Shattered

Hazel (e)

For a while, it helped. Any thoughts of Jules and Mr. Wright were completely shut out. I could only hear the drone of the sewing machine, my thoughts tangled only with the work before me.

But then, all I could think about were mom and dad. I pictured them leaning over my shoulder, inspecting all the things I'd done wrong.

I stopped moving, staring at the unfinished dress before me. My parents were the reason why I'd stopped designing clothes—why I'd flown all the way to New York in hopes of something changing.

It'll never be enough. You'll need a proper job to make you money.

Jules came a half an hour later than the six o'clock time she had told me, apologizing profusely.

"I—sorry I'm late, we s-still have an hour before our reservation. At least."

I stared at Jules. She looked different somehow, with deep bags under her eyes and a half-hearted smile. She wasn't the bubbly, extroverted girl I thought I knew.

Even a couple month's pregnant, Jules looked smaller, thinner.

My brows furrowed with concern, saying, "It'll be just enough time."

Although I wanted to say more, Jules's stare dared me to open my mouth. Instead, I said,

"Let's go get ready, I still have to find something to wear!" I prayed that Jules wouldn't notice the forced enthusiasm, the forced smile.

"I can do your makeup!" I added.

Jules looked exceptionally good in her red, long-sleeved dress. It hugged her frame, but flowed around her legs, just barely sweeping the floor. Her usual wild, curly hair was slicked back in a low bun, loose strands to frame the front of her face. I suddenly felt much too out of place in my baggy t-shirt and shorts attire.

Raiding my closet, Jules lightened up, her eyes bright as she swept through my clothes.

"You made all of these?" She ran her fingers through my clothes, then, turned to me as she pulling out a silk, lavender blazer to examine it with wide eyes.

"Yeah," I said, nodding with a small smile. "It's just a small hobby I have."

Jules's stare fell back on me. "Hazel, why aren't you a designer?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I haven't gotten there yet."

She put the blazer back and traded it for a simple black dress. It was one that had an open back, and then dipped a little lower in the front to show my collarbone.

"Wear this." Said Jules.

We both got ready in record time and stepped back from Jules to admire my work. Eyeliner, mascara, the hint of lipgloss. Simple but elegant. My own makeup was light, my long, dark hair in ringlets that fell just below my shoulders.

Soon, we were clambering into a taxi—heading toward what would be the most expensive dinner of my life.

During the short ride, Jules fell back onto edge. She remained quiet the whole short trip, making the short trip feel much longer than it actually was.

My mind ran with all the possibilities of what might've happened. Had I done something wrong? Was she changing her mind about going out tonight?

"Jules—?" I started to ask, the concern laced in my voice.

The bitter cold air made me shiver as we stepped from the cab and toward the restaurant entrance.

She stopped me speaking with a hard look, saying, "Nothing is wrong," she lowered her voice. "I'm fine, okay? Let's just go inside."