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5
Charlie
A chill creepsup my spine, like something bad is about to happen. Those little hairs stand up on the back of my neck. My gut tells me to call the girls and cancel, to not go out tonight, that this girls’ night out is a bad idea.
Am I being silly? No. I’m not crazy—I’m cursed. My life’s track record speaks for itself.
“Come on, Charlie. Everything is fine.” I smooth a hand over my hair, taking in my reflection in the antique Queen Anne mirror, its wide frame leafed in gold.
I touch the cool strand of pearls at my neck. I turn a toe to reveal the red bottom of my heel, a reminder of who I’ve become. I’ve gone with theMe Dollyblack suede slide, the heel high enough to count but still comfy enough to stroll around the city without turning an ankle or, God forbid, having ankles swell into cankles.
Hair fresh from the stylist, my signature light ash brown gloss covering my natural blonde, perfectly curled with not a strand out of place. Not a wrinkle in my favorite dress, the big pink flowers so bright and cheerful they almost make me smile.
I grab the bottle of Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, a gift from Emilia when she left New York and went back to her home in Italy. I spray a spritz in the air and breeze through it, letting the light, floral perfume envelop me. I set the bottle down on the dressing table, glancing at my reflection. A bright, perfectly glossed smile flashes back at me in the mirror.
I look good. Normal. Like me. Charlie Bachman.
Loved, wanted, undamaged.
I look like I’m ready for a night out with the Beauties. No one will ever know I’ve spent the past seven days wearing sweats, my hair swept up in a messy bun, my old bunny slippers looking more bedraggled than ever, red rims lining my eyes.
So why do I still feel so empty inside?
My hand circles my belly.
I’ve been thinking about my childhood way too much. I hate how when you’re low your brain takes you even lower, making you dwell on bad memories. My hand leaves my stomach, my forced smile curling up to the blushed apples of my cheeks.
Remember who you are, not who you were.Charlie Bachman. A strong, beautiful, caring woman with a huge chosen family and more girlfriends than I could have ever imagined I’d have.
Right now I should be in serious need of some girl-time.
I shake my head as if the movement will empty the thoughts from my brain.
“There’s no use thinking sad thoughts, Charlie. Time to move on.” My eyes are not convincing me, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip. I straighten my spine and steady my gaze, telling my reflection, “Tonight is supposed to befun.”
I go down to my kitchen, needing to feed my fish before I leave. I give my blue and red beta a few flakes of food. He darts out of his pirate ship, coming to the surface to gulp them down, his pretty, fanned-out tail flicking happily. “See you later, Captain Jack Sparrow.”
He’s the only man I’ve come home to for the past five years.
The pendulum wall clock strikes eight, Westminster chiming through my New York townhouse. It’s time. I can practically hear the champagne-laced giggles, the clacking of the herd of stilettos headed toward my house. A few off-key peals of “Rock the Boat” catch my ear. Has to be Shannon. My doorbell starts chiming and it doesn’t stop.
“Coming! Coming!” I call, rushing down the stairs as quickly as I can without turning an ankle in my too-high girls’ night out heels. “Hang on!”
I throw the door open, and I’m instantly enveloped in a cloud of hugs and perfume and colorful fabrics. My mood lightens as Shannon hooks her arm through mine. “You’re looking grand! Love the dress. You look like a garden in bloom.”
Everyone else wears sleek cocktail dresses. I’m feeling a bit out of place in my flouncy floral number.
“Thanks.” I twist the gold bracelet on my wrist, suddenly nervous tonight is a mistake, that I’m not ready to go out, and that what I really need is another quiet night in by myself, tearing through an entire box of Kleenex while ingesting a whole pyramid of Ferrero Rochers.
But I’m here now and there’s no call to be rude or a quiet little mouse sulking in the corner. After all, this night was put together for me. My friends noticed I’d been a little blue and wanted to cheer me up.
I push myself to be a good friend back, asking about Shannon’s upcoming honeymoon. “So are you and Mark counting down the days till you get to leave this winter behind for paradise?”
Shannon and her husband were married just a few weeks ago. She was ready to hit the white sand beaches of the Cayman Islands the moment she said I do, but her husband Mark wanted to spend a few weeks in their new townhome to get settled before they left for their two-week vacation.
Her eyes light up like Christmas trees. “I. Can. Not. Wait. It’s gonna be crackin’!” She launches into an excited monologue listing all the activities they’ll be doing, punctuating it with her adorable Irish slang. Unlike me, she and Mark are both adventure bugs and adrenaline junkies. Skydiving, zip-lining, snorkeling, diving, swimming with dolphins.
I’ve been to the Caymans before. Once. It didn’t end well for me. The memory creeps up in my mind. I take a deep breath, pushing it down, reminding myself Shannon’s not cursed.
