Page 30 of Ice Queen

I didn’t even think to ask, what book are you guys reading? I don’t want to show up unprepared.

I don’t know how far she lives from here, so I know better than to expect a text back immediately. That doesn’t help the fact that my leg begins its relentless bouncing as I wait for an answer. I don’t know if there would be anything more embarrassing than a woman who owns a literal bookstore, showing up to a book club and not knowing what book they’re reading, and knowing nothing about it if I haven’t read it.

To help alleviate some of that anxious energy, I quickly run through my nightly cleaning duties. Straighten out the bookshelves and run the daily reports. Luckily, we’re cashless, so I don’t add that to the list of things to worry about. Make sure the doors are locked and the alarm is set before I unlock the door that leads up stairs, just to lock it again behind me.

I turn the oven on as soon as I get inside. Pizza sounds like a fantastic idea today. I can’t cook to save my life. It was never something that I was taught. My mother was an amazing cook, but when Wyatt and I started dating, he had a private chef who cooked all our meals. “It’s easier this way. We don’t have to think about what to make. And they’re nutritious, they’ll keep us young and healthy.”

Little did I know, he was not only sleeping with said chef, but he was having her put crushed-up diet pills in my morning protein shakes. I didn’t figure that out until I went to the doctor after I got here, and they told me I was severely underweight, but I was never hungry. Slowly, my appetite came back, but of course, at that point, a private chef was not on my list of affordable expenses. So I now live off mac n cheese, frozen pizza, and takeout. Not that I’m complaining.

I change into my black fluffy pants that have dogs wearing headbands with those springy heart ears on them. Not only are they my favorite, but they’re the pinnacle of comfort, and I wear them all year round. Then I pull my “a good book never lets me down” sweatshirt over my head, and pad back into the kitchen. The apartment is small, but it’s enough for me.

The kitchen has been remodeled. The permit said it was for the “break room,” but obviously, that isn’t the case. It has white cabinets and all stainless steel appliances, the finishes are matte black, and I love it. It’s modern and simple, yet classy.

The living room is big enough for a small L-shaped couch, and a TV that sits on top of a wooden console that’s filled with my favorite books on either side. My bedroom is cozy, my queen-sized bed fits perfectly with enough room on each side for nightstands. The ensuite bathroom is, ironically, filled with pastel pinks and purples. A stark contrast to my all-black wardrobe.

Every time I walk in there, a little piece of my inner child heals. The little girl who loved to dress up, to wear bows, and pretend she was the princess who never needed saving is still in there. She’s just hidden under layers of doubt and insecurity. Where I used to love dressing up, I now hate it because it meant I’d be paraded around like a damn show dog.

“This is my fiancée, Kaitlyn. She’s going to run the Boulder office when I take over operations in Wyoming. I can’t believe I got lucky enough to find out the love of my life already had a business degree. It’s as if we were destined to be.”

The night before I ran, we had gone to a charity event, one of the most important events for his family’s company. I had found this beautiful gown, it was pink and form-fitting with a slit in the leg. Not a huge one, but enough to make me feel sexy. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time. When he came home from work to see me standing in front of the full-length mirror, he immediately stalked toward me.

I thought he liked it. I smiled at him in the reflection. Only for him to grab my shoulders, turn me around, and push me into the glass hard enough to crack it. I knew in that moment that I was weeks, if not days, away from the abuse moving from mental and emotional to physical. I knew I had to get out. He ripped that dress the best he could, leaving it hanging off of me, the carnage something akin to Cinderella’s dress when her step-sisters were done with it.

It’s sitting in a box in my closet. I never got it fixed. Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day, I’ll find someone who makes me feel special enough, safe enough to wear it. It’s the only piece of clothing, besides my fun design underwear, that has any color to it.

At first, the black was easy. You can always find black clothes. Then it became something that signified me: black leather jacket, black jeans, black boots. But slowly over the years, it started to feel mournful. Like I had lost who I was in trying to please someone who swore they’d love me no matter what. My brain knew better than to believe that, even though my heart was all in.

But now, I’m free to explore the parts of me I’ve kept locked away for safekeeping. The oven beeps, and I slide the stuffed crust pepperoni pizza onto the rack before plopping down on the couch and turning on the newest episode of “Is It Cake?”

It’s always been amazing to me how people can make such realistic things out of food. Especially these ginormous cakes. Ones that defy gravity and fool me almost every time. I wish my brain worked that way, creative, inventive. But it doesn’t. I watch as Mikey Day gallivants around the screen, telling the contestants what they’ll be working on today.

The oven dings, and I remove my pizza, cutting it into six slices before putting two on a plate and settling back into my favorite corner of the couch. It’s time for them to pick their decoys, and the way they manipulate them is terrifying. A master class in deception, revealing what can hide in the shadows. How you can take something real and make it look like something it isn’t? There’s some philosophical lesson in there somewhere, I think.

My phone vibrates from where it sits next to me, and I smile when I see the name.

Somebody Like Me by Stefanie Steck

No way. How did I luck out on this one?

Shut up. I love Rhett and Kyla!

CAN YOU HEAR ME SQUEALING?

The softness of my laugh startles me for a second. It’s unguarded. I haven’t heard it like that in a long time.

No, but I believe you. Thanks for inviting me. Can I bring anything?

Just yourself. Here’s the address. See you tomorrow.

Placing my phone down on the arm of the couch, I curl into my fuzzy blanket and watch the people on TV make giant pumpkins and black cats.

Maybe I should take a baking class, watch some YouTube videos, or something. Who knows, I might have gotten my mom's kitchen skills, and I just don’t know it.

My eyes start to get heavy around episode three, and I decide it’s probably time to call it a night. I quickly clean up the kitchen, putting my leftovers in a bag before putting them in the fridge for lunch tomorrow.

When my head hits the pillow, I take note of how light I feel. I’m not filled with dread over hanging out with this group of people tomorrow. In the interactions we’ve had this far, they’ve been nothing but kind. Accepting the little bits of myself I’ve shared with them, even if they aren’t the best parts of me.

I’m a little nervous to see Markus, our interaction was less than desirable today. But maybe he was just having a bad day. Or maybe I’m reading way too much into it.