She’s still studying me.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
There it is.
My hands lift in question—despite their sudden urge to flip her off.
“Well, obviously myrealclothes are in here,” I say, yanking at the chain of my itty-bitty leather crossbody. “Of course this is what I’m wearing. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, sorry,” she says, finally bringing me in to hug her vinyl-and-lace-clad body. “It’s just a little…meh.”
“This is what you said to wear.”
“I did say to wear black,” she admits, eyeing me as she lifts my shirt up a few inches. “Actually, I can work with this.”
We step onto the 6 train, and I raise my foot in the air, still pleading my case. “Look, I wore your favorite sandals even though they make my pinkie toe go rogue.”
Liv smiles and bats my leg away. “Don’t blame the shoes for your octopus toes.” Then she unclasps a few of her layered necklaces. “Here, put these on. I’ll fix your makeup.”
I try not to protest too violently as Liv tucks my shirt into my bra until it’s cropped into something resembling a bikini top. She swipes a final layer of deep brown eye shadow on my lid and recaps her mascara as the train lurches to a stop at Fourteenth Street.
“Better,” is all she says.
“Gee, thanks,” I say, scaling the stairs.
When we’re finally aboveground, I catch sight of my reflection in a passing window.
“Liv!”
I’m still laughing at the little Black Rocker Barbie staring back at me as Liv yanks at my jeans so they sit even lower on my hips. Once she’s satisfied, she links her arm through mine the way we did as kids, and I’m reminded of how she used to dress me up, even then.
“Fine,” I concede, smiling and falling into step with my best friend, “if you like it, I love it.”
—
Liv makes a catwalk of the few feet between the bar’s heavy double doors and the guys checking IDs. I resist the urge to untuck my shirt and throw my hair into a high poof to make it more obvious that I’m here against my will and better judgment.
“Don’t check anything,” she says, ushering me past a girl working coat check. “It’ll just get lost or stolen.”
Comforting.
8:42pm
Me:Start the clock.
Ro:Already?
Me:Already.
Liv leads us toward the bar at the center of the venue, currently overflowing with bodies thrashing haphazardly to the blaring music. Pretty sure the last “venue” I was in was the Richard Rodgers Theatre for a matinee performance ofHamilton.This…is not that.
Liv watches me do a once-over of our surroundings. The laughter that spills out of her at the horrified look on my face makes her look a little more like the girl I grew up with.
And she’s still smiling as she leans into me to shout at full volume: “Obviously, I’m buying.”
I smile my appreciation but keep my response brief to minimize my own vocal strain. “Tequila!”
Liv nods. “Soda? Margarita?”
