Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter eight
Iwoke up at nine on Saturday morning and immediately wanted to throw up.
The date waited for me tonight.
We’d agreed to meet at the restaurant at seven-thirty. Ellis had texted me the address yesterday, some Italian place in Park Slope that supposedly had the best pasta in Brooklyn and a wine list longer than my arm.
I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and stared at our text thread like it might contain hidden answers about how not to completely screw this up.
Ellis:See you tonight. Can’t wait.
Three words. Twelve letters. They flipped something inside my stomach.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders. Today pressed heavier. Bigger.
No pressure.
By noon, I’d reorganized my closet twice, cleaned my entire apartment, and started a load of laundry I didn’t actually need to do. Anything to keep my hands busy.
At three, I gave up on distractions and started getting ready.
The first outfit, black jeans and a burgundy button-down, looked too much like what I’d worn to the coffee shop. I stripped it off, tossed it on the bed.
Second attempt: dark gray slacks and a white shirt. Too formal. Too, “I’m trying to sell you insurance.”
Third: jeans and a navy henley. Too casual. Like I wasn’t taking this seriously.
Fourth: all black everything. Too funeral.
By four-thirty, my bed looked like a clothing store had exploded. Shirts and pants covered every surface, and I stood in my underwear staring at the carnage like it might reorganize itself.
My phone buzzed. It was the text chain that Sierra, Calliope, Raven, and I used:The Chaos Coven.
Sierra:What are you wearing tonight?
I looked at the disaster surrounding me and typed back.
Jett:I have no idea. Send help.
Calliope:Define help.
Jett:I’ve tried on everything I own. Nothing looks right. I’m spiraling.
Raven:We’re coming over.
Jett:You don’t have to.
Calliope:Too late. Already walking.
Sierra:Be there in 10.
I barely had time to throw on sweatpants before my buzzer rang. All three of them stood in the hallway, Calliope carrying a tote bag that clinked suspiciously like wine bottles, Raven with a makeup kit, and Sierra with her camera because, of course, she brought her camera.
Raven dropped a leather jacket on my bed before she got out the makeup kit. “From the shop. Black and beat to hell. You’re going to look like you’ve earned something.”
“Intervention time.” Calliope pushed past me into the apartment. “Holy shit, it looks like your closet threw up in here.”
