Chapter 14:
The morning light had barely begun to peek through the blinds when I heard the eager tapping at my door. Trish, already buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes from a night spent on dreams and conjecture, burst into my room with an urgency that could mean only one thing - girl talk was imminent.
"Okay, spill it," she demanded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she flopped onto my bed. "Tell me everything about this guy."
I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head at her impatience.
"How did you even get in here?" I asked through my laughter.
"Ron let me in." She scoffed as if I should have known.
I realized that I hadn't seen her since the night of the dance, so I had a lot to catch up on. As I recounted the night's events, her excitement seemed to match the tempo of my story, growing with each word. She hung on every detail, from the awkward encounter between Mike and Derek, to the intimate sleeping arrangement we shared at his house. By the time I finished, she was practically bouncing with glee.
"Girl, this is huge!" Trish exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. "What a shame for Mike though." She said, changing her demeanor. "Don't you feel bad for doing that to him?" She asked.
"Of course, I felt bad, at first, and then I saw how amazing it felt to be with Derek. He's new and fresh." I explained, feeling the redness in my cheeks from thinking about it. She nodded her head, taking in every word. Saying it all out loud made me feel a little dirtier than I would have liked.
"I am so happy for you!" She exclaimed. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but soon enough, she turned her attention to my wardrobe dilemma. After much deliberation, she chose an outfit that complemented my best features: sleek black leggings paired with a purple tank top, with a sheer black sweater that added just the right touch of sophistication.
As the curling iron heated and Trish began to work her magic on my hair, the mood shifted subtly. The ceramic barrel twisted around strands of hair, emitting a soft sizzle that filled the comfortable silence between us.
"Ron asked me out for tonight," she said, her voice betraying a hint of hesitancy as she released a perfect ringlet and moved on to the next.
"Really? That's great! Are you guys...?" I trailed off, hoping she would fill in the blanks about where their relationship stood.
Trish paused, peering at me through the mirror. "We're just hanging out, you know, as friends."
Her deflection didn't fool me; there was more behind those words. I watched her face in the mirror, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You like him though, don't you? Like, really like him?"
She sighed, putting down the curling iron and meeting my gaze head-on. "I do, but what if things go south? I don't want to get hurt again." She sighed.
"Is this because of Landon?" I asked candidly. She pulled the hair away from the curling iron and looked at me in the mirror. Her eyes met mine and I could almost feel her pain. Her former relationship left her emotionally and physically bruised.
"I know Ron isn't like that." She clarified. "But I still have those flash backs and I'm afraid that I will forever be scarred because of one guy." She spoke softly, picking my hair up again to continue curling.
"Trish, you'll never know unless you try," I said softly, offering a reassuring smile. "According to Ron, he has liked you for a long time. He does a lot of stupid things, but I don't think he's dumb enough to let you get away." I said, looking at her from the mirror, she nodded her head in response clearly thinking it through.
"But you may want to let him win at Mario Kart every now and then. Feed his ego a little bit." I said with a laugh.
Trish burst out laughing with me. "He was really upset about that!" She said between her laughs. When the joyous laughter settled it was silent for a moment.
"I can promise you that Ron will never hurt you but ultimately it is your choice."
She mulled over my words, nodding slowly. It seemed my pep talk had reached her because a newfound determination lit up her features. We finished getting ready in a companionable silence, punctuated by laughs and the occasional spritz of hairspray.
Finally, Trish stepped back to appraise her handiwork. "There," she declared with a satisfied grin. "You look amazing."
"Thanks to you," I replied, giving her a warm hug.
It was then her turn to primp, and she did so with a meticulousness that matched her bold persona. With every brushstroke of mascara and glide of lipstick, she transformed into the picture of confidence. Just as she was putting on some final touches of blush on her cheeks, her phone vibrated on the bed, lighting up the screen. She opened it up and read a message.
"Alright, my chariot awaits," she winked, grabbing her purse and phone. Clearly Ron was summoning her downstairs to start their date. With a final glance in the mirror, fixing a single hair that was out of place, she was out the door.
"Have fun, you two," I called after her as she made her way downstairs, the click of her heels a steady rhythm promising the start of something new. I really had high hopes that Trish would consider Ron as more than just a friend. I couldn't even count how many times they have hung out since I've been here.
The morning had come and gone. The afternoon went even quicker, but I still had time to waste before I had to leave. I admired myself in the mirror for a moment. I didn't have any time to look at the magical transformation Trish did for me. I almost didn't recognize myself. Even on the night of the dance, I don't remember looking this good. Was it just makeup that made me look this beautiful? Or was it the hint of confidence I tried to portray that made me see the beauty and happiness within myself?
My mind raced with the thoughts of what I could anticipate for tonight. My first thought is where would we go? A typical first date would be dinner and then maybe a movie. I suppose my outfit was fine for both. The whole process of going on a date is very stressful to me. My mind had it's own way of blowing things out of proportion and preparing for worst case scenarios, but how could anything be bad with this night? I have a date with one of the most handsome men I've ever seen, and we already share a connection. Don't we?
The kitchen clock ticked away, its hands inching towards the hour. I leaned against the cool granite countertop, sipping water from a dewy glass to quell the butterflies in my stomach. The house was still, suffused with the fading scent of Trish's floral perfume and the warmth of her encouragement.
As I placed the glass back on the counter, the front door creaked open. To my surprise, it was Lori, my mother, shuffling in with the weary grace that had become her trademark. Keys jangled from her grip as she shrugged off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair. In two strides, she was at the fridge, rummaging for ingredients with practiced speed.
"Hey, Mom," I called out, watching her assemble turkey and lettuce onto whole grain bread.
"Hi, honey." She didn't look up, but there was a smile in her voice—a tiny reprieve from the exhaustion that shadowed her features. "Just grabbing something to eat before job number two."
"Another late night?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Always," she replied, sealing her sandwich with a top slice. She finally turned to me, her gaze taking in my carefully styled hair and the outfit Trish had so painstakingly selected. "You're all dressed up. Where are you off to?"
"Got a date," I said, trying to match her casual tone despite the thrumming anticipation in my veins.
"Really?" Interest flickered across her face, a spark of maternal curiosity. "With who?"
"Someone new. Met him recently," I offered, treading the fine line between disclosure and privacy.
"Have fun then," she said. "And be safe."
"Always," I replied, the words barely leaving my lips before she went out the door again. For some the words "be safe" might be taken differently but in this town, where women were kidnapped from their homes and from sidewalks, "be safe" meant to take pepper spray.
The latch clicked shut behind her, and silence reclaimed the kitchen. My reflection stared back at me from the darkened windowpane, a mirror image of both excitement and solitude. With one last glance at the empty room, I grabbed my purse and followed in the footsteps of those who'd already ventured into the promise of the evening.
As I closed the door behind me, I had a flash back of the terrifying image of the man emerging from the fog, after he had jumped off my bedroom balcony. The night was eerie with a cold moisture that lingered in the air. I glanced around the front yard and there was no sign of anyone. The only light available was the motion activated porch light that lit up the driveway. I had one foot inside the car, and I took one last look at my surroundings. The familiar music made by the crickets in the night filled my ear canals, putting me more at ease. It was a reassuring sign that this date was going to be something amazing.