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An obnoxious sound pulls me from my sleep. It’s close and chirpy and stops after a few minutes, leaving me in that half-awake, half-asleep state where it can go either way. But then the damn thing starts again, and I groan, knowing the owner of the ringtone she set for herself won’t stop bothering me.
“What?” I say, eyes closed after blindly answering. There’s a lot of noise in the background, people having multiple conversations and all centered around one thing: coffee. Not that it surprises me in Seattle where we are all addicted slaves to the roasted bean.
“You’re late.” Elise’s voice comes through as annoyed and I’m not comprehending the why. “Seriously, Gabriella. How could you forget the meeting I set up with the gallery owner on Pioneer Square?”
“Easy. I didn’t approve of it.” Her snarky tone rubs me wrong, especially after her coming into my home without permission. That key was for emergencies only, not trespassing as she pleases. “Now, I’ll be going back to sleep, and I expect an apology next time we see each other. Quit pushing me.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out low and meek, something my friend is not. “Pissing you off wasn’t my intention, but I know you like his space and wanted to show there. They have an opening coming up, Gabby, and I want to help you book it before we start the birthday celebrations.”
A harsh breath escapes me and I rub a hand down my face, sitting up now that the last dredges of sleep have evaporated. “Okay.”
“Okay?” The hopefulness in her tone makes me feel a bit guilty. “Because I’ll stall to buy you some time if—”
“The usual place?” I cut her off before quickly pulling my phone away to see the time. It’s a little after ten in the morning. I haven’t had six hours of continuous sleep in so long. “Or the brunch place, Tilikum?”
“Tilikum.” She’s giddy. Way too bubbly this morning, and I’m wondering how many mimosas she’s downed. “I’m craving Eggs Benedict.”
“Got it.” Without conscious thought, my eyes flick to the painting and skim across it; I’m calm while doing so. Today, right this second, there’s no accelerated breathing or sweaty palms. No full-body chills. Was everything just a lack of sleep?
“Gabby, you there?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there in thirty. Keep whoever comes from the gallery busy until I arrive.”
“You’re the best!” she squeals, and I can’t stop the laugh from bursting through on my end. Hers is excitement, while mine is relief. “Thank you, babes. I know you put up with my annoying habits and humor me with all the shows, but you really are my best friend. I’m like this because I love and believe in you.”
“I know. It’s why I haven’t fired you from this fake position yet.” Mr. Pickles chooses that moment to stretch, an annoyed grunt escaping his small body before jumping from the bed and going to lay in a plush doggy bed I keep in here for him. “Which reminds me...we need to talk.”
“Uh oh.”
“You could say that.” Placing the cell phone on the nightstand, I press the speakerphone option and stretch. My muscles feel tight, more than likely from staying in one position for the last few hours, but after a bit they give way to a delicious burn. “But it can wait until after the meeting. See you soon.”
“Okay, but—” Elise is cut off by the ending of the call.
“Now, what to wear when you don’t feel like schmoozing someone and don’t want it to show?” I muse out loud, padding over to my walk-in closet, and then pause because sitting atop the catch-all chair I keep near the door is a gift bag. This also keeps me from checking the cuts on my feet that feel dry, burn a bit from the stretching of skin, but are no longer bleeding, thank God. There’s enough I need to clean before leaving. But instead of doing that, my focus is on the bag with black and gold polka dots with a large bow in a velvet-like material. “What the hell?” Elise. That sneaky little pain in my butt.
My annoyance with her is still there, but I can’t deny that I’m smiling at the gesture. I have no living family. No siblings that I know of. No one to celebrate the small and big moments.
No one but her, and I’m enjoying the feeling of being cared for too much at the moment.
In the light of day and after a few hours of solid sleep, I’m beginning to see the gesture for what it is: my friend is celebrating something that I’ve always ignored in my own loneliness.
“I’m a jerk.” The guilt is hitting me now, too. Her pushiness and no-boundary personality isn’t coming from a malicious place, and I need to remember this. Be thankful for it. “Wonder what she got me...”
My legs carry me over to the bag and I pry off the bow with care, wanting to keep it. It’s pretty, delicate, and the all-black tone shimmers in the soft-white lighting.
Then, I pry apart the tape and pull out what feels like clothes wrapped in tissue paper the same colors as the bag. They’re thin and very lightweight. Feels like something I’d normally never wear, but I find myself wanting to today.
It feels right. This garment makes me giggle, and I’ve yet to see it. Since when do I giggle?
Tearing the tissue off, I gasp at the pretty little number in my hands. It’s blood-red, leaning a bit more toward a wine color, and in lace with spaghetti straps—a slip dress, and will easily fall to mid-thigh. This type of attire is so far removed from my day-to-day look—almost scarily so—yet I’m nodding as I finger the bottom edge detail where the material is cut to follow the pattern and not a straight line around.
This gives it dimension. Makes it stand out as flirty and fun.
Moreover, I find myself not finding a reason to chuck it toward the back of my closet. I want to put it on.
And as I place it atop my bed and walk toward the bathroom, I envision a finished, put-together look. See a different side of me that I’ve never embraced before. The words also slip through my consciousness without a second thought or hint of fear.
I’m going to be a pretty girl in the crowd.
