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“Genevieveeee!” My former roommate, Lauren, screams in my kitchen. “Genevieve?”
She’s known me for almost two years and still pronounces my name like “Jean-yay-Veev.” Yet, my nickname, “Gen-Gen,” comes out just fine.
“Yeah, Lauren?” I call back.
“The party starts in two hours and you said we could pre-game in the car.” She rushes to my doorway. “You said you weren’t going to come up with a last-minute excuse this time.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I just need to grab my coat and I’ll be ready.”
“You’re wearingthat?” She looks appalled. “Is your real outfit in your purse?”
I glance at my reflection in the mirror.
My black turtleneck and skinny jeans are paired with glittery gold stilettos and matching “In My New Era” earrings.
“I don’t see a problem.” I shrug. “You said you loved this outfit when I wore it two weeks ago.”
“Yeah, to a meet-and-greet.” She walks to my closet.“Celebritiesare attending this party, so you need to look like you belong there.”
“None of them will confuse me for being a part of their inner circle, Lauren.”
“Probably not.” She flips through my hangers. “But since your boyfriend is literally the hottest state prosecutor alive and he’ll be there, you should look sexy as fuck for him.”
I cross my arms. “Are you checking your boyfriend’s outfit, too?”
“Luckily for me, he has amazing taste already.” She pulls out a skin-tight dress I’ve been meaning to return for weeks. “Put this on and I’ll run to my place to get you the shoes and tights to match. Oh, and don’t forget to wear our friendship bracelet! Twinsies!”
Before I can protest, she’s running out the door.
I sigh and slowly change clothes.
Picking up the friendship bracelet, I trace my finger along the glittering “forever” bead.
“Friends” is a pretty strong word to describe what we are since I’m starting to believe that we’re only friends by default. Or maybe we’re better described as “associates” who have a few decent conversations here and there.
Anytime I try to discuss something serious, she gives me a blank stare and changes the subject.She dates a new “He’s the one” boyfriend every few months, and she cycles through her other “friends” like laundry. Even though this marks our second year in the wash, I’m not confident we’ll get another spin.
“Oh my effin gawdddd!” She squeals upon her return. “You look so much better! Hurry up and put these on so we can leave.”
3
GENEVIEVE
An hour later
Idon’t want to know how much this party costs.
The rooftop at The Fulton Blue is wrapped in white, with sparkling silver decor that pays homage to Manhattan, New York.
There’s a “no cell phone” policy in place due to the celebrities in attendance, so I can’t take any pictures.
While Lauren flutters around from guest to guest, putting on an amazing show for her boss, I sip champagne at “The Empire State Building.”
“Babe?” My boyfriend, Brett Shaw, makes me look up. “Babe, what are you doing?”
“Drinking.” I hold up my glass.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He smiles, disarming me with his All-American charm as usual. He’s been receiving stares from women all night, and he’s made it his personal mission to point me out and introduce me as “the woman I’ve fallen for,” anytime someone gets a little too close.
