Mel drops a heaping pile of gowns on the bench in the dressing room, oblivious to my internal freak-out over whether now is a good time to come clean. On second thought, the chaos of the dressing room hardly seems like a suitable place to drop this bomb. “I’ll be back with more options. I don’t know if I like square necklines on you. It shortens your torso.”
Crystal comes in as Mel darts out of the dressing room on a mission. She stuffs a ball of cherry-red fabric through the crack in the door. “Try this one. It’s very you.”
The next half hour consists of me sweating, changing in and out of various dresses, most of which are either too expensive or do nothing for my figure.
My mood lifts when I try on Crystal’s pick, the red one-shoulder dress with the sexy thigh-high slit up the leg. Admittedly, it’s kind of perfect, accentuating my waist and elongating my middle with the over-the-shoulder bejeweled strap. According to Mel, the harshest critic, the rich tone brings out the olive hue of my skin. She even threatens to shun me if I don’t buy it. The best part? It’s on sale for half price and won’t require alterations.
I snap a few mirror selfies, examining the dress from every angle, my mouth open like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants girls in their magic jeans, astonished by the flawless fit. I can almost envision myself at the gala in full glam. This dress screams love. It screams Valentine’s Day.
By the time we return to Mel’s condo with take-out sushi, I’m jittery, my knee bouncing uncontrollably under the glass coffee table. My body is physically rejecting keeping my Trevor secret for so long.
Crystal notices straightaway. “Why aren’t you eating your sushi?” she asks, dipping a spicy crab roll into her soy sauce.
I struggle to swallow a pitiful mouthful of seaweed salad, tossing my disposable wooden chopsticks on my plate. It’s time to come clean.
I spare no detail about the entire evening, from nearly getting kicked out of Mamma Maria’s to Trevor showing up, saving my ass and my breadsticks. I explain how, in a moment of weakness, I demanded to know Trevor’s feelings, which directly led to an explosion of emotions, followed by a passionate hookup.
When I conclude my story, a thick silence falls over Mel’s open living area. Crystal looks like she’s about to choke on her roll. Across the coffee table, Mel’s mouth is crooked and partially open—her trademark face when the logic doesn’t add up because her Botox prevents severe forehead lines.
“No freakin’ way. You slept with Trevor?” Mel finally clarifies, breaking the stretch of silence. She pretends to fan herself. “Was it life-changing? I bet it was. I need details.”
I bury my face in my hands. “It was.”
Through my splayed fingers, Crystal pins me with a hard, judgmental stare. “Wait, you mean you two are actually a thing? How is that even possible?”
“No wonder you’ve been so blasé about Daniel. You’ve fallen for Trevor. Hard. Literally,” Mel declares, eyeing me with righteous suspicion.
“Yup,” I admit.
“Have you talked since he left for California?” Mel asks, struggling to use her chopsticks despite Dad’s fifteen-minute lesson at Crystal’s bridal shower. She quickly gives up and eats her sticky rice with a fork.
I lift my phone from the coffee table to find nothing, as I predicted. “He texted once to tell me he arrived safely.”
Crystal’s expression is one of ultimate doubt. “Wait, that’s it? You’re together and he’s barely even texting you?”
Her question is like a gut punch. I straighten my spine, suddenly feeling even more insecure than I already was. “Is that weird? Should we be texting?”
“I would think so. Scott texts me constantly when he’s gone.”
“Okay, but Scott and Trevor are two different people,” Mel reminds us, although I barely register her words given the alarm bells going off in my head.
Heat prickles my body as I straighten my spine. “Shit. This is a bad sign, isn’t it? Do you think he’s freaking out and regretting everything?”
Mel makes a face as if to say, Don’t ask me. “Why don’t you ask him to FaceTime? Ask him straight up if you’re still on the same page?” I don’t know how Mel’s question can be both so logical and so hive inducing. “Or send him the smokin’-hot mirror selfie in the red dress you took in the changing room. See how he reacts.”
