Cheeky

№ 31. Sour

 The heels hurt like a bitch, but they were gorgeous. I pressed some spongy gel pads within the narrow death traps and presently slipped them on, sighing as some comfort eased in. I stood, careful to mind my hair and the mess of gloss that caked my lips, and directed myself toward the mirror.

"I look good, " I grinned at my reflection.

Mom had landed in London today with Brett for the rehearsal dinner. I couldn't wait to see her, and actually, I missed that meat-head too. I wriggled around with the zipper on my cocktail dress, scrunching up my nose in frustration. The dress had to be pretty, at least I thought it was. It was a white peplum paired with a gold belt that cinched my waist nicely.

It clung to my figure like a glove, and I felt confident, but then my insecurities always came rushing back. I couldn't ask Emma's opinion of it like I always would. Stop it Cassidy - halt all mopey crap and self-pity. I picked my head up and shook out my arms, Tonight is not your night. Be happy. Everyone would be arriving at the restaurant in an hour so I had to hustle.

Overall though, the wedding was going to be a refined event; the dresses and thoughts on decor that Mom had sent me were up to par.  Mom's taste had stayed intact and I wouldn't be gussied up as an utter clown. I turned to slide on a silver bangle, but stopped midway as suddenly Chelsea appeared, leaning casually in my doorway.

"You look nice," she spoke softly.

"...thanks."

"Where are you going?"

I stood robotically, holding my hands delicately, "My mom's rehearsal dinner...for her wedding."

She rose a brow, "Oh? Congrats."

"Mhm," I turned back to the mirror to adjust the bust of the dress, keeping my answers clipped.

I finished pretending to find something wrong with my appearance, and turned back to grab my purse from the bed. Chelsea watched silently as I navigated around the room, plucking miscellaneous items along the way to dump within my bag. She was composed, yet clearly she was waiting on something. Her stance was relaxed but her pursed lips and crossed arms begged a bigger question.  It was unsettling.

"I know what you're doing."

"What's that?" I asked, not allowing my gaze to hold with hers for even a moment.

"You've been avoiding me as if I have herpes."

"You probably do," I muttered under my breath.

"What?" Chelsea bent forward, all too curiously.

"I'm going to be late," I stated.

"Answer my question."

"It didn't really sound like a question," I grabbed another lip gloss.

"So you have been avoiding me?"

"I've been busy if that's what you mean," I brushed past her and down the hall to go into the bathroom.

"Dodging everything I say only makes you look worse, you know," Chelsea called.

I popped my head out the side of the bathroom door, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, you're one to talk, definitely," my tone dragged.

Chelsea pushed off the doorway and placed her hands on her perfect hips, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me," I shot.

"Oh no no no. You're the one that's spun this on me now. You've been walking around here on bloody egg shells, and practically fleeing every time I've walked into the room. Just like you're doing now!"