“Hey, Chrissy!” Lola, one of the other freelance makeup artists, pokes her head into my small room on her way down the hall. She’s got probably ten years and forty pounds on me, her face showing the telltale signs of aging, with fine lines making their appearance and cheeks that are starting to give away her age, but she’s still just as fucking stunning as ever. All women are gorgeous to me, honestly. I guess I’m used to looking for the natural beauty each woman holds within her so I can accentuate it with makeup. But Lola’s got this beauty that exudes from within, despite her almost constant harried demeanor and the stress I know she carries with her everywhere she goes. She’s still always got this sparkle that’s purely Lola, and I adore her for it.
“Heyyy, girl! How many clients you got today?”
“Four! Three down already though, so one more and I’m outta here! How about you?”
“Just the one for me today,” I reply with a small smile. I realize it might not be that economical for me to spend an hour and a half getting ready for a single client, but I file that away for future Christina to consider. Along with the rest of my mounting problems. For now, it feels good to be out of the house, doing something I’m good at, and it’ll be rewarding to see this client feeling fabulous before her huge night.
“Homecoming season is around the corner, I hope you’re ready,” she warns me with a look that tells me she most definitely isn’t ready for a never-ending stream of overexcited Gen-Zers. She probably gets enough of that at home with her two teenage daughters.
But this is the life we’ve chosen, and squealing, too-cool teens come with the territory. Honestly, I kinda like being surrounded by younger people on the regular, it keeps me feeling fresh and less like a crusty old grandma in my ripe old age of thirty-three. Besides, I still feel twenty-one most of the time, anyway, aside from the creaky knees, sensitive gastrointestinal system and the occasional back pain. And this way, I can stay hip with the lingo the kids are using and sound like I’m twenty one, too. Until I say things like “hip with the lingo” and give myself away.
“You know what homecoming season means to me?” I rebut. “PSLs are back, babyyy! As long as I’ve got my pumpkin spice, I can handle the hell out of those little homecoming hellions.”
She laughs at my unashamedly basic bitch self, and asks, “Chance got the kids tonight? You wanna grab margaritas around the corner after this?”
Ugh, quality time with another woman, another makeup artist, another mother? Sounds divine, to be honest. It’s been ages since I’ve had a good girls’ night. I instantly feel a pang of guilt somewhere deep in my gut at the thought of how long it’s been since I’ve seen my bestie. It’s beenmonthssince I’ve made an effort to get together in person with Ellie. She just gets my ranting texts every so often, and that’s about all I’ve made time for. But no, today won’t work. I have to be done by four fifteen on the dot to get the kids from after-school care since Chance doesn’t get off work until five. If I’m not there by four thirty, we get charged by the minute, and I don’t make enough from this gig to make that worth it.
“Ugh, that sounds amazing, Lollipop, but I’ve gotta get the kids after this. Next time?”
She gives me a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and taps my doorframe as she walks away. “No problem, girl.”
I realize she’s asked me out for drinks almost every time we’ve run into each other the past couple of months, and I always respond the same way. If I were her, I would’ve stopped asking by now. I’m touched that she still tries, but that look in her eyes as I told her “next time” for the dozenth time has me wondering if I’m a horrible friend, and if so, how long have I been one?
Addfriendto the growing list of titles I’ve failed at living up to.
Idon’tactually try to make time for anyone I’m friends with here. Even Roxanne, who is probably the closest friend I have outside of Ellie, I haven’t spent any real time with since before Eleanor was born.
And yes, my daughter is the namesake of my best friend, if you were wondering. She’s had that big of an effect on my life, and I’m one hundred percent positive I wouldn’t be here without all she did for me in our younger years. I owe it to her, and probably to myself, to put a little time in with her. I make a mental note to text her later and try to set something up. Maybe we can even do a whole girls’ night with Ellie, Roxanne, Lola, and my sister Jenny?Honestly, that sounds like heaven.
I hustle back to my station, happy with my plan to get some girl time in soon, and do my final preps, ready and waiting to make this client feel like a goddess on one of the most important nights of her life.
* * *
The client wasten minutes late, and when your entire appointment slot is only forty-five minutes long, that’s kind of a big deal. I smile through my annoyance and try to give her the look she came in for, but my patience all but evaporates when, right as I’m finishing the final swipe of mascara on her lashes (aka minutes away from applying her setting spray and being done), she sneezes with zero warning. So not only do I get sprayed with God knows what from her nose and mouth, but the mascara smudges abso-fucking-lutelyeverywhere.
For fuck’s sake.
If I wasn’t used to being covered in all sorts of gross things from my kids, I’d probably be gagging right now, but I manage to withhold most of my grimace. Mom stomach for the win.
“Sorry,” she says weakly, not looking sorry at all. She looks more like an unrepentant panda at the moment, and I’m tempted to let her leave like that. She’ll look like one from the bags under her eyes after a few years of marriage if she follows in my footsteps, anyway, according to the salty voice in my head.Might as well get used to the unattractive look now, sweetie.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her, trying not to clench my teeth and give off the vibe of a monster. It’s hard sometimes, I tell you.
I turn my back to her and whip out my phone to text Chance. Considering I fell asleep with a face full of my Kindle while he was answering some urgent email for some deal at work, suffice it to say he didn’t exactly make good on his promise from the kitchen the other day. And I’ve been running around as usual since then, getting the kids ready for school, to school, back home again, and all the things that come in between, so we haven’t really talked beyond the bare necessities since his…promise.
He’s underestimating my resolve, and it might actually offend me that he thinks a measly flirt or two is going to get him back into my good graces. He hasn’t realized yet that the last funeral we held in our backyard may as well have been for the final remaining tidbits of romance between us. It ain’t comin’ back, babe.
But life keeps moving; it doesn’t have time for my feelings, doesn’t give a shit about my insecurities, the wounds on my psyche from this man I promised to love and honor until our dying days. These kids of ours will always come first, I vow to put them above whatever petty bullshit may come between their father and me, so I send the text that needs to be sent.
Me
SOS at work. Won’t be able to get the kids in time. Can you grab all of them for me?
Chance
Did glitter explode everywhere again?
If so, I want pics
