Page 20 of All The Ways to Miss You

That being said, I’ve learned a lot from watching movies and TV shows on Netflix on my iPad. Depending on how you look at it, they saved me or gave me a false view of the world. It’s easier to follow a simple story from beginning to end where I can piece together some semblance of meaning. But still, I stick to watching romance and comedy. That’s all I can handle.

Aggie would be shocked to learn her Princess of Darkness needs to laugh at a comedy or sink into a romance rather than watch The Walking Dead. I’ve had enough of that on my own.

We nap on the couch for a few hours. When we wake, Aggie heads home. I rise with the bizarre and overwhelming urge to shop. Or maybe I know exactly why I need to shop but can’t come to terms with the reason.

When I return home with an armful of shopping bags, Evan still hasn’t fixed my hot water handle. It pains me even more on Monday when I take another freezing shower for work.

I select one of my new outfits, a trim crimson dress suit and black heels with red soles. This morning, I style my hair in loose waves down my back and apply makeup. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The last time I wore bright colors or makeup? I can’t recall.

And there’s the information I want to ignore . . . the reason I’m doing this in the first place. I need to reassure myself after Saturday night’s rejection. I need to feel better, even if it’s only physically. The more troublesome part? I want to make Evan regret his dismissal. I’m reasonable enough to understand this is a childish response, but I’m stuck on the idea of revenge.

You look ridiculous.

I twist in front of the mirror. My mind picks at the roundness of my hips, the thickness of my thighs, the way the suit hugs too tight to the curve of my butt, and cautions I’ll be fighting the tangles in my hair all day. No matter what I do or how I dress, I’ll still be the same mess beneath the lip gloss and painted fingernails. I sigh at my stupidity.

Giving in to the negative whispers, I unbutton my red jacket and shimmy out of it. I hang it up while mentally making plans to return all the impulse purchases tonight. The suits, the shoes, the lingerie. What was I thinking?

When I remove my normal drab Monday suit from the closet, my cell chirps. I pick it up from my dresser and read the message.

Linden

Where are you? Meeting moved to 8:30.

I freeze, glance at the clock, and then yelp. It’s 8:15 a.m. For the sake of my job, I forgo the pity party, snatch the jacket off the hanger, and race for the front door. There’s no time to change.

By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, I’m dressed again. Heart racing, I dart through the lobby, out the building’s front door, and into the blaring sunshine. The chilly morning air smacks me in the face, and I shiver as I dash down the front steps.

Evan leans over a long garden planter on his hands and knees, tugging out the dying summer flowers and replacing them with purple and orange mums for the fall. He’s scattered dark potting soil everywhere.

In my new heels, I tiptoe across the dirt to reach the curb. I raise my arm, frantic to wave down a taxi. It’s the only way I’ll arrive at work on time.

“Morning, princess,” Evan says.

Stiffening at his greeting, I look over at him, even though I don’t want to. He shifts to sit on the ground, one arm draped over a bent knee. Squinting, he peers up at me, the fringe of his dark lashes nearly knitted. Golden sunlight hits his face, highlighting a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

I hoped he would leave me alone in my shame, but he wouldn’t be Evan if he did. Instead, he gives me extra attention.

He doesn’t bother hiding his longing gaze. It starts at my ankles, pauses at the SpongeBob Band-Aid I left there, perhaps on purpose, and meanders up my legs. I’m wearing a new pair of what Aggie would call fuck-me heels, which I also may have originally worn on purpose. But now? I want to step into the street to move as far away from him as possible.

Instead of giving in to self-consciousness, I roll my shoulders back, lift myself higher, and take a deep breath. “Morning, Evan.”

I remain cheery. If I pretend nothing happened the other night, that I’m not affected by him, that I haven’t spent the better part of the weekend thinking about his body pressed against mine, maybe my mask will reinforce the outrageous lie.

When two taxis pass with fares, I wave a little harder, desperate for someone to rescue me.

“Did you buy that sexy new outfit for me?”

My eyes widen. Unwilling to let him win whatever this game is between us, I return the zinger, refusing to step down or lose. “No, I bought it for me.”

“Snappier than usual too. I like it,” he says with a grin. “Special occasion?”

I’ll continue this charade of confidence to put him in his place, to affirm I’m splendid, despite every inner voice screaming at me to stop.

“Oh, it’s because I just love wearing skirts on crisp days.” I throw back my shoulders and grasp the strap of my handbag.

“Why’s that?”

“I love the chilly wind whipping underneath my skirt when I’m pantyless.”