The Girl in the Painting

I shake my head. “Sorry, but I have way too much work to catch up on.”

A flat-out lie, but I’m pretty sure when it’s for self-preservation, it’s excused. With the way today has gone, I just need to hole up in my classroom, away from everyone and everything.

The instant I shut the door to my classroom, the breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lungs, and my shoulders sag as I plop down into the chair behind my desk.

Remnants of kindergarteners are scattered across the center of my classroom, on the rainbow rug where we compose musical renditions of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” and “The Wheels on the Bus,” but I don’t even consider cleaning up.

It can wait. My next class isn’t for another hour.

My phone vibrates inside the top drawer of my desk, and truthfully, a large part of me sees the merits of ignoring it. It’s just that the smaller part of me is yappy, like a little dog, and I can’t stand the sound of it.

Incoming Call Lily

I sigh, but I still manage to hit accept and force myself to answer.

“You’re coming to dinner with me tomorrow night.”

No hello or how are you. Just demands. So far, this phone call with my audacious sister is going just as I expected it would.

“What if I have plans?”

“Pffft,” Lily snorts. “Eating Chinese food and grading papers while watching Netflix doesn’t count as plans. Plus, Matt is out of town. Surely, you want some company.”

“That’s not all I do,” I retort, and she laughs. A little too hysterically for my taste. I mean, it wasn’t that funny.

“You’re going with me.”

“Lil,” I whine.

“Consider it a girls’ night. Just the two of us. We haven’t done one of those in so long, Indy. C’mon, don’t be such a grouch!”

I don’t respond. I know from experience that anything I say will just give her a foundation on which to build her argument. I’m pretty sure she missed her calling as an attorney.

“Pretty please go with me?” she begs.

I sigh. She knows I won’t say no to her begging. Probably because she won’t stop until I agree, and it’s a lot better time management if I just give in at the start.

“Fine,” I mutter, “but I’m not getting dressed up.”

“At least brush your hair and put on a little makeup.”

“What’s it matter to you?” I question. “It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.”

She groans. “Just don’t dress like a complete slouch, okay? Pretty it up a bit. That’s what girls’ nights are for. To drink wine and tell ourselves how pretty and awesome we are.”

I squint my eyes. “You’re acting so weird right now.”

“Just be ready around six tomorrow night, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Love you! Bye!” She hangs up before I can get another word in.

I contemplate texting her and backing out of girls’ night the cowardly way, but I know it would be a huge waste of time and have the same ending—me going to dinner tomorrow night.

Ugh.

She’s lucky she’s my sister.

Nestled beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, we are cocooned by a sweeping view of the New York skyline and what feels like a million twinkle lights creating a path toward the front entrance of Bistro, the hip little restaurant my sister picked out for girls’ night.

Fucking girls’ night. It’s so cold, it might end in frostbite.

The temperature drops as we get closer to the water, and I tighten my pea coat around my body. I know I said anyone who doesn’t expect New York to be cold in the winter is a moron, but this is on a whole other level. The wind whips past my body and pricks at my bones.

“God, I’m freezing,” Lily mutters as we step up to the entrance. She opens the door with a heavy hand and gets us inside as quickly as possible.

Chatter and clanking cutlery and lively conversation fill the air. I shiver when the chilly outside breeze meets the warm cocoon of the restaurant in an electric swirl, and I rub my hands up and down my arms. “Maybe eating by the river wasn’t the best choice on a ten-degree day…”

“I know,” she says through chattering teeth. “But, in my defense, it wasn’t my choice.”

“What are you talking about?” I scrunch up my nose at her and laugh. “This whole damn evening was your choice. If it weren’t for you, I’d be at home, incredibly warm and in my pajamas.”

Lily ignores me entirely and steps toward the hostess desk. “I have a reservation for six thirty. It’s under Davis.”

The teenage hostess is fresh-faced, and her name tag reads Marley. She smiles her understanding and looks down at her clipboard. “For three, right?”

“Yep.” Lily nods.

“Three?” I look between Lily and myself, counting like one of my kindergarteners. One. Two. “I thought it was just the two of us?” I ask while the hostess grabs two menus.