I'm sure, at some point in my childhood, I'd had playdates with other girls my age. Maybe I even enjoyed it. But the older I got, the less I seemed capable of forming bonds with anyone, trusting that I could let anyone get close to me because of all the bullying, so I missed the whole 'fun with makeup and clothes' part of my adolescence and early adulthood. This was nice. Nicer than I could have ever expected.
"I always thought the girls' nights in movies and on TV were made up," Fiona said, seeming to read my thoughts. "I mean, I grew up in the woods with a zealot for a father. We didn't even have TV or friends. So when I got out of that world, and learned about the outside world, I had no experience with it myself, so I figured the girlfriend thing was just made up. Like how people in movies make this massive breakfast spread and then only take an apple and walk out the door. Like made up silliness. But then I got some friends, and had some girls myself, and I see it's real. And it's a lot of fun."
"You... you grew up in the woods?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah," she said, nodding, shrugging it off. "No electricity. No 'outside corruption'," she said, air quoting the words. "Just the four of us. It was like a cult but without the enigmatic leader and all the flower crowns."
"Your parents and..."
"And my brother."
"I didn't know you had any siblings."
"Just the one. He's not around a lot. He's married to Darcy. Of Darcy. The band."
"The metal band?" I asked, feeling a little overwhelmed with all this information.
"That's the one. So they're usually touring the country, breaking into haunted psych hospitals, putting on a sexy show for the ghosts. But we see him on occasion. The girls go to the City to see them when they're around."
"Wow. You've had a really interesting life."
"Don't," she said, shaking her head down at me, waving a mascara wand.
"Don't what?"
"Start thinking your life is lame in comparison. Yeah, I've had an interesting life. But it also involved being permanently scarred by someone who was supposed to love me, and a drinking problem, and a cutting myself to pieces problem. It was a lot of work to get over all that shit."
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
"And I'm sorry your mind works against you and makes you think ugly things about yourself," she said, giving me a knowing look. "We are going to see if we can help you see what the rest of us see when we look at you. Do you happen to have contacts?"
"I, ah, yeah. I just never wear them. Kind of a hassle compared to the glasses."
"Oh, Chinese," she said when the buzzer sounded. "Okay, go put the contacts in. I'll deal with the food."
With that, liking this whole experience too much to object to doing something so small, I slipped in the contacts, ignoring the foreign sensation until it went away.
Then we ate Chinese while she told me more stories about her life, focusing a lot on meeting Hunter, about how she stole his tools because he wouldn't stop making noise when she was trying to sleep, about how he'd tattooed her to cover her childhood scars.
But before long, we were back to my makeover.
I lost count of all the products that she put on my face. Tinted moisturizer, blush, lip liner and lipstick, about ten different eye shadows, liner, mascara.
"Don't move," she demanded, voice grave when she started coming toward me with a sewing needle.
"This seems unnecessary," I told her as she came closer.
"The wands have come a long way, but nothing has ever matched separating your lashes with a needle. Don't move."
When someone was coming at you with a sharp object right near your eye, yeah, you didn't move. Or even breathe.
"Okay. Girl. Yes. Am I too old to say 'snatched'?" she asked.
"I'm not sure I even know what that means."
"My kids would probably say I'm too old, but your face is snatched. Okay. Hair. Then outfit."
"I want to loo—"
"Um, no," she objected, rolling her eyes. "You don't get to see it until I'm done."
She didn't give in, either. No matter how much I begged. She made me dress in my bedroom because the bathroom had a mirror.
I could have found some shiny surface to check out her work, but I was enjoying the intrigue too much. Which made no sense. It wasn't like me. I hated surprises. I always liked to know what was going on, being prepared.
What can I say?
Fiona made it fun.
She almost made me believe she could show me something other than what I saw in the mirror.
Then, hair and outfit done, she did.
"Okay," she said, nodding. "Now you get to see what we see," she went on, bringing me into the bathroom to the full-length mirror. "Open your eyes."
There was a mix of worry and excitement in my system, making me want to keep my eyes closed, stay lost in the fantasy.
But, eventually, my eyelids fluttered open.
And there I was.
Me.
But different.
More polished.
More fashionable.
"Wow," I said, feeling tears burn my eyes.
Was I suddenly a supermodel? No.
But Fee was right.
I wasn't nearly as plain as I had always believed myself to be.
"Okay. Now, to the car!" she declared.
"What? Why? Where are we going?"
"I didn't just spend like two hours making you up so we could sit and eat cold Chinese leftovers."
"Okay, but where are we going? Fee?" I asked when she breezed out, refusing to answer me.
I would get my answer soon enough, though.
Because we parked.
Then we got out.
Then Fiona led me up the street.
"Really, where are we going? This is a weird part of town. There is nothing here."
"Well, not nothing," Fee said, waving up toward the sign on the door of one of the buildings.
"No," I said, stomach plummeting.
"Yep," she said, nodding. "Go get 'em, Sandy," she said, pulling open the door, nudging me in.
I had every intention of turning and rushing back out.
But then there he was.
More gorgeous than I remembered.
Making my heart do that ridiculous little pitter-patter thing it sometimes did when I was near him or when I was talking to him on the phone.
Still, I needed to go.
Get as far away from him as fast as possible.
"Katie?"
Too late.
"No retreat now. I'm sorry but not really, "Fee said before rushing out, abandoning me.
When I turned back, Rush had moved further into the room, his gaze doing a slow inspection of my tight skinny blue jeans, my high heeled boots, my faux corset under a simple deep crimson blazer, the color matching the shade Fee had painted on my lips.
When his gaze fell on my face again, his breath rushed out of him in a way it sometimes did on the phone, those nights when I wondered if maybe he was as affected by the conversations as I was before I convinced myself it wasn't possible.
"Fuck, baby," he said, finally breaking the silence.
All that work I thought I had been doing to move past this, to get over my silly infatuation with him?