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One Month Later
Have you ever thought about how easy men have it? I mean, to look good they just get out of bed and run their fingers through their hair. Girls have it worse. Most of us, we can't just love ourselves how we are. No. We cake questionable liquid all over our skin, pull hair out of our eyebrows one at a time in a self-mutilating ritual, and paint a whole new face on top of our original faces. I mean, if one of us goes missing, you better hope we have access to products, ’cause we might not look the same as our pictures.
"Hold still!" Charlotte scolds me.
I cringe as I watch the eyelash curlers come toward my face. "I just don't understand why this is so important."
"Because, you need to look your best." She sticks her tongue in her cheek as she tries to focus.
"I agreed to go. Isn't that enough?"
Her hand drops, and she gives me an unamused look. "Paige."
Chuckling, I sink into myself. "Okay, okay."
Classes let out this week, and I've never felt more relieved. My dad is still managing to hang in there, and some days he actually seems better. We spend every possible moment together, and now that summer is here, I'll have even more time with him. Except for tonight. Tonight I have a date.
Apparently one of Charlotte's friends has been bugging her about setting us up together. She mentioned it for three straight weeks before finally getting me to agree to it. If I'm being honest, no part of me is ready to even look at another guy, especially with my dad's timeline, but if spending one night eating fancy food and making small talk is what gets her off my back, so be it.
My mom appears in the doorway, looking at me like she's never adored anyone more. "You look beautiful, honey."
I roll my eyes playfully. "You'd say that if I was wearing sweatpants and hadn't showered in a week."
Charlotte snorts, and my mom smiles proudly. "What can I say? I gave you good genes."
"Oh, so I'm pretty because of you."
"Exactly."
Sticking her tongue out at me, she walks away with a pep in her step.
I love the days when my mom is sassy. It means my dad had a good night. I can always tell how he's doing just by seeing the way my mom looks in the morning, and it helps. It gives me an idea of what to expect.
"Okay," Charlotte tells me. "I think you're done."
My bed creaks as I stand up and walk over to the mirror. The makeup is a little much, being as I normally put on some eyeliner and call it a day, but I'll deal with it. The dress, however, is entirely way too short.
"Char, I can't wear this."
"Sure you can," she answers simply. "It looks great on you."
I pull the fabric down only for it to slide back up. "Yeah, but my pussy won't look great when the whole restaurant gets a peep show. I'm not shaving for this shit."
She falls back onto the bed, cackling loudly as I peel the dress off and walk over to my closet. It's not exactly the fanciest restaurant, but it's still pretty upper class. A part of me considers wearing the dress I wore for my birthday dinner. The pale pink one that I just had to have. But then I remember the memories of that night, and realize how tainted
it is with everything that went wrong. That was the last time things were somewhat okay.
Instead, I grab a navy-blue dress that Becca left here. It's longer, not as tight, and at least 75% less revealing—win. But when Charlotte sees it, she groans.
"My grandmother wears navy."
I look over at her and shrug. "Granny has taste then."
The change of attire is not up for discussion. Besides, it may be a blind date, but this is not Tinder. I'm not looking for anything to go past a goodnight hug tonight.
PULLING UP TO THE restaurant, I can already see my date waiting outside. He's standing there in dress pants with a shirt and tie, looking so nervous that I start to feel bad I'm not looking at this as a real date. I mean, don't get me wrong, he's cute. He has that frat boy kind of look, with short brown hair and a straight smile, but there's just something he's lacking.
"Brad?" I ask as I approach.
