19. Dylan
19
DYLAN
“ M ia, help!” I rush into Amelia’s room, doing my best not to have a complete meltdown about the lack of clothes in my closet. Growing up in a small town, you didn’t have to worry about wearing the hottest designers or staying on top of the latest trends. I lived in jeans and a t-shirt or the occasional sundress. New York is a whole new ballgame, and I am grossly unprepared.
“Oh my god. What is it?” She jolts, looking up from her vanity, mascara now smeared across her eyelid.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize you were in the middle of doing your makeup.”
She grabs a Q-tip, licks it, and begins scrubbing at the black smudge. “It’s fine. But this better be worth it. I’m supposed to meet up with West soon, and I have to take the subway.” Her face contorts in disgust.
For someone who loves the city, you would think that taking the subway would be a common occurrence, but Amelia despises it. She says it’s “too dirty” and there are “too many people.” Ironic, considering we’re on a floating island with over one million other humans. This is just one of the many things she chooses to do that I’ve learned not to question.
Apparently, Amelia likes this West guy enough to take the subway. If only he knew how big of a sacrifice that was for her.
The girl walks more than anyone I know. There have been multiple instances where I’ve seen her tackle over twenty blocks for the sake of avoiding public transportation.
As much as I’d love to be like her, there’s something about the subway that I find oddly comforting. I’ve seen some of the craziest stuff–like someone eating a full-blown seafood boil and far more feces than I care to admit–and yet I wouldn’t change a thing. It makes me feel less alone. That’s how I feel about the city altogether.
Even when I’m by myself, I’m not living in solitude. There are countless other lives out there happening simultaneously. Someone’s in the back of the taxi heading home from the best first date of their life while someone else is catching the subway home after learning they were fired. It’s the perfect portrayal of the human experience, and I’ve grown quite fond of it.
“Who’s West? You know what? Never mind. I’ve entered full panic mode trying to find something to wear to the release party tonight. I don’t have time to think about your boyfriend of the week.”
“Hey,” she sulks. “Wait, are you asking me for fashion help? If so, I’ll circle back to that less-than-flattering take on my dating life later.”
“Yes, I am. Do you have anything I can wear? I need to make a good impression. There are going to be a lot of important people at this party, and I want to look good.”
She holds her pointer finger up at me, grabs her phone, and begins jabbing rapidly at the screen. I stand there, hands on my hips, impatiently waiting for whatever could possibly be more important than my current clothing emergency.
“There, done. ”
I draw my brows together in confusion. “What’s done?”
“I canceled my date with West. We’re going shopping.” She applies the last of her mascara before springing up and grabbing her purse off her bed in a flash.
I whine, immediately turned off by the idea of trying clothes on. I’ve accumulated a new wardrobe since the move, but most of it was purchased online during late-night, stress-induced retail therapy sprees. Dressing rooms are the bane of my existence. I’m already pitting out, thinking about how I’m going to do my hair. Now, I have yet another reason to stress.
“Why would you cancel a date? Can’t I just borrow something from your closet? It would make life so much easier. Plus, you’d be able to hang out with a hot guy.”
“West is hot, but I’m not sure I see it working out.” Before I can reply, she puts a hand up, shutting me up immediately. “I don’t want to hear it. And no, you can’t just borrow something I’ve worn before. An event like this calls for a new outfit. Text Scarlett and tell her to meet us in SoHo.”
The two have never met, but I’ve droned on and on about how much I love Scarlett to Amelia. The two are surprisingly similar in many ways, and if there’s one thing they share–aside from their fear of commitment–it’s a love for fashion. I reluctantly text Scarlett before being whisked away by a terribly eager Amelia.
I come out of the dressing room wearing a god-awful sand-colored maxi dress with a deep cowl neckline that shows way too much cleavage. Amelia and Scarlett, who have been acting as my personal stylists for the past two hours, are waiting outside, armed with overpriced coffees .
I anxiously chugged mine as we went from store to store, and now I’m dealing with the consequences of my own actions. My stomach is gurgling, and I’m painfully bloated. I feel and look like I’m approximately six months pregnant, which is the last thing you want when you’re putting clothes on and off. I’ve already worked up a sweat, and I’ve actively avoided looking in the mirror as much as possible.
“Holy shit, you look incredible!” Amelia claps, nudging Scarlett to grab her attention. When her eyes land on me, she lets out a low whistle.
I look down at the dress, screwing myself into a twisted position to avoid getting sweat stains on it. The beige coloring is unforgiving, and one wrong move would show how damp I’ve become.
“I look like I’m about to go to the club. There’s no way I can wear this around professionals.”
“You’re not wrong,” Scarlett harrumphs. “ But Parker would lose his ever-loving mind if you wore this.” Her brows raise expectantly.
