she talks.
“About Mickey! How did the date go? I want to know all the details. Has he asked you to the Preston Gala yet? Because if he hasn’t, I’ve got some other date ideas.”
I accept the coffee, cradling the warmth in my hands, and sink into the other side of the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. ”It was... underwhelming,” I begin, hesitating. ”Mickey seemed more interested in his stock portfolio, his parents” summer house in the Hamptons, and how I fit into a dress than he was in anything I had to say.”
”I’m sure he was just nervous,” Amanda suggests, pushing a chocolate croissant towards me. “Maybe he just rambles when he’s nervous and was talking about things he knows well.”
“Perhaps,” I begin before Amanda cuts me off.
”You need to give him another chance. I know you two could hit it off. Give him another shot at the Preston Gala.”
I nibble on the pastry, its sweetness failing to mask the dull ache of disinterest. The thought of enduring another night with Mickey, with his smug smile and roving eyes that undressed me rather than seek out the soul beneath, is nearly unbearable. Yet Amanda”s hopeful gaze pins me down, a gentle yet insistent pressure.
“I don’t know, Amanda,” I sigh. “I don’t think Mickey and I are the right fit for each other. He’s interested in things I’m not.”
“It’s not like you need to marry hm, Avalina! Just go with him to the Preston Gala. Everyone else has a date, and I don’t want you to feel left out.”
”Okay,” I begrudgingly reply, knowing that what I crave isn”t the shallow sparkle of gala gowns and forced laughter. It”s the earthy embrace of the forest, the soft touch of moss under my fingertips, and the mysterious pull an enigma named Kieran Calder, who haunts my dreams with stormy eyes and a passion that whispers of forbidden longing.
Amanda beams as if I’ve just handed her the keys to the castle, oblivious to my own inner turmoil. “I was hoping you would say that!” she exclaims as she pulls a stack of magazines from her giant shoulder bag.
“What are those?” I ask, setting down my coffee and croissant, trepidation crawling its way up my spine.
“I thought we could look through these for ideas for your hair and makeup! You already have the dress, so it’s just a matter of finalizing your look.”
My mind flashes back to the green velvet dress that my sister convinced me to pick up when we had on our girls weekend away. It is a gorgeous dress, and I have to admit that I am looking forward to wearing it. Even though it is an evening gown, and represents a part of my life I feel no longer fits me, the gold thread woven through the hem and draping skirt looks like falling leaves, a nod to my love of nature and the safety I feel in the forest.
Even Amanda had caught onto the reasons why I gravitated towards the dress, encouraging me to purchase a necklace during our trip that looked like little pink and green flowers on a vine.
Watching Amanda sort through her magazines, looking for just the right one, I can feel myself being torn in opposite directions. I want to feel close to Amanda, the way I must have felt before the accident snatched away my memories of our friendship. I understand that Amanda feels at home in the world of fashion, and this is her way of connecting to me.
But a part of me, one I don’t completely understand or recognize, rebels at this part I’m playing. This inner version of me feels like a wild thing, savage and untamed in her ferocity, refusing to be put in a box that limits her freedom.
I know that part of me is there, but I also recognize that I’m just not ready to admit it, not really. As much as the dresses and gala chaff, as much as they feel constraining and restricting, there is a comfort in sticking to what I know.
Reaching for my coffee, I take a sip to buy myself some time, the idea of walking myself willinging into a cage as bitter as the coffee.
“Do you have some ideas? I don’t know what’s in style anymore…” I trail off, the unspoken reference to my missing memories an opening that Amanda latches onto.
“Oh, yes!” she exclaims, flipping through the magazine to look for an image she had marked with a sticky note. Turning the glossy page towards me, she points with a manicured nail. “I was thinking this hairstyle would look amazing with your dress and face, it will really bring out your eyes.”
I nod and murmur my assent, grateful that I’m connecting with Amanda, but wondering why I still feel like I’m lost at sea.