I remember the way he looked at me in the club—hungry, like a wolf circling its prey. And somehow… I don’t think that’s a problem.
I didn’t see a purple band onhisarm.
Wait a minute. Do the men there wear bands too? I need to find out.
I shrug. “I suppose.”
“Yes! Of course. But wear something beautiful, maybe that emerald dress. Make him jealous. Make him want to protect you.”
I remember the way he snarled in my ear:You come into this club… Men here come with one purpose.
I remember exactly how that felt.
“Alright,” I say. “Sure.”
“Well, yourmakeuplooks beautiful,” she says.
I nod. “It does. Thank you.”
Bridget smiles and giggles, and I’m not sure why, but it’s not that complicated. She showed me a video, and now I know how to do it.
I like to keep it natural. My eyes are brighter. My cheeks are slightly flushed. My lips are full from a lip plumper and stained with something that doesn’t come off when I eat or drink. I’ve had my eyebrows waxed, and I used a little filler brush. She showed me this really amazing mascara that does something called “tubing” that just washes off with warm water. Kind of miraculous.
I look pretty good.
“Alright,” she says. “Go put that dress on. And what did you do with your hair?”
“Well, I just washed it,” I tell her. “And did a little with the stuff you bought me and did a bit of a blowout or some such. It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”
All through secondary school, I had frizz-ball hair. But up until recently, she showed me some kind of method. And I’m not going to argue—it’s nice being able to wake up to luxurious, silky waves.
And when I put that dress on? It’s stunning.
I look at the time. Five fifty.
“What am I going to do for the next ten minutes?” I say nervously.
Bridget giggles and starts coughing. She coughs louder and louder until I feel my own ribs begin to rattle in sympathy.
“You know what?” I say. “I don’t have to go out to dinner tonight. I need to?—”
“No,” Bridget says firmly. “You do. You’re doing this for our family. And honestly, Erin, after I hang up the phone, I’m just going to sleep. I just need sleep.”
She needssomuch more than sleep.
I draw in a deep breath.
“So before he arrives, maybe mentally rehearse a couple of conversations you’ll have with him in your head before you have them in person. You know how that helps you. Okay? Can you do that?”
“Rehearse conversations?” I grimace. “What do you mean?”
“Oh my god, you’re so cute,” she says, coughing again. “I wish I were there. Like this—let’s practice.”
I wait again until the coughing subsides.
Fuckaplastic anemia. Why didsheget the faulty bone marrow? She’s the pretty one, the one who would’ve done really well playing this part in our world.
I should be the one in that hospital bed.
