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“Please?” I begged, pushing my lip out for maximum pout. I knew exactly what buttons to push to get my way with her ninety-nine percent of the time.
Emma narrowed her eyes and slowly shook her head. It was working.
“You’re a real menace, you know that?” I smelled victory. It smelled like thick-cut bacon.
“Yes, but I’m a menace who’s getting a puppy with my best friend-slash-fake wife.” Emma sighed and rested her head on the table.
Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “This is going to blow up in my face, I know it.” I let out a little victory squeal and grabbed both of our plates.
“I’ll deal with the dishes,” I said. It was the least I could do. I rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher before starting on the pans she’d cooked with, making sure to turn the music back up again. Dancing made everything better, even dishes, so I started to boogie and sing at the same time. I knew all the words to all the Dolly.
“We should get going,” she said, grabbing the frying pan from me and quickly drying it with a dishtowel so she could hang it up again on the little rack above the kitchen island.
I dried my hands and turned to face her. Emma stepped close to me with a strange look on her face. She reached toward me and wiped something from the same cheek she’d kissed last night.
“You had some soap on your face,” she said, her voice so soft that it was barely above a whisper.
“Thanks,” I said loudly. I couldn’t move. An alarm on Emma’s phone went off and we both jumped a mile. Emma had alarms set for just about everything, including getting ready to go out. All that organization would do the opposite and stress me the fuck out, but I guess I was going to be living with it now. Maybe her habits would finally rub off on me?
“Time to get dressed,” she said, looking up from the phone before she turned around to head to her bedroom. I leaned back against the sink for a second. I needed the support. My heart was still racing, and it wasn’t because of the alarm. What was going on with me? Was I having some sort of breakdown? What was going ON?
Eventually I got my shit together (as much as I ever could) and went to my room to get ready. I wanted to look nice for Nova’s latest show, so I picked out my favorite floral romper that made me feel like I needed to frolic everywhere, and paired it with wedges and loosely braided my light brown hair. Just a little bit of color on my cheeks and brows completed everything.
I was the first one in the living room and was messing around on my phone when Emma emerged from her room. I dropped my phone on the floor with a thunk. I was too busy staring at her to worry about the potential of a screen crack.
“You, uh, look—” I couldn’t think of a word. I’d forgotten how to word. I swear I’d forgotten how to breathe.
Emma’s brows knit together in concern. “You okay?” she asked, brushing her fingers down the dress to smooth nonexistent wrinkles in the tropical print dress. It had a thigh slit that fluttered open when she moved and had large pink flowers on a white background.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, finally picking up my phone. No screen cracks. “I’ve just got leg envy. You look fantastic.” I stood on my own shaking legs and followed behind her as she grabbed her bag and keys from the table near the door. Right. I needed those things also. I slung my bag over my shoulder and joined her in the hallway.
I caught a whiff of orange from her hair as she locked the door. She must have sprayed it in the bathroom. Her dark ringlets were loose and pulled back on one side with a few bobby pins. Effortless casual elegance. I could never.
“You lookreallygood,” I said, at a loss for anything else.
“Well, thank you. You look really great too. I’ve always loved that romper on you.” I did a little curtsy and ended up tipping over a little. On my best days, I wasn’t the most coordinated.
“Guess that needs a little work before I meet the queen. Do you still have to curtsy to the queen? Is that a thing? Or do you just sort of bow over her hand? I’m sure someone’s written an article online about this,” I babbled as we headed down the stairs.
“I’ll look up some tutorials for you, just in case,” Emma said.
––––––––
NOVA’S GALLERY WASonly a few stops on the train away from our apartment, so we didn’t bother to take a car. Of course I was limp and sweaty by the time we got to the gallery and climbed the stairs. Emma looked slightly windswept and incredible. I pulled a tissue out of my bag and blotted my face. Ugh.
“Is my hair okay?” I asked, using my phone to check the damage that the Boston wind had done. Most days there was no point in styling because it was just a waste of time when you stepped out the door.
“Yeah, it’s perfect,” she said, tucking a few pieces behind my ear, her finger lingering a little before she stepped through the doorway into the gallery. I shook myself a little and swallowed before I followed her.
The show was a joint venture between Nova and two of her friends. Nova was the painter, her friend Skye did photography, and the third member, Dierdre, did incredible wire sculptures. I always joked they should form a band and conquer the music world too.
Emma pressed a plastic glass of cheap wine into my hand and I looked for both Nova and the snack table. I found the former first.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” she said, breezing over and giving us both hugs. She was dressed to impress in a gold sequin tube dress with her hair pushed back with a gold headband and gold shadow on her lids. Literal goddess.
“Are you the art?” I asked, and she laughed.
“You’re ridiculous and I love you. Okay, I have to go do my thing, but I hope you enjoy, there’s food in the back.” Nova flitted away to chat and talk with Serious Art People.
