The woman rolled her eyes as if it was a silly question. “Of course. What’s the point in spending a small fortune on Japanese skin-care products if you can’t share?”
Eliza tried to smile and took it. “Thank you.”
The band had just begun playing a guitar-laden chorus of “Dancing Queen” when the woman gave Eliza a third makeup wipe. Then the door to the bathroom flew open.
Two women entered, one with red hair piled on top of her head and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt half-hidden under a pair of denim overalls, and the other with a perfectly fitted navy sweater and blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
“Who thought it was a good idea to create a hair metal version of ABBA?” the redhead groaned.
The blonde laughed. “Oh, come on. It’s ABBA and KISS. And their name is AbbaKiss. Like the ancient calculator. Get it?”
The redhead snorted and looked like she was about to reply with a sarcastic remark, but stopped short when she saw Eliza’s reflection in the mirror, with the brunette leaning against the counter next to her.
“Everything okay in here, Emma?” she asked.
The brunette waved her martini glass in the air, sending small droplets of vodka over Eliza’s arm. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. We’re only on the mascara.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Eliza said, her voice wavering. “I’m sorry.”
The blonde frowned. “Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s just… so stupid.” Eliza shook her head, as if it might ward off another sob. “My boyfriend and I are out here for the weekend, and we’ve been having such a good time. It’s been perfect. But then we were out listening to the band, and he said he loved me and…”
The redhead’s eyebrows knitted together. “And?”
Eliza could feel her face crumbling again. “He started talking about when we get married. When we have kids and…”
Silence fell, with only the sound of the band’s lead singer belting out the opening lyrics to “Super Trouper” echoing off the walls. Then the blonde came up to Eliza’s side and gave her an encouraging smile in the mirror. “That sounds sweet.”
The woman with the Chanel bag rolled her eyes again. “Yes, Anne, because you’re getting married. Personally, I’d rather have my nails plucked out with—”
“Okay, Emma, we get your point,” the redhead cut her off.
Emma shrugged as she slid to sit on the counter, balancing her drink in front of her.
“It was nothing,” Eliza said, more to herself than to the women now surrounding her. “I’m probably a little drunk, and it just caught me by surprise. To be fair, we’ve never really talked about what he wanted before.”
The blonde—Eliza thought she remembered that her name was Anne—seemed to consider the point. Then she asked, “And what do you want?”
That was the crux of it. The neglected heart of it that she was only just recognizing now.
“I don’t know,” Eliza said. “I’m twenty-seven years old, and I have absolutely no idea. I’ve been so focused for so long on what everyone else wanted for me that I’ve based every choice on that. I never stopped to think if I want it. Do I want to get married?Have kids? Get adog? Or have I just been told I want those things for so long that I never took the time to think about it until now?”
“Does it matter?” Emma said with a shrug.
The redhead frowned. “That’s a little harsh.”
“No, I’m serious, Lizzy.” Emma slid off the counter, then turned her attention to Eliza. “Even if you had wanted those things, it doesn’t matter. You can change your mind. You have a choice.”
“But it doesn’t just affect me—it affects Ben, too,” Eliza said, her head swimming with vodka and panic. “What will he do?”
“Marvel at your ability to evolve and change,” Emma replied, raising her drink above her head so small splashes of vodka scattered on the floor.
“Hear, hear,” Anne said with a smile.
“I still can’t believe you ordered a martini at a dive bar,” Lizzy murmured, glaring at Emma’s glass now perched above their heads.
Eliza smiled, but it faded just as quickly as it had come. “And if he doesn’t?”
