If It Makes You Happy
Chapter One
I jerk back in surprise, nearly poking myself in the eye with the mascara wand as my phone vibrates across the bathroom counter. Pulling the wand away, I glance down at the bright screen. A message from my best friend, Mel.
Mel: Have fun tonight, Calla!
I smile to myself, making a mental note to reply in a few minutes once I'm finished.
With a final swipe of mascara, I appraise my reflection. Makeup has always come easy to me; it's my armor against the world. But tonight, I'm struggling. It took three tries to get my eyeliner even, my nerves making my hands shake. However, while it took longer than usual to get here, the result is exactly what I wanted. My pale blue eyes pop against layered tones of shimmering brown eyeshadow. My skin is dewy, cheeks rosy. I've tamed my long auburn hair into loose waves that tumble over my shoulders. It's a soft, romantic look—the kind most men think comes naturally.
If only they knew.
I rummage through my lipsticks, debating between a soft pink to keep the look romantic or a bold red to bring a bit of glam. Undecided, I grab both before leaving the bathroom and heading down the hallway to my bedroom.
My outfit for the evening hangs ready on the hook over the door. I've decided on a navy-blue wrap dress that I can easily wear under my favorite denim jacket. It's early May here in Vancouver, and while the days are warming up, the evenings are still chilly. I don't want to look too casual, though, so I'm pairing the outfit with my most comfortable pair of nude heels. I'm not sure what the plan for tonight is, but as long as we aren't walking around the entire city, I'll be okay.
Untying my satin bathrobe, I turn to the rest of my outfit laid out on the bed: a matching set of skimpy lace lingerie in a bold shade of cherry red. Despite my love for all things makeup and fashion, I've never been a matching lingerie kind of girl. Finding pieces that fit my curves properly wasn't easy, which meant I was more the one-and-done type. You know, find something that works and buy it in multiple colors. However, tonight is different. Tonight is special.
I slip on the set and turn to face myself in the full-length mirror. My nerves kick in again as I stare at my reflection. The sheer lace dips dangerously low over my full breasts, and the barely-there thong balances on my wide hips, hovering over the silvery stretch marks I spent so many years trying to hide. The set leaves little to the imagination and wasn't what I would have chosen for myself. But then again, I wasn't wearing it for me.
I was wearing it for him.
He's the one who told me how much he loved women in lingerie. He's the one I thought about when I saw it and tried it on, and he's the one I wanted peeling it off me later tonight.
With one more glance in the mirror, I step into my dress, adjusting the straps to hide what lies underneath. As a final touch, I thread some silver hoops through my ears before deciding on the bold red shade for my lips. After all, it matches the lingerie.
Grabbing my shoes and purse, I flick off the lights and head to the living room. It's 7:54 p.m., meaning he should be here any minute now. I sit on the edge of my couch and tap out a quick response to Mel as I wait for him to arrive.
By 8:20 p.m., I still haven't heard from him, but it doesn't stress me out. Instead, I find humor in the fact that women are always the ones blamed for being slow and late. Yet here I am, after an "everything" shower, blowout, and makeup application, ready to go on time while he's the one running behind.
By 8:40 p.m., I'm starting to get annoyed. I have no messages, no calls, nothing.
It's fine, I tell myself, despite the fact that my knees are bouncing up and down in nervous anticipation. I look down at my phone for what must be the hundredth time, making sure that the volume is on and I haven't missed any notifications. But my screen stays blank. Nothing.
I do my best to remain optimistic and keep the anxiety at bay. I try telling myself that he's stuck in traffic. That his phone died and he forgot his charger. But it doesn't get me very far. I have a sinking feeling that he isn't going to show. That the plans he finally made with me are going to come crashing down. That I got my hopes up for nothing.
At 9:30 p.m., one and a half hours after he was meant to pick me up, I'm still sitting in the same spot on the couch. Only by now, I'm very hungry. My lipstick has no doubt faded, based on the way I keep chewing on my bottom lip, and the lace of my new bra is slightly itching under my arm. A reminder that sexy lingerie is made to be stripped off and thrown to the floor. Not worn for hours at a time. I'm awkwardly trying to adjust it when my phone lets out an excited little beep, signifying a new message.
Itchy underarm forgotten, I lunge for my phone and eagerly read the screen.
Theo: Fuck babe, I'm just leaving work. Where are you?
Two tiny sentences after nearly two hours of waiting.
No apology.
Not even a phone call.
Just a ten-word text message telling me he was working. Again. Even after he told me he was taking the evening off to plan our first real date in the five months we had been seeing each other.
I stare numbly at the screen for several moments before I notice the three little dots notifying me that Theo is typing a second message. Quickly, I turn my phone to Do Not Disturb mode and set it back on the table, screen down.
I take a deep breath before bending down to slip off my heels and place them beside the door, which I lock and bolt for the night.
Turning out the lights, I pad down the dark hallway towards the bathroom, stripping as I go. My dress becomes a navy-blue puddle somewhere by the kitchen. The lingerie, though, I keep in my hand, shoving it into the bathroom garbage bin as I pass by. A hundred dollars worth of red lace, thrown among a wad of eyeliner-smudged makeup wipes.
I don't care.
Stepping into the shower, I crank the water on as hot as it can go and turn my face to the steam, convincing myself that it doesn't count as crying if the water washes away the tears before they can hit my cheeks.