Unveiling The Sky (5 page)

She nodded, but her eyes still showed determination. “Have you told your father any of this?”

“Not yet. I went by the house, but he was… preoccupied. I left before—” I cut myself off. “Wait. How’d he know I was home? I never told him my plans.”

“He saw you pulling away from the house.”

I nodded absentmindedly. “Right. Well, I’m going to tell him. I just wanted to have a job lined up first.”

Miranda gave me a sad smile. “You and I both know he’s not going to consider that any kind of plan.”

“I know. But I have to do something that’s for me. I can’t live my life for him. I won’t.” I picked up the boxes and moved toward the door. Miranda stepped out of my way, and even though the hope in her eyes wasn’t completely gone, it was a least dulled.

“I’ll still talk to you, right?” Her voice trembled with doubt even as her face was hopeful and pleading. I returned her sad smile and gave her a kiss on the cheek before whispering in her ear, “Goodbye, Miranda.”

Caleb finally went home last night, thereby ending the seventy-two-hour sex marathon and affording me my first restful sleep in three nights. It was just after ten in the morning, and I was setting the table by the time Naomi wandered out of her room. She yawned and scratched her head as she took in the waffles, fruit salad, sausage, toast, and coffee sitting on the table before gracelessly plopping into a chair.

“Are you conditioning me?”

“Whaa?” I asked around the handful of fruit I’d just thrown into my mouth.

“You know, conditioning me. Making me breakfast the day after Caleb leaves so I associate the two. Which will then make me want to throw Caleb out more often so I can have your delicious homemade breakfast, thereby giving you what you want, a Caleb-free apartment.” She’d just finished buttering her toast as she sat back and raised her eyebrows at me with a small grin on her face.

My jaw went slack as I stared at her before I gave way to my laughter. “Are you insane?” I picked up a grape and threw it at her head. “Is this a prelaw, I-must-question-everything thing or a you-need-medication thing?”

She snorted before she started laughing with me. “It was a joke thing, but yeah, prelaw definitely fucks with your trust. I bet in five years I won’t even trust my own stomach when it tells me I’m hungry.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“So, assuming you and my stomach are not plotting against me… what’s all this for?” She waved at the table as she started piling waffles on her plate.

I shifted nervously and twisted the dishrag in my hand before tossing it on the counter and joining her at the table. “I think maybe we should go out this weekend.” I tried to sound casual, but Naomi’s reaction was proof positive that I sounded anything but.

“Really?” she practically squealed.

“Yeah, well… that’s what normal people do, right?” I laughed, trying to make it a joke and play off my discomfort. But just like everything else, Naomi always heard what I wasn’t saying. She saw the insecurity and pain behind my jokes and the sadness behind my laughs.

“There’s no such thing as normal people.” She gave me a stern look until I nodded. “If you want to do something, do it. If you don’t, don’t.”

“Right, ‘cause that’s so simple.” She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “You’re not wrong, okay? I hear what you’re saying. But there are things I want, and I think the only way to get them, unfortunately, is to do things I don’t necessarily want to do.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous and knowing smile. “
Things
?”

I rolled my eyes, at much as myself as at her. “Yes,
things
. I think… I might… sort of… want to start dating again.” I stopped to think about David, my first and only boyfriend. We’d dated for about nine months, starting at the end of our senior year of high school and breaking up on Valentine’s Day when we were freshman in college. It was far from ideal and made me realize just how complicated and difficult dating and depression were.

I gnawed on my lip as I thought about it. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe—

“I think it’s good.” Naomi paused as she reached over to squeeze my hand. “That you want to try, and for now, I think that’s all that matters.”

…

So that was how I found myself staring at a pile of halter tops, miniskirts, and an assortment of animal-print items from Naomi’s closet the next night. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew me well. She knew if she didn’t take me up on my offer to go out
immediately
, chances were I’d change my mind. And sure enough, I already had, just over thirty hours later. Me and my big mouth. My big, stupid, fat, stupid mouth.
 

My fingers absentmindedly skimmed over my scar as I stared at the clothes on Naomi’s bed. “This is ridiculous,” I mumbled just as she turned off her blow-dryer. And despite the blow-dryer and “Weapon for Saturday” blasting in the background, Naomi still heard me, which she made clear by her
I heard that
glare.

She plopped down on the floor in front of her closet mirror before declaring, “We
need
a girls’ night.”

I glared right back and started listing all the things I
did
in fact need, such as air, water, food, etc., and nowhere in there did “girls’ night” come up.

She met my eyes in the mirror and made it clear she wasn’t impressed with my sarcasm before returning to her task. It was also pretty clear Naomi wasn’t in the mood to have this argument tonight. Although, to be fair, she was never really in the mood, but her patience seemed particularly low tonight. Apparently, that feeling was short lived, because two minutes later, she started having this conversation again.

“We just had this conversation, yes?” Naomi asked as she stuck out the tip of her tongue and raised the mascara wand to her top left lashes.

“Yeah,” I mumbled like a grumpy toddler.

She raised her hands like she was surrendering. “Hey, you’re the one who said—”

“I know. I’m an idiot.”

She laughed and went back to doing her makeup. “Well, if you don’t want to meet new people, you could always call—”

“Do not say Chad.” I held up a cheetah-print halter top that left
very
little to the imagination. Dropping it in the
hell no
pile, I moved on to the few neutral shirts she owned.

