Miss Matched

Chapter 2

A bottle of cranberry juice sits on the counter in front of me, begging me to make a Champagne cocktail, which I know seems like something a Freshman would drink, but I like them, and congratulations to me!

"Why do they have such a bad rap?" I ask Cheshire the cat as I raise my glass to him. He weaves a figure eight around my ankles and purrs loudly. I pour a smidge of cranberry juice and top it off with sparkling wine, throwing a lone cranberry into the flute as a garnish. Then, while standing at the counter, I down it.

"They are delicious, but I'd better leave it off my resume. I don't think most wineries appreciate the art that goes into making a good one." I reach down to pet Cheshire and he runs away, jumps onto the couch and positions himself onto the top of the cushions. Even he knows I'm talking shit when I put art into a sentence about Champagne Cocktails "I'm sure that waiter today wouldn't approve of these. Do you think he likes cranberries, Cheshire?" God, I'm already tipsy. Then, I then fix myself another.

"I'm entitled to two drinks after spending most of the day with Felicity," I tell the cat while settling into the good end of the couch and use him as a head rest. "You ran and sheltered the minute she got here." My tone is accusing and it occurs to me that I don't have much right to accuse anybody of anything. I'm drinking in an empty apartment and talking to a tabby.

God, I hope I don't turn into a crazy cat lady. Especially not one that drinks alone.

I sip the second drink and replay the events of the day. I wonder how it is that someone as odd as my mother could have been married four, maybe five, times and I'd never even managed one steady boyfriend. Not that anyone says boyfriend.

Significant Other?

Relationship?

Boy Friend—two words?

I don't know, but the Champagne Cocktails are starting to make me feel ... fuzzy.

You've never had a boyfriend, because how can you meet anyone if you sit at home and talk to that cat?

This last question was asked in the voice of Felicity. And, although I hate when my she's right, or at least my mind's version of her is right, there's no denying the truth. So, I decide to get off my ass, put on some party clothes and head to Overture to hang with my friends in the twilight of our college careers. God, that sounds maudlin. I better snap out of it. I fill the glass with another splash of Champagne and some more cranberry juice.

In front of the mirror, I part my blonde hair on the side, and braid one small section in front, to use as a headband to keep the rest out of my eyes, securing the tail of the braid, underneath at the nape of my neck. I keep my make-up, light and natural, except for dark wine-stained lipstick. Tight ripped jeans, a white tank, and wine ankle strap sandals with sky-high heels. Deciding to travel light, I switch everything from the bag I used at lunch and Rilassante to a cross-body messenger with ID, credit card, cash, keys, and lipstick. I refill Cheshire's water bowl and he meows at me.

"How do I look?"

He meows again.

"You never know, maybe I'll meet the man of my dreams and then Felicity will stop bugging me to be on her show. Right, Ches?"

Meow.

Then, I'm out the door.

~~

Overture is already packed when I get there. The nightclub, laid out on two levels, is popular with those who come for the bands, those who like to dance to the DJ between sets, and those who are looking for a hook up off-line. The dance floor and bathrooms are on the first level with a stage for the band at the far end. I walk up a short flight of stairs and find Taylor and her boyfriend, Taylor. Um, yeah, it's kinda too cutesy for words. They've dated on-again-off-again for three years now, and if she would learn one or two of Felicity's tricks for letting go she might not have to go through the rest of her life as T&T.