“Yeah, I kind of have a date,” I admit nervously, applying mascara to my lashes. I’d barely call what I’m doing makeup since I’m more clueless about the application of it than speaking Japanese, but I did pick up tips here and there from all the foster mothers and sisters I’ve had.
“Your lashes are really gorgeous. Do you mind if I help a little?” she asks, but before I can respond she is already pushing me towards the toilet to sit down. Her brown eyes gleam as she eyes me, coming up with what she’s about to do in her head.
“One minute!” She’s out of the bathroom in a flash and comes back with a large plastic pink case that looks full of cosmetics. I’ve never seen her wear very much makeup. She’s beautiful and doesn’t really need it with her dark olive skin, thick brows, and long lashes that people pay money for.
“Head up!” she practically sings, pointing to our toilet top. I do as I’m told and let out a nervous sigh. Her dark curly hair is piled in a bun on top her head. Her brown eyes study me quickly before pulling several items out of her bag.
“Not too much. We’re just hanging out, kind of,” I tell her before she starts.
“I got you, simple and flawless is what we’re going for.”
“So, who’s the lucky guy?” she asks as she begins to apply moisturizer to my face. My stomach flips just thinking about him.
“His name’s Kameron. He’s…he’s sweet.”
“Is he fine?” she asks sneakily and my cheeks naturally light up.
“He is,” I admit. She smiles widely as she puts dots of what I think is foundation on my face. Gabriella is a few shades darker than me I’m surprised she has my shade.
“I play around with makeup to make extra cash sometimes,” she says, maybe reading my expression. “Your eye color is really unique, it’s gorgeous and you can do so much with shadows if you wanted. Did you get them from your mom or dad?”
It’s a question that should be simple to answer but isn’t.
“I don’t know. I never met either of them,” I say with a tight smile. Her face softens.
“I never met my dad. He checked out before the test turned pink.”
I didn’t know that about her. I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other. We had worked together at Scooters after I graduated high school and both wanted a place to live. The only thing we needed to know about each other back then was that we cleaned up after ourselves and had clean backgrounds. Our work schedules are so hectic that we’ve never had time to be close, which has worked out great for me.
“Are your parents alive?” she asks hesitantly.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about them other than they didn’t want or weren’t capable of taking care of a little girl.” I laugh a little and shrug.
“You know when I tell people my dad left my family, they say it’s his loss, but we both know that’s not true, right? It’s ours…in the end we lose.”
We exchange a knowing glance of understanding, one that only people who are missing part of themselves can.
“Well, are you excited about the date?” she asks brightly, changing the heavy subject to a lighter one. I am excited, I’m nervous, and more than most people probably would be. Truth be told, it’s my first date. One where I’ll be picked up and taken out and by a guy I can’t even think about without smiling.
“I am, even if it doesn’t really go anywhere,” I say.
“You never know, when I met Jarvis it was when I least expected it and we’ve been together ever since.” She’s smiling at the memory.
“I’m not hoping for much, if he turns out not to be a jerk I’ll be happy.” Her brow furrows at me and she puts the brush down on the sink.
“Hey, I know we’re not best friends or anything but you’re beautiful Megan, and not on the inside how friends tell their ugly friends they are. You’re stunning. Why do you think I want to play on your face? I charge $30 an hour for this,” she says, with a hand on her hip, and I laugh. “You go to one of the best schools in the country and you’re sweet. If the guy’s a jerk you kick him to the curb ASAP.”
I’m touched by her words. We continue to make small talk and it’s easy, not forced, and I realize how much I lucked out to have her as my roommate. Aside from the horror stories I’ve read about with roommates being lazy, sloppy, and rude, she’s intelligent with a hint of what she calls “Latina sass.” She tells me that her hours have been cut at her job and she’s trying to get into freelancing to supplement her income, so this free makeup session was a win for both of us. When she’s done she faces me towards the mirror and my eyes widen. It’s perfect—the makeup, that is. “Beautifully simple” is what she calls it.
“I just wanted to highlight your features. You have great skin and these alluring eyes. This Kameron guy isn’t going to be able to get you out of his head.”
It’d only be fair since I can’t get him out of mine.
I can’t think of a time since I was a little girl that I’ve been optimistic, hopeful about someone or something
It’s okay to be like this.
Things are better and nothing else matters. All the days I worked instead of partied, drank water instead of soda, studied instead of slept, got me here, in my own apartment at one of the best schools in the country…and almost on my way to a normal life. I don’t even need normal, just bearable, but Kameron is anything but ordinary. He’s made me feel more than I have with just a glance. The question is Why me? but I tell myself Why not? to shut up the voice in my head that comes whenever something good happens, which hasn’t been often, but the few times it does it crushes the hope and optimism that I try to have. This time I won’t listen to it. When I was younger I hated the way I looked when I was called beautiful from people who were inappropriate and shouldn’t have said that to me. I cursed my parents for my almond-shaped eyes, the weird way they bounced between grey and green, how tall I was—I didn’t want any of it because it’s always made my life harder, but the things I’ve hated made me stand out to Kameron, made him notice me.
It’s the only thing you’re worth and he’ll be gone when he realizes it.
I pray that I’m not an imposter, that I’m not what I look like, that what’s on the outside doesn’t match what’s beneath. That all the ugliness, pain, and fear I’ve grown up with will spill out and rear itself.
“You’re kidding me.”
Kameron has pulled up in front of me in a black Porsche; it’s sleek, new, and beautiful, and I have to stop my jaw from falling open. He’s out in a flash and walks over to meet me. I have to remind myself that he’s here for me, this beautiful man with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen has driven to the ugly part of Indiana beyond the sprawling campus lined with trees, new buildings, and hopes and dreams. He’s in front of me where reality lives a far cry from all of that, where the grass isn’t cut, people loiter, and an imperfect girl waits for him to realize it.
“Hi beautiful,” he says happily, and seemingly unphased by our surroundings. I kick myself for not protesting more about him not picking me up, but he insisted.