“Why the hell not? What exactly was wrong with him? He seemed pretty cool. A perfect height for you, blond hair, blue eyes, and a body that would make David Beckham jealous.” Naomi’s eyes went dreamy as she brought her hands up to her chest and pretended to swoon.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s obviously much more realistic to base my interest on his abs and pectorals. We’re clearly a match made in heaven. Oh my God!” I fake gasped and face-palmed my forehead. “Why didn’t we just get married? He’s probably taken by now.”

“Cute.” Naomi threw the pillow lying next to her at my face before getting up and strolling out of her room and into the common area.

Ditching my sarcasm and taking a serious tone, I left her bedroom and found her rooting around our fridge.

“I’m not trying to be difficult. Yes, Chad was really nice, but it wasn’t going to go anywhere. I mean, he was ready to rush right into everything, and I need something slow, like glacially slow. You know that.”

She sighed before shutting the fridge empty-handed and coming to stand next to me at the counter. With a gentle hip bump, she said, “I just want you to be sure.”

I gave her an encouraging smile before reaching over and softly squeezing her hand. “I am. I promise. Now let’s finish getting ready.”
 

We both went back to her room, where I sat on her bed and resumed my search from earlier as she started changing into her outfit for the night.

“Why don’t you just wear what you’ve already got on?” she asked.

I looked up as she started gathering her dark hair into a bun. Raising an eyebrow, I responded, “Because you and Sherry always say I need to dress less like a librarian.”

She laughed and turned back to the mirror. “I’m pretty sure that was all Sher. But, seriously, we’re just joking. You always look nice, and it’s always better to be comfortable. Getting you out of your comfort zone doesn’t mean we have to throw you in the deep end without any kind of lifesaver.”

“Okay, but you’re the one who’s explaining that to Sherry,” I said as I stood up and started heading to my room.

“Are you sure you don’t mind going out tonight?” she asked one more time.

 
I paused in her doorway and turned around to see a concerned look had washed over her face. I wanted to tell her yes, I did mind and just wasn’t feeling it tonight. But she was right when she said I had wanted this. I guess it’s just easier to want something from a distance, where all the scary realities are tiny and blurred. And although she never meant to, her looks of pity made me feel guilty about being the constant Debbie-downer.

This was the last Thursday before school started, and since Naomi was about to spend the semester taking the LSAT and applying for law schools, she was going to be going out less this year, meaning she was really looking forward to this last weekend of summer.

I gave her a bright smile that undoubtedly looked fake and said, “Of course I don’t mind. I was just being dramatic.”

Naomi knew my real smile, my fake smile, and everything in between, so when she gave a slight frown and lowered her voice, I wasn’t surprised. “Look, if you really don’t want to go out, we can just go to dinner or something.” She sounded as enthusiastic as a kid going to the dentist, but I knew she meant it.

“Sherry is probably wearing a skintight dress and an insane amount of makeup. If we go anywhere else, she’ll look like a prostitute.”

She smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I made a move to leave when her voice stopped me again. “Hey, Alara?”

“Yeah?”

She opened her mouth but was silenced by a knock at the front door. With a quick glance behind me, she put on a relieved smile that she didn’t have to finish what she was about to say and walked toward the door. “That’s probably Sher,” she said as she passed.

I followed her and made it to the living room just as Sherry crossed the threshold. Her long, auburn hair was full and in beachy curls that extended past her barely covered chest. She wore a strapless, skintight red dress that ended mid-thigh and shifted to an almost indecent level every time she moved. She walked in so smoothly you’d think she was barefoot instead of strapped into four-inch heels. Sherry, unlike me, had the coordination required to wear those death traps.

I’d gone out numerous times over the last few months in my efforts to be more social, and almost every time, I was told “girls’ nights” demanded I wear a pair. And despite all the practice, I never stopped walking like a horse with gum attached to its hoof that was on the verge of falling over every twenty seconds. But ever since I’d known Sherry, she’d walked like they were made for her.

“I have a confession,” Sherry said, snapping me out of my random thoughts. “I may have pre-gamed a tiny bit in the cab.” She brought her thumb and pointer finger up and made the gesture for
just a little bit
before pulling out a flask of what was probably tequila. “But don’t worry. I left enough for each of us to do one shot before we go. Please tell me you have limes and salt.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone has salt in their kitchen, Sher.” Naomi walked into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. “But it’s a negative on the limes.”

Sherry huffed. “You really need to be more prepared for these things.”

“Sorry. Next time my boyfriend comes over, I’ll tell him not to use the limes for dinner, just in case my alcoholic friend shows up demanding them with her tequila.”

“That would be appreciated,” Sherry said with a smile, not the least bit insulted.

“I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be pre-gaming either, what with the whole designated driver thing,” I said.

“What? You’re not driving.” Sherry turned toward me with an incredulous look as Naomi took out her cell. “This is girls’ night and girls’ night requires us
all
to drink. And I’m not saying get drunk, because I know you”—she paused to point to Naomi—“only like to do that when you’re at home. And you”—pointing to me this time—“don’t like to get drunk at all. But just have a couple drinks. Just loosen us all up, yeah?”

Naomi’s hands froze over her phone as she looked up. “Sher, she’s not supposed to drink at all while taking her meds.”

Sherry’s face fell. “Shit, I forgot. It’s just been so long. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I waved her off. “I can have a little bit. We’ll just be careful and monitor it well.” I looked at Naomi and lifted my eyebrows in question. “My doctor said it’s better than stopping cold turkey,” I added.

She cast me a doubtful glance before setting her phone down and crossing her arms. After eyeing me for several seconds, she asked, “And you promise you’ll be honest if you start feeling anxious, overwhelmed, sad—?”

“Yes.” I cut her off. If she listed everything, we’d be here all night. Clearing my throat, my gaze traveled between them. “I promise.”