Exile

My Sister Emily

I'm not at all a fashionista. In a company full of female executives who count fashion magazine editors as their influences, I'm the most plain Jane executive you've ever met. I wear what's comfortable, and I pretty much ignore trends. So, I find it funny that I'm rifling through my suitcase in search of the perfect outfit. I've come up with a least eight combinations, and none of them satisfy me. I'm almost tempted to look in my mom's closet, since I can't seem to find anything nice here.

Finally, I decide on a white snow leopard-print tunic with a black leather belt, black skinny pants, black strappy high-healed sandals, and black leather jacket. I am unsure of whether to keep my hair down or put it up. I style my short hair in soft waves.

There. At least I look okay.

My mom coos her approval as I head to the door. "Wow, aren't you looking pretty! Stop, let me look at you."

"Mom, I want to get on the freeway before traffic starts," I whine.

"Just a quick look!" I submit, giving her a little twirl. "See?"

My mom lets out her happy squeal. "OooohEeeee! You look gorgeous! Now, have a good time, okay?"

"I'll try," I say with a grimace. "Later."

With that, I start to make the perilous journey to Arlington Heights by way of the 290, and then the 90. Coldplay might be declaring "Viva la Vida" on my iPod, but I'm not exactly in a celebratory mood right now. Guilt eats away at my heart. I should be happy that I'm going to see Emily Kim, my best friend in the whole world. She's getting married crying out loud! And it's not like the guy she's marry is an asshole like my ex. Andrew is a wonderful, funny, and smart guy – I should know since he was a part of my former group of friends. He had this amazing ability to be very quiet and then crack a joke out of nowhere that would have you on the floor, busting a gut. He'd confided in me that Emily was the woman he was destined to marry many times, and now, his dreams would be reality at the end of the month.

There is something deep inside that yearns to see them, even if everything else inside is rigidly pessimistic.

Especially Emily. We've kept contact over the years. But its nothing like what we had before. We were always together, thick as thieves. She was always a phone call or a text away – thank the lord for unlimited texting plans. She had my back and I had hers. Emily was more than my friend – she was my sister.

I know it hurt her when I left. She never showed it though. She told me she understood my reasons and that we'd always keep in touch. But if it killed me to leave this place behind, then it may have killed her to let me go.

And I've missed her so, so much…

You know what? Screw my ex. I won't let the specter of him and his skank take away my happiness. Thank you, Chris Martin.

The drive to Emily's house goes by in blur of billboards, running trains, and divergent paths. I take notice of the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center, and the Hyatt that stands near it. Memories whisper inside my head.

…

"You know what the best remedy for a break-up is?"

"A hitman?"

"Let me rephrase that. The best remedy that's legal, Elodie."

"Oh, then I don't know."

"Going to Anime Central and losing your mind at the Soap Bubble."

"What? No way."

"I'm serious. There's nothing better than dancing your cares away while avoiding flying glow sticks and pulsating beats. It's a guaranteed way to feel better."