10. Ten
Ten
Sara
Wednesday comes, and they make me wear the dress.
Anne had threatened to burn my entire closet if I showed up in anything but glam for my birthday, so I let her zip me up into the sparkly monstrosity and even dab on some eyeshadow that she smuggled into my house.
I’m more of a dark ripped jeans and black top kind of girl.
I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself, It wraps tightly around every curve of my body and clings like a second skin.
My long, brown hair cascades in waves. I’ve always found comfort in simplicity, in being myself, with light makeup that highlights rather than masks.
But this dress is a bold statement, a 'who’s this?
' that would get me a 'how you doin' from Joey in Friends.
I should feel joy bubbling within me, but my soul feels distant, as though it has slipped away from my body, pulling me gently into a darkness that strangely comforts me more than pursuing light.
Some say grief magnifies itself during moments of celebration, during holidays—they’re not wrong.
I’m used to being the dark side of everyone’s side of the coin.
It just takes one flip of it to fall on what I evoke, and for some, they’d rather choke on a spoonful of salt than feel half of the grief that rusts in me.
It’s a lonely place to be, but it’s my lonely place.
Anne called in a favor for the best table in the new restaurant on the main strip, the one with filament bulbs strung up like dewdrops, all beige and white couches, with mirrors layered all around. It is stunning, and the wow factor is none other than sand on the floor, actual beach sand.
I feel out-of-place even before we walk through the door. Mimi and Artemis, in matching neon tutus and heels, pirouette past the host as if they own the village, and they pretty much do.
Inside, the music is loud, with a DJ perched next to the bar. People fill every seat, shouting over one another while trying to eat, be seen, while some dance on top of the tables.
Our large table in the corner is birthday-ready with lavender and black balloons, confetti, a flower garland, and it all looks seductive in a weird way.
Anne even made a sign: Happy nineteenth Sara written with glitter, sitting at the edge of the table.
They all brought their A-game to make me happy.
I feel so thankful for amazing, crazy girlfriends.
Mimi’s T-shirt says, “Less nagging, more gagging,” and I can’t help the smile on my face.
These girls are wild, but they are my wilderness.
I try to disappear into the banquette, but Mimi boxes me in with a cheek kiss, and Artemis drapes her legs over my lap as Anne orders shots for the table. The server, knowing her habits, grins and says, “No smoking.” To which she responds with a sultry. “No promises.”
“You look hot enough to get away with burying a body,” Artemis says, winking.
“Only victim here is my dignity,” I mutter, trying to keep the dress covering my ass, but the edges of my voice curl up.
“Baby girl, dignity is dead on your birthday.” Mimi laughs with her devious blue eyes, always plotting something.
“What dignity do you think you possessed before the dress?” Anne asks, lighting her thin cigarette. She’s unbelievable.
“You wouldn’t be one to know, Anne.” I mock her.
“What? Me? I’m shocked.” She giggles, flabbergasted.
“We all know about the guy behind the trees,” Artemis lays it out for her.
“Good, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to make an announcement.” She smirks, blowing smoke in my face.
“Details, bitch!” Mimi, now fully intrigued, sips her mojito and sits closer.
As they drift off in their conversation of how Anne had torrid sex with a crush she’s had all summer behind the trees in a hotel’s backyard, I stop listening, looking around, taking in the surrounding scene, and “Like A G6” plays, erupting more people to dance on top of the tables and chairs.
I absorb the energy around me, when Tyler walks in.
He is wearing a white button shirt rolled up to his elbows with a gold bracelet and jeans that make me swallow my drink a little harder. He looks more handsome every time.
Call me intrigued.
When he approaches the table, hands in his pockets, green eyes, short hair on the sides and longer in the front, I almost want to brush it away. No.
“Birthday girl,” Tyler says, looking at none other than me.
The girls all look up at him, mouths gaping a little. I see Mimi’s mouth especially, so I close it for her with a tap to her chin, which makes Anne choke on her smoke.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.” Artemis says with a tone that implies she doesn’t like him very much.
“Tyler, hi! Sit.” I scoot over Mimi to make space for him.
He smiles and sits beside me, his whiskey wood cologne smacking into my senses. For a nineteen-year-old guy, he has a masculinity I don’t expect and haven’t had time to meditate on.
“You didn’t tell us you had a crunchy snack coming for dinner!” Mimi exclaimed.