“I’m not choosing an outfit just because Parker would like me in it. I don’t care what he thinks. Besides, how many times do I have to tell you? He has a girlfriend. Why would I try to impress a taken man?”
I head back into the dressing room, carefully sliding the gown off. I hang it back up and grab the last one in the room, sending up a wordless plea that this is the last one I have to try on. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I step into the black, asymmetrical-hemmed halter dress. The sweetheart neckline compliments my chest perfectly, and the ruching creates a slimming effect. I hate to admit it, but l love it. I blow out a breath, hopeful that Amelia and Scarlett feel the same way.
As soon as I step outside, both of their jaws fall to the floor. A bit more dramatic than I was expecting, but I’ll take it .
“Holy shit, your tits look amazing in that,” Amelia says as she looks down at her petite frame and pouts. “Maybe I do need to go buy a pair of those after all.”
“I’d say you can have mine, but I actually very much enjoy them.” I cup and push my boobs up closer to my chin. I do a quick spin, showcasing every angle of the dress. “I think this is the one.”
“Uh yeah, duh. That’s obvious.” Scarlett laughs, jaw still ajar. “Even I want to fuck you in that. Parker is going to have an absolute heart attack when he sees you.”
I click my tongue in disapproval before going back to change. I don’t even want to entertain that thought. Although, I’d be lying if I said that there wasn’t a small part of me that was thrilled about the idea of Parker seeing me in this dress.
“She’s right. Twenty bucks, he proposes on the spot,” Amelia agrees.
“You two are giving this dress far too much power.” I push through the heavy curtain and hang up all the dresses that didn’t work before heading to the cash register to pay. After checking out, I walk outside, basking in the light breeze. I’ve never been more thankful that New York is having a chillier spring as I feel my body temperature drop rapidly.
The door closes behind me, Scarlett and Amelia on my heels. “We’re not giving the dress too much power. We’re giving you that power. Any man would be an absolute lunatic not to fawn over you at any given point. Let alone when you’re wearing stuff like that.” Amelia points to the bag filled with my newest purchase.
“Well, I can always count on the two of you to hype me up, that’s for sure.”
Scarlett throws her arm around my shoulders and leads me toward the subway. “Oh, we’re just getting started. Now it’s time for hair and makeup.”
“Don’t you need to go home and get ready? I’m not the only one going to this party, you know. You’re both invited, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Scarlett lifts her expensive, sizeable tote and gives it a pat. “I’ve got my outfit and supplies in here.” She juts her chin out at Amelia. “And that one has already volunteered herself for the job.”
“You two are my canvases tonight. I’m just the artist.” Amelia bats her lashes. “Now let’s get our asses home. I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Are you two almost ready?” I yell at Scarlett and Amelia from my bedroom. I’m sitting on my bed, attempting to buckle up the sky-high black stilettos that Amelia let me borrow. After a minute of struggling, I stand, nearly twisting my ankle in the process. I’ll be genuinely shocked if I can get through this night without breaking a bone.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror and find myself radiating with pure confidence. Apart from a couple of weddings I’ve attended, I’ve never had an excuse to dress up like this.
Amelia has styled my hair into voluptuous, loose curls reminiscent of styles worn in the 1920s. One side rests behind my back while the other elegantly drapes over my shoulder. She paired the hair with a matte neutral eye shadow, a winged liner so sharp it could cut glass, and a bold, wine-red lip. My breath catches in my throat, and I push down the rush of emotions threatening to surface over the fact that I’ve never felt this beautiful in my life. Now’s not the time to dwell on that.
I wobble toward the kitchen and sit down on a bar stool to limit the amount of movement I have to do before I have to be on my feet all night .
“We’re ready!” Amelia and Scarlett come rushing out of the bathroom, both dressed to the nines.
Amelia’s wearing a bright fuchsia pink, one-shouldered maxi dress with a slit that hits her upper thigh. She’s carrying a small cream clutch, which matches the platform heels she’s wearing perfectly. Scarlett, on the other hand, is dressed in a strapless burgundy dress with rosettes embellished on the slit that, too, rests on her upper leg. They’re breathtaking. I motion for them to twirl, and they humor me, giggling as they spin.
“Oh my god. You guys look stunning.”
“We do clean up nicely, don’t we?” Scarlett’s smile is contagious, and I take a moment to soak it all up.
No one talks about how difficult it is to make friends in your late twenties. Everyone is so wrapped up in their jobs and relationships that they neglect to spend time on their existing friendships, let alone make new ones.
Yet, here I am with two people who have altered my life in a way I don’t think they will ever fully understand. I’m not sure how I got so lucky or what I did to deserve them, but I’ll never take them for granted.
I take a quick selfie of the three of us, tuck my phone away, and grab my clutch off the counter.
“Let’s go break some hearts.”