“We’re walking there,” he said.
“Why would we walk there?” I asked.
“Drinking and driving. There’s no Uber here.”
“Oh. Right.” I nodded.
“So you’ll definitely need some comfy shoes.”
“I can’t wear comfy shoes with this outfit,” I protested. “It’s too cute for comfy shoes.”
Mark tilted his head to the side, as if trying to point out the obvious solution to this.
“Well, what should I wear then?” I asked.
“The most casual thing you have.”
I sighed. “Comfy and casual.” I walked back into my room and closed the door behind me. I slipped the dress off and rummaged through my suitcase. I found a casual top and one of my ankle-length boho skirts and slipped that on with a pair of sneakers. I looked at myself in the mirror: the whole ensemble looked ridiculous, the sneakers with the skirt. Usually I would wear a strappy sandal with them, but snakes! I looked from the outfit to my face. My highlighted cheekbones and red lips now totally clashed with this toned-down version of myself. I grabbed some facial wipes, but then hesitated. I never left the house with a face that wasn’t totally made up, because inevitably there would be lots of photos that would be posted of whatever I was out and about doing. I looked at the facial wipe in my hand and sighed. There would be no photos posted tonight. I raised it to my face and wiped the red off my lips. Then I took it between my fingers and pulled some of my thick mascara off. Then I took a tissue and rubbed my cheeks a little, some of the blush and highlighter came off and I hadn’t looked this barefaced for an evening out in forever.
I turned my attention to my hair and I took it out of the perfect, messy bun on the top of my head and let it tumble down to my shoulders. I didn’t bother to brush it. I walked out again and Mark did the exact same thing he’d done before, only this time the look on his face was totally different.
“What?” I asked again. I expected things to play out the way they had before, him telling me something about my outfit was wrong. But they didn’t.
“You look . . . great,” he said.
“I do?” I asked, bewildered.
He nodded. “Really, you look great.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling, feeling buoyed up by this compliment. I could never really tell how I looked, until someone told me I looked good. Usually it was via a thumbs up or a heart emoji . . .but this felt better.
“Okay, we really have to get going now,” he said.
“Let me just get my phone,” I said automatically, and ran through to the room.
“Why are you getting it when you can’t use it?” he shouted to me.
I ignored his comment and grabbed my phone off the bedside table where it had been charging. I ran my hand over the screen and it was black.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that plug point next to my bed doesn’t work.”
“Oh my God.” I rushed over to the other one and plugged the phone in there. Nothing happened.
“Yeah, the other one doesn’t work either,” he mumbled. I turned and looked at him.
“My phone’s dead,” I said, feeling panic.
He nodded.
“My phone’s dead,” I repeated slowly, letting those words sink in. I don’t think it had ever been dead in its entire life.
“Leave it. You can’t use it anyway.”
“But I . . . I . . . never go anywhere without it.” I looked down at it.
“Be a rebel,” he said. “Leave it behind.”
