Slacks.
Blouse.
Sweater.
Heels.
Necklace.
Watch.
Bracelets.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair has grown longer, and it’s now past my shoulders, but the once lustrous brown locks are now dull and lifeless. My eyes are much the same. My cheeks are still hollowed, and my lips have thinned. I look like I’ve aged ten years in a month and a half. Stress and grief will do that to you.
I grab my purse and walk out of my closet. I’m meeting a client at a local hotel so we can check it out before booking any space for an event.
When I step into the kitchen, my parents are both sitting at the kitchen table with a spread of breakfast food. My dad has a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and a newspaper held between his hands. He must’ve gone out to get it because Ben and I don’t get one.
I mean I don’t get one.
“I made you breakfast,” my mom smiles cheerily. She’s ecstatic to see me up and dressed, ready for work. It’s all a façade, though. My insides are gray and stormy and the effort to get ready has nearly drained me. I only hope that I can make it through this meeting before I give up.
My nose wrinkles. “I’m not hungry.”
“Blaire—”
“I’ll grab a bagel from the coffee shop or something.” I wave a hand dismissively. I’d say just about anything right now to get her off my back. I’m horrible, I know. She’s only doing what any concerned mother would do in her situation. I’m just testier than normal—I think I have that right.
I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and stick it in my purse.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say.
“Good luck,” my mom says, giving me a thumbs up.
“Bye, love you guys.” I wave and head out the door.
My mom might be driving me up a wall, but I am thankful that they’re here. A few weeks ago I wanted nothing more for them to leave, and now I’m dreading the day they fly back to Florida. The last thing I want is to be alone in this big house.
I get in my car and drive over to the local coffee shop. I end up ordering a caramel latte and a croissant, then I park my car in the lot so I can eat in relative peace. I still have thirty minutes before I have to meet my client.
I take a bite of the chocolate croissant and moan. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks—completely unhealthy but wholly delicious. I eat the whole thing in a matter of bites. I should probably be embarrassed by that fact, but I’m so happy that something actually tasted good that I can’t bring myself to care.
I take a sip of my latte and—oh no.
I throw open my car door and spit up the coffee.
That was awful. I take off the lid and eye the amber-colored liquid. It looks normal, and I’ve had this drink plenty of times, but man it was strong today. I end up dumping it out, tossing the cup on the floor of my car to throw away later.
I drive over to the hotel and park across the street in the parking garage. The hotel is fairly new in a busy part of town. I’ve never been here before. The outside is nice, in a minimalistic modern way. It’s gray on the outside, four levels, with long glass windows everywhere. The name of the hotel is spelled out in blue neon cursive letters on the outside of the building. I grab my purse and sling it over my shoulder before I head inside.
The inside has concrete floors and long gray couches with no backs. The front desk is directly in front of you when you walk in, and the front of it shimmers with blue light that matches the sign on the outside of the building.
My client isn’t here yet, so I take a seat on one of the uncomfortable couches and wait. I grab my compact mirror from my purse and check my makeup. I haven’t worn any in so long that applying it this morning took some effort. Luckily, it doesn’t look cakey, but my lipstick is fading so I reapply it.
A few minutes later, a tall woman dressed in a business suit with long red hair comes into the lobby.
“Jessica?” I call.