Crystal’s eyes go wide like Frisbees. “Mel, I love you, but are you okay? That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. A mirror selfie will send the wrong message for sure.”
“Wrong message? Is she a nun? She’s hot and wants to show off her bod to her man.” Mel scoffs and gives her a kick under the table. “Personally, I think it’s genius. If he sends some sort of sex-related response, we’ll know he just wants your ass. If he says something lame, he’s changed his mind and decided to friend-zone you. And if he offers a sincere compliment, we can probably guess things are still good.”
“You do have a point.” In my looming sushi coma, I’m easily suggestible. I grab my phone and impulsively open my text window with Trevor. My fingers flex, hovering over the option to attach the photo.
Before I can make a decision either way, Crystal shrieks, “No!” In a blink, she’s ripped my phone from my hands before I have the chance to firm my grip. She stuffs it down her sports bra for good measure.
I cock a brow. “Really, Crys? I’m not afraid to go in there.” I make a pretend advance, and Crystal leans away from me, her hand clamped over her chest.
“Come on. Think about this. I’m not sure any of this is a good idea.”
“Texting him?” I ask.
“No. Like, all of this. I mean, from what you said, he never gave you any specific commitment other than an I’ll try. Are you really willing to accept that?” When my eyes start to well, she’s quick to add, “I love you, Tara, and I want you to be happy. But I also want what’s best for you. I just don’t want you with another guy you have to fix. Someone who needs so much maintenance. Especially someone you’re rooming with.”
“But have you seen him? Let the girl live!” Mel makes a surprise attack from across the table and stuffs her hand down Crystal’s shirt. She ends up dipping the elbow of her silk blouse in the tiny plastic container of soy sauce, which nearly dribbles on her plush cream area rug.
I reach across the table to assist Mel before she stains anything else. Crystal sees this as an attack and rolls away into the fetal position on the floor. It all goes downhill from there. Mel dives over her, and I launch myself on top of both of them with a bloodcurdling battle cry.
The three of us are screaming like children fighting over the last slice of pizza at a birthday party. Someone has scraped my neck with their fingernail (probably Mel), and somehow Crystal’s messy bun has come out and Mel’s blouse is wrinkled and disheveled. We’re seconds away from an all-out catfight.
Given Crystal’s superhuman strength, it takes both Mel and me to pry my phone from her hands. I even resort to tickling her on the ribs to give Mel a window of opportunity to swipe it. By the time Crystal finally relents, we’re flat on our backs laughing hysterically on Mel’s floor, our chests heaving like we’ve just completed a gruesome spin class.
“Okay, on second thought, let’s rethink this,” Mel says breathily. “A random photo of yourself may be a little weird. I think your best bet is a straight-up conversation when he gets back to make sure you’re still aligned. In person. It’s too important a conversation to have through text.”
“You’re probably right.” With what little strength I have left, I reach for my phone to exit the text window.
And that’s when I see it.
Somehow, through our tussle, we have collectively managed to hit Send on the mirror selfie.
Not once.
Not twice.
But three times.
No. No. No.
Fuck my life.
Mouth agape, I show Crystal and Mel what we’ve done.
Mel looks identical to The Scream, the famous painting from the 1800s with the gaunt, skull-like man with both hands on either side of his head, his eyes wide like he’s just seen death itself.
Crystal is so disturbed, she launches to her feet and starts speed walking around the living area, her hands to her temples, mumbling, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” which does little to quell my nausea.
Near deceased, I collapse onto Mel’s stylish yet uncomfortable couch, an arm over my eyes to block out my reality. It’s time to defect to the fringes of society. I’ll live out the rest of my days in rugged nature, using twigs, stones, and poisonous berries for currency.
Then again, my animal friends wouldn’t be an adequate substitute for human company. No. I think I’ll stay here in this very spot for all of eternity. It’s only a matter of time before the buzzards descend to feast on my innards. “I don’t suppose you can unsend a text?”
“I don’t think so,” Crystal says, cringing. “But I’ll Google it to make sure.”