Stained
February 14.
A Wednesday.
There’s only three ways to feel about Valentine’s Day:
You love it
You hate it
You don’t care for it
Somehow, I was a mix of all three.
It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon. The sky is clear. The sun is still out. F*ck it. Let’s get ready early.
On comes my savior, Justine Skye. Blasting “When You’re Ready,” I pushed back my hair and threw on my headband. I lip synced as I threw different shades of pink on my face, the sound of closing color palettes interrupted Justine’s angelic vocals.
She sings like she knows love.
The song lowered and I immediately knew what was happening: my peace was about to be disturbed.
“Laura, how many dates are you going on tonight?”
Dammit, I forgot I wasn’t alone here.
“Aria, you choose to talk and this is what you say?” I looked back at her smug face. She was laying upside down on my bed, attempting to hide behind her giant plus-sized phone. “I hate you.”
“Knew that already,” she smirked, scrolling on her phone. “So, you gonna answer my question?” She looked at me almost as if now I was obligated to give her an answer.
“If you must know–” I smiled, putting blush on my cheeks. “--three dates.”
“THREE?” Jazmine Sullivan was hitting those soulful notes in the background, filling the brief silence like we were on a corny sit-com.
“Just kidding,” I laughed. “Not that many people are in love with me.”
“Damn, you almost got me” she scrolled again. “So, who’s the lucky guy?
“Dominick.”
She was suddenly at my neck; the scent of Victoria’s Secret perfume made me want to choke, “Damn, back up, Jack!”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Huh?!”
“I hate Dominick.”
Aria’s only 21-years-old. She hasn’t hit the quarter-life crisis yet: Marriage. Kids. Romance. I’m over it… but hey, maybe there’s hope for me. But, I didn’t feel like getting that deep at 4:30 in the afternoon, so all I said was:
“You only live once.”
“Ok, Drake, we’re not in 2011 anymore…”
We both laughed, “I’m surprised you know that song.”
I looked back at my mirror as Aria retreated onto (my) bed fortress and shifted herself to be more comfortable. We’ve been close ever since her incident with Skyler–or she-who-shall-not-be-named–three years ago.
And I didn’t expect her to say that.
“Why though?” I moved onto my eyebrows; I felt her look at me.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Damn,” I picked up my highlight. “That was deep.”
If we’re being honest (and I don’t want to say this out loud), I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. I go with the flow too much, I don’t look into things too deep. If anything, there was one time… When I was 21 years old. But, there’s no point in talking about that.
I’m 25 now. I was asked out on a date. I owed this to myself.
But, again, I didn’t want to get that deep at 4:45 in the afternoon. So instead I said:
“I gotta at least do better than that random set up with that mob boss last year.”
7:12 p.m.
I measured the success of my dates the same way schools use report cards – letter grades.
And I was expecting–or hoping–for my night to be at least a B+.
At least for those 12 minutes, that wasn’t the case. On a good note, the place was beautiful; the walls were colorful and painted with shapes I would’ve never thought of putting together; the light music in the background and hanging, dimmed light bulbs created a comfy ambience, even though everything was drowned in the dozens of conversations.
The bad note: my date was late. 13 minutes now to be exact.
That was 13 minutes-too many and I was over it. Before standing up to grab my coat, I took a big gulp of of my red wine, but my attempt to chug was interrupted by–
“Tyler?!”
“Laura?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
You don’t know this guy, so let’s take it a step back… Remember when I said there was that one time… when I was 21 years old? Yeah… this is that one time. And he goes by the name of Tyler.
“I can ask you the same–” I’m guessing he noticed the red stain on my white lace top. “--Sh*t. I’m sorry, let me get napkins.”
“You haven’t changed at all,” I mumbled as he ripped out 10… maybe 15 napkins out of the small container.
“Care to explain?” he smirked and reached over to tap the stain, but I intercepted the gesture. Tapping the top of my blouse (like that was going to help the stain..), I ignored his question, “Why are you here?”
But before he said anything I already knew: “Aria…” we both sighed, but started laughing right after.
“Thank you, Mr. Tyler,” I reached for my coat. “But you can go home. I was just about to leave anyways.”
But again, before I could even touch my coat, he interrupted, “We’re already out. Why don’t we grab a bite?” He looked at the specials, “You’re going to pass up Wing Wednesday?”
Shaking my head, looking down, refusing to let him see me laugh, “You really haven’t changed.”
It could’ve been the atmosphere or the life-changing music of Justine Skye that got to me, but maybe “You only live once” isn’t a bad phrase after all, Drake.
And maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad.
February 15.
A Thursday.
“And that’s how I got this red wine stain on my favorite dress.”
Hector looked around the shop before looking back at me, “Laura, all I asked was if you got Molly’s message about closing today.”