“What high school reunion are you going to in that?” he asks.
“You’d be surprised.” I walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “It’s mostly weddings though. No one wants to run into their happily-coupled-up ex at a wedding when they’re stillsingle, especially if the ex is the one getting married. I made this just for those occasions that need an extra wow factor.”
Liam’s brows shoot up in disbelief at this and I stifle a laugh. “You made that. Fuck that’s incredible.”
“It’s just something I learned to do when I realized I couldn’t afford some of the things I wanted to buy. It’s not perfect but it does the job.”
“I’ll say. Why do you put so much into the details of something you could probably throw any dress on for and then make small talk?”
“I get to charge more for my expertise, of course,” I joke, then flop back onto the bed. My gaze traces over the ceiling texture that, from my first day at the apartment, has reminded me of a breakout of splotchy hives. “It’s quite simple, really. We like to think we’re all so different and that’s why we’re special. If everyone was special, my job would be a lot harder. But most of us just want the same thing.”
“You call this easy?”
I laugh. “Okay, yes, I get what you mean. I put a lot into my work, because it’s what my clients deserve and expect.”
The bed shifts, fabric rustling as Liam lies down next to me. His hair brushes against mine as he adjusts.
“So, what is it that we all want?” he asks, and I can feel his eyes on me.
I nearly look his way, but this, the core of it all, makes me feel naked. Like, over the last few hours, I’ve stripped down. Losing my armor, but I don’t feel unsafe. If anything, it’s the opposite. Somehow that’s more terrifying. “We want to be people who are worthy of love, and we want the people we care about to see us that way. Yeah there are plenty of smaller reasons, promotions, convincing parents to drop arguments, feuds, but to be loved is to be seen, and all that.”
“Henri,” Liam says. Finally, I roll and look at him. Up close, I can tell his brown eyes are hazel—brown blooming from his irises to be swallowed up by rings of gold streaked green at the edges.
“Yeah?” I swallow hard, willing my racing heart to settle before Liam can hear it pounding. There’s a part of me that wants to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he’s real.
A phone chimes with a text notification, and he sits up, pulling away from me before grabbing his phone where he’s set it on my nightstand.
“It’s Jasmine.” He rises to his feet, teeth toying at his bottom lip as he reads. There’s something about him, the way all of his feelings live unrestrained on his face, that makes him easy to talk to. It’s easy to see why people feel safe opening up to him.
“Headed out?” I prop myself up on an elbow and ask as disappointment creeps in.
“I should,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Thanks. I think I have everything I need. The article is going to be a hit.”
“Of course it will. The great L. Hughes is writing it.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” I don’t want this to end, this resonant humming between us.
“I should . . . Umm.”
“I guess.”
I stand up too quickly, forgetting I’m in a dress. My feet tangle in the fabric causing me to stumble before catching myself on a wall.
It hits me all at once. I’m just a girl in a dress. A story.
A girl who is so starved for genuine attention that I let him in a little too much. This is exactly why I don’t do this. I keep work and myself separate, otherwise I’m too eager to give all of myself a scrap of belonging.
I take a moment to get myself together and walk him to the door.
“I can send it to you when it’s out,” he says, lingering halfway into the hall with his hand on the doorknob.
“No, it’s fine. You don’t need to go out of your way to do that.” My practiced smile is back in place as I remember who I am to him. No one.
When he goes, I lock the door behind me and I slump onto the floor. Left alone, again.
6