“I may have forced her hand a little,” Tyler says, smiling and staring into my eyes.
“Very forced indeed.” Artemis laughs.
Whelp, Tyler isn’t a shy guy as his fingertips land on my thigh, innocently, dare I say, as if he has done it plenty of times.
“You look beautiful.” He inches himself close to my cheek, sending warmth to my core.
“Thank you.” My words and eyes land on his mouth. The alcohol has warmed my insides a little too much.
After we were done with our dinner, which was delicious, Anne brought a cake from home decorated with beautiful edible flowers, with a waxy pinup plastic mermaid poked into it.
“They don’t have birthday cakes here.” Her voice goes low. “So, I made it, but I don’t think I ever should again.”
“I love it, thank you, babe, it looks delicious.” I kiss her on the cheek.
Mimi does a shot of vodka and tells a joke about how the last time she had to drink that fast was for a love spell she was casting on her next prey, and Artemis spits seltzer across the table.
For the first time in months, I feel the giddy, weightless heat of laughter in my chest—like the return of blood to a limb after it’s been asleep too long.
“I haven’t seen your smile this much.” Tyler’s gaze find mine.
“It’s been hard to find reasons to lately…but this feels good,” I murmur under my breath, not expecting him to understand, but his eyes flash with a sense of compassion, and I can’t say I haven’t been yearning for that.
They make me give a speech, blow out the candles, all nineteen of them, because no one does anything half assed around here, singing at decibels reserved for stadiums and Christina Aguilera concerts.
I blink hard and try to wish for something, but the only thing that comes to mind is Joe, so I let the flame go out and pretend it is enough.
Artemis cheers her drink with me and leans over, snapping another photo of the table with her phone. Her sleek, long light brown hair, which reaches her butt, catches the light.
“You look hot. Tyler’s practically drooling,” she whispers in my ear and I feel myself blushing.
With a wink, Anne hands me another cocktail as I laugh and turn to her. “I swear this is your last one before I confiscate your glass.” As I take a thankful sip, my cheeks feel warm, my pulse light, and I'm buzzed. This is what it feels like to be free.
Like a wave, a sharp shift in pressure crashes into me as the tide of voices momentarily pulls back. The door of the restaurant opens, and my spine tells me before my eyes do when the air turns icy. It isn’t a dramatic entrance, but it stops me mid-laugh, mid-freedom falling.
Liam stands at the threshold. He doesn’t belong in the airy beige and white restaurant, he brings the dark with him.
He has a black shirt clinging to his frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal the ink coiled up his forearms like snakes made of shadow.
His jaw tight, five o’clock stubble tracing its edges.
He looks even more intimidating than I remember, shadows curling under his cheekbones and his eyes, blue eyes so icy he could melt Snow White’s Evil Queen.
Mirror, mirror on the wall, he’s the most dangerous of them all.
He scans the room once and finds me like wreckage finds a lighthouse, and panic radiates through me when Tyler’s hand lands on my waist like a claim.
Anne follows my line of sight, then pales. “Should I—?”
I refuse with a small motion, already on my feet, legs trembling.
I slide around the table, out into the corridor of sand, with the vibration of my heels barely holding me up but walking towards him with the confidence I muster despite wanting to curl in a box.
The last thing I want is for him to approach the table.
While I can endure his anger, I will not allow him to punish my friends as well.
I meet him just outside the front door. For a moment, neither of us speak. I am conscious of the way my body clings to my dress, the heat of the alcohol in my cheeks, the rawness of him in my space.
“What are you doing here?” My voice barely carries. There’s no anger yet, just shock laced with something darker, to my surprise.
Liam’s eyes scan the restaurant, the people, the candles, the way I’m dressed.
“Didn’t take you for the type to celebrate.”
I swallow. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far.”
He exhales, and for a split second, something in his face cracks as if he understands that.
“I came to see for myself.” He taunts, his voice flat.
“See what?” I ask, pulse skittering in my chest.
He looks at me hard, and it feels too intimate. I haven’t seen him in three months, give or take, and looking at him is… painful. He reminds of Joe, an evil Joe. Nonetheless… My Joe.
“If you even flinched thinking about Joe tonight.”
The air leaves my lungs. “Liam…”
“What?” he asks sharply, taking a step closer toward me, and my breath feels labored. “You miss him? Don’t you?” He cuts me off before I can say a word. “Yet you play games.”