“Myosotis, dear,” Grandma corrects. I nod. “Yeah, myosotis scorpioidis!”
Belle looks confused. “I thought they were forget-me-nots?” Suddenly I’m filled with pride that I know something my sister doesn’t. As much as I wish I was, I am not smarter than a second grader.
“It’s both! Like the northern lights and aurora borealis!” I beam.
“Oh, cool! I’m going to keep calling them forget-me-nots because that science name sounds weird and I won’t remember it.” Belle shrugs her shoulders and picks up another cookie.
“Me, too,” I nod in agreement. If Belle calls them forget-me-nots then I’ll do the same because she’s my big sister and my best friend and I’ll never forget that.
ONE
Alis
It’s beenyears since I’ve inhaled this much smoke. It’s irritating my eyes and making it difficult to breathe. Whose idea was it to put smoke machines in clubs, anyway? Why does this smoke hover near the ground instead of rising? Is it because it’s cool instead of warm? I should look up the science behind smoke machines. Also, why again did I agree to come tonight?
I can’t believe I let her talk me into this. And by “this” I don’t just mean a night out at a club. When (after incessant begging) I gave Skye carte blanche on tonight’s look I didn’t expect her to replace my glasses with contacts. Iloathecontact lenses. Not just because my astigmatism hates them, but because a night without glasses is a night without any buffer between myself and the rest of the world.
Skye? Are you sure you want me to go out in public without my security blanket?That’s the quickest way for me to go from hero to zero, just like that. (If you missed the reference, please re-read that last line with the appropriate Hercules tune and z snap.)
“Alis! Get your sexy ass on the dance floor!” My best friend Skye yells, sandwiched between two men with gelled hair.
That’s seriously disgusting. If your hair is glistening before your skin joins the wet and sweaty club, I don’t want to be anywhere nearyou — much less close enough to have your cock rubbing up against my ass and your hair brushing against my neck. No thanks.
I’ve never understood the appeal of dance clubs. If you want to hump someone, do it in the privacy of your own home. Not in a room full of people watching — or worse, wanting in on your action. Dance clubs are a waste of space with shitty lighting and overpriced drinks.
I guess there was that one club on the cruise ship that holds some pretty great memories ...
I digress.
Let’s back up to how I got here in the first place.
Skye, one of my two wild and crazy best friends, recently moved to the city with my daughter and me so I could finish school and so she could get out of her “rut” or whatever she’s calling it. Basically, she hates small-town America and wants some adventure. I didn’t want to venture so far from home on my own with Sunny in tow — single parenting is scary enoughwithhelp — so, when I was accepted into Middle Peak University to finish my master’s in English, Skye jumped at the opportunity to tag along.
Gosh, I love her so much. A best friend who willingly uproots her life to gallivant across the state with you and your daughter to start a new life is a rare find.
That’s why I’m here tonight. In this club. Inhaling smoke and trying not to let the loud music take over my senses and throw me into a tailspin of a headache. It’s because of Skye. She wanted a ladies’ night out before my mom returns to her housewife life tomorrow. We don’t know anyone here — yet — and there’s no way in hell I’d leave Sunny with some teenager from a babysitting app. This is our one night, according to Skye, to “let loose and party before our new life becomes real life.”
I’m ready for my new life to be my real life. I feel like life was put on pause nine years ago when my world fell apart. My path didn’t just take a turn — it exploded right before my eyes, leaving me clueless as to what the future would hold. Without part of that explosion,I wouldn’t have my daughter, so it’s safe to say beauty came from those deadly ashes.
I miss Belle. She’d be happy I’m out tonight. She always told me I needed to get out more.
Out. I am out. At a club. And I need to get out of my head. I’m supposed to be having fun, letting loose, and yet I’m still sitting here watching Skye and her sweaty man meat bumping and grinding while I hide in a booth, lost in my thoughts, as usual.
Okay, here we go. I’m getting up.
I’m up. Damn, these heels. Skye might've picked a hot dress, but these shoes are ridiculous. Who needs to be five inches taller than their natural height? NO ONE. The dress by itself is stunning — long sleeves with a high neckline and deep back, black and shimmery, hits at mid-thigh. It’s sexy but not too revealing. Thank God I’m sporting a B cup and nothing more, otherwise this dress wouldn’t work for me. The open back is mostly hidden by my long, wavy blonde hair — another reason why I refuse to dance and drench myself in sweat. The heels take this dress from sexy and classy to “Hey man, wanna look at my vag when I inevitably twist my ankle and fall spread eagle onto the floor in front of everyone?!”
That would be my luck. Hence, the booth hiding.
Scooting out of the bench seat, I slowly rise to my feet, careful to hold onto the back of the booth to make sure I’m stable on these fuck-me stilts before I take one step forward.
What do you know? The smoke isn’t as bad up here.It has to be the smoke temperature keeping it so low to the ground.These five-inch monstrosities just became air quality control supports. I’ll keep telling myself that until my brain stops worrying that I look like a five-dollar hooker in a room full of twenty-something cover models.
Something about being thirty and spending an evening in a nightclub depresses me. I love to dance but I feel incredibly out of place. At least we didn’t go to a club on the other side of the city near campus. Ha! If I feel out of place here, I can’t imagine how uncomfortable I’d be dancing in a room full of young college coeds,bumping and grinding the night away before the new semester begins.
I take my first few steps toward the dance floor and decide better of it. Nope, not dancing in these stilts — I mean, air quality control supports. I pivot to the bar instead. I won’t hide in a booth like a hermit — I’ll sit at the bar and maybe even talk to people.
Pfft. Probably not. I look good tonight, and I know it, but I haven’t stretched my flirting muscles in years. I’m not very peopley. Knowing me, I’ll say something incredibly awkward trying to ignite chemistry with a man and end up getting the deer-in-the-headlights WTF look.
