UN: Who would you like it to be?
I type, delete… That is a tricky question… Who I’d like it to be was dead, and dead men don’t text. I probably take too long thinking about what to say back when a new text comes through.
UN: It’s Tyler.
Rolling my eyes, I don’t answer. I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.
ping
Tyler: Truce?
Maybe I should see where it goes, he seems nice enough to be a good distraction, even though the guilt rises when that thought comes up. I can't help feeling like I am doing something wrong behind Joe’s back and that reality alone makes me want to cry for hours.
Me: Bribery is a sin.
Why this guy even induces curiosity is beyond me, but I am in a place where my mind feels desperately lonely, and maybe I need to feel again, anything?
Tyler: I am just wondering on a scale of 1-10 how happy you’d be to see me on your birthday?
Rolling my eyes.
Me: 4.5
Tyler: I’m a lucky guy then! See you Wednesday, birthday girl.
Me: See you, Tyler.
I might smirk, but not by much. I am filing this in the “I sure as fuck don’t know what I’m doing,” little box in my head.
Ten
Sara
Wednesday comes, and they make me wear the dress. Anne had threatened to burn my entire closet if I showed up in anything but glam for my birthday, so I let her zip me up into the sparkly monstrosity and even dab on some eyeshadow that she smuggled into my house. I’m more of a dark ripped jeans and black top kind of girl.
I look in the mirror and don’t recognize myself, It wraps tightly around every curve of my body and clings like a second skin. My long, brown hair cascades in waves. I’ve always found comfort in simplicity, in being myself, with light makeup thathighlights rather than masks. But this dress is a bold statement, a 'who’s this?' that would get me a 'how you doin' from Joey in Friends.
I should feel joy bubbling within me, but my soul feels distant, as though it has slipped away from my body, pulling me gently into a darkness that strangely comforts me more than pursuing light.
Some say grief magnifies itself during moments of celebration, during holidays—they’re not wrong. I’m used to being the dark side of everyone’s side of the coin. It just takes one flip of it to fall on what I evoke, and for some, they’d rather choke on a spoonful of salt than feel half of the grief that rusts in me. It’s a lonely place to be, but it’smylonely place.
Anne called in a favor for the best table in the new restaurant on the main strip, the one with filament bulbs strung up like dewdrops, all beige and white couches, with mirrors layered all around. It is stunning, and the wow factor is none other than sand on the floor, actual beach sand.
I feel out-of-place even before we walk through the door. Mimi and Artemis, in matching neon tutus and heels, pirouette past the host as if they own the village, and they pretty much do.
Inside, the music is loud, with a DJ perched next to the bar. People fill every seat, shouting over one another while trying to eat, be seen, while some dance on top of the tables.
Our large table in the corner is birthday-ready with lavender and black balloons, confetti, a flower garland, and it all looks seductive in a weird way. Anne even made a sign:Happy nineteenthSara written with glitter, sitting at the edge of the table. They all brought their A-game to make me happy. I feel so thankful for amazing, crazy girlfriends. Mimi’s T-shirt says, “Less nagging, more gagging,” and I can’t help the smile on my face. These girls are wild, but they are my wilderness.
I try to disappear into the banquette, but Mimi boxes me in with a cheek kiss, and Artemis drapes her legs over my lap as Anne orders shots for the table. The server, knowing her habits, grins and says, “No smoking.” To which she responds with a sultry. “No promises.”
“You look hot enough to get away with burying a body,” Artemis says, winking.
“Only victim here is my dignity,” I mutter, trying to keep the dress covering my ass, but the edges of my voice curl up.
“Baby girl, dignity is dead on your birthday.” Mimi laughs with her devious blue eyes, always plotting something.
“What dignity do you think you possessed before the dress?” Anne asks, lighting her thin cigarette. She’s unbelievable.
