I stand in the hall watching her get in the elevator. With a shake of my head, I retreat back into the apartment. Part of me thought she might change her mind and stay, but as soon as we got back from the diner with to-go boxes in hand she started packing her bags, saying she’d be back the day before classes start. She probably already had her mind made up last night and that’s why she was so insistent on going to campus today. She knew she wouldn’t have time otherwise.
I collapse onto the couch, my lips trembling with more tears that dare to come.
It’s so quiet and I’ve never really been alone like this, except for brief moments after my brother moved out and my parents would both be at work. There’s an emptiness in the air that I hate.
Would Molly kill me if I adopt a dog? Fuck, I’d take a chinchilla or anything.
Heaviness settles in my chest in her absence. This is what the next two weeks are going to look like. Me, stuck inside a lonely apartment with only the T.V. and books for company. Sure, I could go home like she did, my parents wouldn’t care, but I’m not going to. I want to make this work. I want to feel at home here. I don’t want to constantly be running back to where I feel comfortable. You don’t find yourself in comfort. You find who you truly are in the in between, the hard crevices of life that test you and push you to see what you’re made of.
Hefting myself off the couch I find myself in front of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the busy city. Out there, life is going on, people are thriving, and I’m here.
I’m always just here. Standing still while the world goes on around me.
“I’m going out tonight,” I announce to the empty room.
With a determined stride I stalk back to my room, scouring the closet for going out clothes. I’m not shocked when I come up empty. Lucky for me there are plenty of hours until evening and the large mall is around the corner, close enough that I could walk if I wanted.
Grabbing my keys, I leave before I can talk myself out of going through all this trouble and decide to stay in tonight like every other night.
The crowds at the mall are insane, but not surprising. It’s the largest mall in the state and people come from all over.
Stopping in a few stores I browse the racks, buying a few items here and there to spruce up my wardrobe so I’ll stop living in jeans, tees, and the occasional oversized flannel. I feel a tad guilty for spending my money on clothes when I know I need to save it for other expenses, but I rationalize that almost everything I buy is either on sale or clearance. I can’t say no to a good bargain.
During my shopping spree I get a text from Molly letting me know she made it home safe. Irritation floods my bloodstream yet again, but I know I have to let it go.
Glad you’re there, I type back, refusing to let my bitchiness slip through.
Before leaving the mall, I stop by one of my favorite coffee shops and order a cold brew, in desperate need of more caffeine after the day I’ve had. By the time I get back home, which barely takes five minutes, I’ve already drank half of it.
Spreading my new purchases out on the bed, I contemplate what I want to wear for tonight. I want to push my boundaries but not too much.
“Why is this so difficult?” I grumble to myself. “It’s just clothes.”
Picking up a high waisted green skirt I choose that, pairing it with a band tee I figure I can tie in a knot. Once I add a belt, shoes, and a necklace I think it’ll be good enough. Still casual and not trying too hard but elevated from my normally relaxed attire.
Nerves are already beginning to assault me, and my mind is whispering softly, “Don’t do this. Just stay home. Watch a movie. Read a book. You don’t need to do this.”
Being an introvert can be such a bitch sometimes.
Shoving those thoughts away I hop in the shower, washing my hair, and scrubbing my body with my favorite soap. The scent of lavender and rose fills the steamy air, helping to somewhat calm my nerves and overactive brain.
My toes curl against the black tiles as I step out, trying not to shiver. Grabbing my towel from the rack I wrap it around my body, swiping the brush through my hair.
My reflection gazes back at me, my eyes a little wider than normal, the blue brighter somehow, because despite my nerves there’s excitement too.
I take my time adding styling mousse to my hair and blowing it dry, using my round brush to add a little curl to my normally straight hair.
Slowly but surely over the next two hours everything comes together from hair, to makeup, and finally the outfit.
Smoothing my hands down the front of the skirt, I appraise my reflection in the floor length mirror in my room, nervous butterflies assaulting my stomach.
What the hell am I doing?
I close my eyes, taking a steadying breath.
“What I have to,” I answer my own question.
The restaurant and bar is packed, the loud jumble of voices nearly giving me a headache. My head swivels around, taking everything in from the painted concrete floor to the rich dark browns and woods used in the décor.
“Table for one? Two? More?” The hostess breaks me from my thoughts.
“Uh…” I stutter. “Can I sit at the bar?”
“Sure. Head on over.” She waves a hand toward the large L shaped bar to my right.
“Thanks,” I mutter, voice soft.
Ducking my head, I scurry over to the bar and find an empty seat near the end. My heart is pounding like I’m doing something illicit and dangerous instead of literally sitting at a bar. Gotta love anxiety.
It’s a few minutes before the bartender makes it over to me. He sets a coaster in front of me, cocking his head to the side. “What can I get you?”
I wet my lips, fingering the menu that was perched on the bar. “Um, what would you suggest that’s non-alcoholic?”
He chuckles. “Do you trust me?”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t know you.”
“Do you like lemonade?”
“Yeah,” I hesitate, not sure where he’s going with this.
“I have an idea. If it’s gross don’t worry about it. I’ll make you something else.”
“Okay … sure.”
He laughs again at my obvious discomfort and goes to concoct something for me.
Tapping my fingers against the counter, I eye the menu trying to hurry up and decide what I want for dinner so I can let him know when he comes back.
When he returns, he slides the glass in front of me, the drink a pale blue color with blueberries floating in the glass.
“I thought you said lemonade?”
“It has lemonade.” He gives a tiny grin of amusement. “Try it.”
I tentatively lift it to my lips and take the tiniest sip possible. “Mmm,” I hum. “That’s actually really good.”
“I’m glad. You want something to eat?”
“Uh…” Stop saying Uh and Um for the love of God. “I’ll have the personal size pepperoni pizza.”
“Cool, I’ll put that right in.”
My heart continues to hammer in my chest, and I can’t help but feel pathetic for being so nervous to eat at a restaurant on my own. I’m okay with my own company at home so why not in public too? It’s the most tiresome thing in the world overthinking and feeling uncomfortable in public settings. But this is why I have to do this. I won’t ever be okay with it if I don’t do it.