Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
What is the fundraiser called? Have I heard of it?
The party doesn’t have a name, and no, you haven’t heard of it.
Who’s throwing it?
The host committee wishes to remain private.
Where is the party located?
That information hasn’t been released to the public at this time.
I’m half-convinced Beth is a robot, like Siri. Her responses are so austere and impersonal. I’ve even attempted to crack a few jokes, and I got crickets in response. I guess my humor doesn’t translate into robot binary. (Good to know in case they one day take over the planet.)
Beth did tell me what time the party starts.
9:00 PM.
Now, it’s 5:10 PM, and I’m sitting in Milk + Honey in downtown Austin. You see, I’m a genius. I knew I needed to take extreme measures the moment I found out I would be attending a party on James’ arm—well, in the vicinity of his arm, at least. The point is, after I’m done at Milk + Honey, I hope I’ll be able to show James I’m so much more than an interpreter for hire.
The genius part comes in because while I wanted to look my best, I also figured it might be a good time to give in to Martha a little bit. She wanted me to join her and Ellie for a spa day, so here we are. I think this is called killing two birds with one hot stone massage.
We started the morning with manicures and pedicures. From there, we had hydrating facials and massages. During a short break, we snacked on quinoa salad with spinach and red wine vinaigrette and caprese skewers with balsamic drizzle. I’ve been dipped, lathered, waxed, and rinsed. I’m pretty sure the entire top layer of my epidermis has been stripped off at this point, and though I’m hesitant to admit it, I am actually having a good time with Martha and Ellie.
The details aren’t that noteworthy. Our conversation has included such titillating topics as home renovations and Martha’s nagging tennis elbow. I did confide in them about how hard it’s been to find another position as a tutor, and Martha listened intently while encouraging me to keep looking. It’s the longest amount of time I’ve spent with her in years, and I’m finding it harder to dislike her as the day continues, which is annoying. I’ve grown comfortable with the distance between us, and I’m not sure what to do with these new feelings. I am the Grinch with an enlarged heart.
Fortunately, we split up after a late lunch since they want to continue spa treatments (because somehow there are still more to be had) and I need start getting ready for the party. I have the hair stylist give me a Brazilian blowout so my dark hair hangs in glossy waves down my back, and then a nice woman named Linda starts applying my makeup.
“So tell me, what’s the occasion?”
Of course she has to ask—no one gets this gussied up without a place to go. Trouble is, I don’t know exactly where I’m off to tonight. I checked my email at lunch, but there was nothing new from Beth. The last I heard, I needed to be at home and ready to go by 8:30 PM.
I give Linda a generic lie.
“Just a fancy party thing.” I shrug. “I forget the name.”
She waggles her eyebrows as if my ambiguity intrigues her even more. “What does your dress look like?”
I still technically don’t have a dress. I gave Beth my measurements a few days ago, and I was tempted to tack on a few requirements—no ruffles, nothing too sparkly—but I resisted. For all I know, Beth the robot has more fashion sense than I do.
All that is probably too much to unload on a complete stranger, so I tell her what I imagine the dress will look like. It’s a party, no doubt at some ritzy downtown hotel, so it will need to be floor-length and fitted, sleeveless and tight in all the right places.
She hums in appreciation of my fictitious description. “I remember when I used to be able to wear slinky numbers like that. What color?”
I smile. “Light blue.”
To match my eyes.
…
When I return home, I’m a sore thumb inside the co-op. Fortunately, no one is in the living room, so I scurry to the stairs and run smack into Ian, the absolute last person I want to see.
His eyes widen at my appearance. “Whoa…”
I blanch. “Oh, hey Ian.”
He doesn’t oblige when I try to skirt around him. “You look…” His gaze drags down my body, and I’m thankful I’m still wearing the tank top and yoga pants I threw on before the spa. “Amazing.”
This is too awkward for words, so I smile and nod. “Thanks.”
He steps aside and I head for my room.
“Where are you headed?” he asks, his tone more curious than anything. “I’ve never seen you done up like this.”