“Good. Maybe he’ll give me a raise.”
Cam laughed, and when I looked over at her, possession washed over me. She was so beautiful in a way that held no expectation, unassuming and easy. I felt like a thief or a treasure hunter, like I’d found in her in some long abandoned place that could never dull her brilliance, no matter how lonely or dark it may have been. But now she was mine, and I wasn’t going to let her go.
She caught me watching and smiled in a way that I felt deep in my heart, and I turned, not caring that my hands were wet and soapy. I cupped her face, shifted my wet thumb against her skin, leaving a glistening streak in its wake. She wasn’t breathing, her eyes locked on mine, pupils widening as she waited for me to kiss her.
So I did.
I kissed her with my heart and with my soul, trying to tell her something words couldn’t allow because there just weren’t enough of them. Not the right ones. When I broke away, her eyes stayed closed, and she sighed. When they finally opened, she smiled again, blushing.
“What was that for?”
I shook my head, my face soft, mirroring hers. “Just because.”
YOUTUBE SAVES
Cam
THE NEXT NIGHT, I STOOD in my bathroom, watching the end of another YouTube video that made liquid eyeliner look easy, with a deep hatred in my belly for girls who knew how to do it.
Normally, I wouldn’t be so hateful, but frankly, I’d washed my face three times after ending up with eyeliner all over my face, and I was really, really annoyed. Rose and Lily made it seem so easy, but after my shower, I’d stood there looking at the haul of makeup, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
Keep it simple, stupid. Be the boss of this. Don’t let the makeup win, Emerson.
I took a breath and turned off my phone. No eyeliner — I was done with that noise. After re-applying my foundation, I picked up the brushes Lily had me buy. Eyeshadow I could do. A little dark on the outer edge. A lighter color in the crease. A creamy nude all over to blend it. I blinked at myself in the mirror.
It wasn’t so bad. My mood improved.
I had put in contacts, which I never did because I was lazy and didn’t really care. But for a fancy cocktail party and high heels? It was a contact sort of a night. I applied mascara, which was easy. Sorta. I maybe had to clean up my eyelids with a Q-tip, and I probably looked like a clown during the process, but whatever. I did it, and it looked great.
Then came a little blush, and the lip crayon thingy I’d gotten. That was honestly the hardest part — moving the crayon with as few strokes as possible, making both sides of my lip even, not smudging it. I’d primed it like Lily told me to, though, and my fingers were crossed that it would stay put.
I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, feeling confident I’d done that right, though I eyed my hair suspiciously. My normal routine for makeup consisted solely of lip balm, and my hair just did its own thing. Sometimes I’d braid it or throw it in a messy bun, and the rest of the time I just let it do what it wanted. I’d let it air dry and it waved simply and looked passable without me having to jack with it.
I’d watched three tutorials on curling hair and felt mostly ready to try it myself.
My curling iron — an ancient relic of my mother’s — had been fired up, and I took a deep breath, going over the steps in the videos I’d watched. So piece by piece, I curled it, tongue sticking out and face screwed up. After half an hour, my hair looked pretty fucking good, by my estimation, and I’d only burned the back of my ear. I was calling that a win. The final touch was to hairspray it, which I did from root to tip, scrunching it after.
I stood back and looked myself over, shocked when I saw a legit lady staring back, which was weird.
Weird, and oddly awesome.
I tidied up in a hurry — Tyler would be home soon, and I wanted to be ready when he got there. We’d be leaving almost right away, plus I really, really wanted to see the look on his face when he saw me. I could gauge from that whether or not I’d done it right.
I made my way into my room and to the dress hanging on the back of my closet door. I pulled the satin tie of the little kimono my mom had gotten for me for Christmas and let it fall to the ground. I’d never worn it before, but realized its purpose when I needed to put on makeup before getting dressed. Who even knew what kind of mess I would have made of my dress if I’d worn it while dealing with foundation.
I reached for the dress reverently and stepped into it, slipped my arms in, holding my breath as I looked in the full-length mirror.
Then I remembered I couldn’t button the back without Tyler.
I blew out the breath between my lips, and they flapped together. I was filled with immediate regret, panicking that it messed up my lipstick. But when I leaned forward to check it in the mirror it was fine — thank God, because it’s very possible that might have cried if I’d had to wash any part of my face again.
I heard his key in the door, and my pulse raced. I slipped my feet into my shoes and took a breath, smoothing the skirt of the dress nervously in the mirror before turning and walking out to meet him, full of hope.
He was smiling when our eyes met, but he slowed to a stop, his smile slipping as he looked down my body, keys hanging in his hand.
Nerves rushed through me, washing away that hope I’d had — blood rushed to my cheeks and ears, making the curling iron burn throb. It was wrong, all wrong. I should never have agreed to the pageantry, or I should have begged Rose to help me get ready.