Wren
Before
“…in case you were wondering, yes, I did just roll my eyes.Shoot, and now I smeared mascara all over my facethanks to you.”
A tiny growl emanated from my chest as I said the last part.
While I grabbed a Q-tip, my phone still rested precariously on top of my tissue box, the camera focused on me. Like I’d done a million times, I popped the swab into my mouth, wet it, and proceeded to clean off the black smudge from underneath my eye.
“You know I can see you, right? We’re on FaceTime, and I’m watching you practically lick your face clean. Like a cat…which is gross.”
“Meow…”
My best friend kept talking. “I’m rolling my eyes—it’s my turn. After seeing that grossness, you’re going out with me.”
“Sella, I don’t want to go to some dumb drinking-slash-golf game. I want to go out to a civilized place, have a couple of cocktails, and go to bed. I’m boring. You know this about me.”
“Who are you, my grandma? Or you could be cool like Catwoman with that sexy meow.”
I snatched my phone and plopped down on my bed, staring into the camera. Sella looked directly back at me, her blond hair running wild in beach waves, face perfectly done, wearing an eggplant purple satin tank sliding off one arm. “Is that what people are wearing to golf these days?” I raised an eyebrow.
“It’s not golf, Wren. It’s Topmost Golf. You know, a good time? It’s a bunch of golf lanes, like bowling, but you hit golf balls onto the turf…for points? Have you had one of those lately?”
“A golf ball onto the turf? Can’t say I’ve had one…” Thankfully I spokeSella, meaning I could follow her jumbled thoughts.
“No. A good freaking time? A fun time where you are smiling and laughing, Catwoman.”
“I’m not a Catwoman. It’s not even up for debate. And no, I haven’t had fun in…ever. I’m at school…to be a doctor. My parents created a robot.”
“I know, I know. You’re gonna be a boss medical babe who has zero blemishes on her record.”
This made me laugh because I was far from a boss babe. “Anything but a boss babe. I think that expression went out a decade ago.”
“Listen, save the world tomorrow, but tonight you’re going to the Alphas’ golf event with me. I need a wingwoman, and you’re mine. We made pinky promises to stay by one another’s side.”
I directed my camera down toward my oversized Dopey’s Pizza T-shirt and asked, “Is this okay to wear?”
“I’m on my way over” was all she said before I watched her walk out of her apartment and stand in front of my door.
“It’s pretend golf,” I said into the phone, despite her being on the other side of my door.
She disconnected the FaceTime without any rebuttal. Oh, and she didn’t wait for me to open the door, rather walked right in, catching me standing there in only my Dopey’s T-shirt and bare feet.
“You need to lock your door,” she said, making her way toward my bedroom. Mine was on the right, and my absentee roommate, Kimberlie—with an ie, and not Kimmy or Kim—was on the left.
“Why? So you have to bang it down? How would you get your oat milk for your coffee?”
“Truth. Now,” she commented as she flung open my small closet and started tearing through clothes, “we need to find you something to wear. It’s not every day we get to have fun.”
Sella and I grew up together. She was the yin to my yang. She always had her eyes on a good time, and I let loose about once every six weeks. Even when I was eight, I barely allowed myself a sliver of fun. Quite frankly, I wasn’t sure why Sella kept me as her best friend. Lately all I cared about was getting into medical school, and Sella was busy partying, and currently looking for a husband.
“I love you, but you need new jeans. Skinny jeans with a hole or two in the knees.”
“I have one pair.” I shoved her out of the way and stood on tiptoes to reach the shelf at the top of the closet, yanking down the jeans in question.
She snatched them out of my hands and held them out in front of her. “Perfect,” she stated. “Put ’em on, girlie.”
I started to slide them up my legs.
