__
Yeah. Are you considering it?
__
Hell yeah!
My screen is still for a long minute. I stare down at it, waiting for his reply. After what seems like an eternity, it finally comes.
Good for you. I’m happy for you. Good luck!
__
Thanks!
__
Well, I should let you go. Just wanted to see how you were,he writes.
__
Thanks. Bye.
* * *
I finally getthe email I’ve been impatiently waiting for. The interview is set for next week, and I’m kind of losing my mind a little. This is huge. I try not to get my hopes up. I’ve managed to book a discounted flight. The fact that I was able to do this last minute is nothing short of a miracle. I’ve also booked the cheapest hotel room I could find. Hopefully, it doesn’t have bed bugs.
I’m searching through my wardrobe for an appropriate outfit. It needs to be perfect because it represents my style, my taste. If I’m hoping to get a buyer position in women’s wear, I can’t show up in an outdated outfit. I can’t afford to buy myself anything new, so I finally settle on a classic black Chanel dress.
It’s the same dress I wore on a date with Peter a few months ago, but I don’t think about him. My mind is suddenly full of Blake. I picture him taking this off me. He’d most likely not gently take it off, he’d tear it off. This is vintage Chanel, it can’t be torn. I resolve to never wear this around Blake. Then I wonder, are we ever going to ever be together again? Not if I move to Chicago.
I study my collection of shoes. It’s extensive but I haven’t bought a new pair in forever. A lot of them are a bit scuffed. I finally choose black T-strap vintage pumps. I decide to pair the outfit with a cool necklace I bought myself not long ago. I study myself in the mirror, and debate whether I should wear my hair up or down. I think about Blake again, about the way he handles my hair. One minute he’s gentle and pulls it from my nape over my shoulder with the softest touch, and the next he’s tugging at it as he does me from behind. He loves touching it and always tells me how much he loves it, natural and wild and untamed, as it was when we were kids.
I shake my head. How am I supposed to get anything done if all I can think about is Blake Taylor? I really need to get him out of my head.
I decide to wear my hair down. An up-do would be too much with the Chanel and vintage heels. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. Although, I am trying very hard.
Hyde is sitting in the corner, studying me very intensely as I slip on the dress and the shoes. I add the accessories and stare at my reflection in the tall mirror in my closet (Peter’s closet, I should say). “So what do you think?” I ask him. “Do you think it works?”
He lifts his chin and his whiskers twitch. I take this as a ‘yes’.
“Yeah, I think it works too.” I should probably ask my friends for advice and not rely solely on the facial expressions of a cat, but everyone is so busy. “I think you’ll like Chicago,” I tell Hyde. “We’ll probably live in the city, and you can stare out of the window at all the skyscrapers and the river.”
I wonder if I’ll even be able to afford a place in the city, if I’ll even have a view. I’m fantasizing again, building up expectations. I always do this. I did this with Peter, and look where that got me. In reality, I’ll probably only be able to afford a shoe box with a view of a parking lot, where Hyde will be staring at nothing but busy people walking to work and back, couples making out on the hoods of cars, and drug deals. I wonder if the crime rate is high in Chicago. I’m not used to big cities. I make a mental note to Google it, but isn’t it too late now to worry about this stuff? I’ve already booked the flight and hotel for the interview.
If only I could talk to Peter about this. He was always a good decision-maker, save for the one he made when he decided to leave me at the altar.
I’m just getting out of my dress when my phone rings. I’m shocked when I hear Maddie’s voice.
“Hi, Auntie Maeve. How’s it going?”
“I’m great,” I tell her. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m good. School’s boring, and Jake’s getting on my nerves as usual.”
I smile. “How are your parents?”
“Good,” she says. “Busy… you know how it is,” she adds, sounding so much older than her ten years.
