Seeing Colour

by Amber Faucher

  Evie felt a reassuring squeeze before Andy pressed his forehead against her own. Patronizingly, he reminded her, “I know when something’s up with you. You do that bird-inside-a-house thing that makes me laugh.”

  The comment erased all other thoughts and feelings.

  “That’s not a thing!” Evie protested indignantly, leaning back from her friend.

  Andy wouldn’t let her shake him, despite giving her some room. He leered at her with his bemused smile, as he laughed, “You’re right, it ain’t a thing. It’s your thing.”

  The strangled gasp of irritation that came out of her surprised Evie. He was so aggravating in person! Amped and rattled by her own flip-flopping emotions, she reverted on base instinct to her standard response to his sarcasm—she reached broke free of his hands and stabbed a finger at his shoulder, making a loud clicking sound.

  “Did you just x-out of our chat window?”

  Evie was still too discombobulated to do anything but cross her arms and nod.

  Andy gave another loud chuckle before he cocked his head to one side and snidely informed her, “You know that doesn’t work, right? I don’t go away because you closed our chat-window or shut your laptop lid.”

  “Well, duh!” Evie felt lame for making such a juvenile argument, but it did little to stop her from making another in the heat of the moment, “Just go away so I can pretend that it did work!”

  “Hmm, that would be playing too nice.” Andy chuckled, less abrasive than the last few comments had been. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, effecting affability as he abashedly confessed, “I love ruffling your feathers.”

  “I know!” she struck back.

  Her angry shout faded into a laugh, as Andy comically waggled his eyebrows. They shared the giggle this time, the animosity of the previous few minutes melting into the congenial banter she was familiar with.

  Andy had done what he always did. Ascertained and intercepted her stress and tension, nipping it in the bud before she could allow it to blossom into an explosion of nuclear proportion—and she was thankful.

  As the after-glow laughter faded into silence, he made another offer that reminded her once more, why they were best friends. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,”

  “You didn’t,”

  “Yeah—I did. I can tell, remember?”

  Andy shrugged his shoulders. “I just thought it would be fun to do something constructive for the frame launch that was something we used to do…before…you know…this face to face stuff happened.”

  Her frown flicked upwards into a half-assed smile. “It changed things.”

  There. It was said.

  “Yeah, it kinda did, okay.”

  Andy had blurted each word so fast they strung together, almost resembled one long rambling word. Her business-surfer looked like a comical Frankenstein jumble of both his personas, with his hands still in his pockets and his shoulders drawn up to his ears. They dropped down, as his lungs gusted a long resigned sigh.

  Contrite now, Andy added, “Didn’t help that I sort-of lied and said I was someone that I wasn’t and then blew in—unannounced—and was like, ta-da!”

  This was emphasized with jazz hands, before he theatrically broke into song, “Here I am! I’m not who you thought I was, but it’s cool, we’re cool, everything will be so cool!”

  They shared another laugh. Andy always could make her laugh off the most absurd of things.

  “I guess what I’m getting at is,” he said, dropping the act and looking as pathetic as she had ever seen him, “I’m sorry that I lied. That really wasn’t cool.”

  Evie’s cheeks hurt. They hurt from flushing bright pink and from the smile that wouldn’t cut-it-out and leave. She didn’t begrudge him—how could she? Andy had been her solution to her anti-social tendencies just as she had been his in turn. She had been the one to make things weird at the store. The redhead was just glad that he hadn’t pointed that out yet.

  Being okay with what her surf-slacker had done and articulated that fact was still two totally different things. Yet, she had to say something. Andy was looking at her expectantly, all puppy-dog-eyed and pouting. Evie swallowed hard, and then raised a hand and poked his shoulder, “Click.”

  The pout spread into a thin-lipped smile, that resisted cracking. Andy gave a snorted chuckle, the sound coming from his nose. His eyebrows raised as he leaned towards her and conspiratorially inquired, “Did you just turn me on?”

  It was a lewd interpretation of the facts, so Evie set him straight. “I just reopened our chat window.”

  “Ah,” Andy replied, giving her a wave of his arm, “Hello again.”

  It was all they needed to reset.

  They decided to end the evening with their age-old fix—an episode of their favourite sci-fi. But not together. Andy left her at her door, finished his other business, and then met her online from his hotel room, where one episode turned into four, and they forgot about ever arguing.

  ◆◆◆

  Evie was unable to see her best friend off, but Andy assured her that he was well-cultured in the ways of the frequent flyer. It was not going to be a long separation. He would be back for the frame launch in less than two weeks, a period that passed quickly with everything that there was still to prepare.

  Traffic at the store had sky-rocketed, given the media hype that was being created with the addition of hotty Blake Carter to the launch party's guest list. It boggled her mind that in less than three months, Thistle had gone from forgotten-pipedream to social-media craze. The hype had buried any previous unfavourable online reviews, leaving them five-star recommended.

  Harder still was coming to terms with seeing her face on everything. In the last week alone, Evie had seen herself smiling back on everything from banners on her web browser to buses and electronic billboards, not to mention the signage present in the storefront.

  It made Evie feel surreal to be selling frames alongside a stand-up display of her own mug. The patients seemed to revel in making the association. Didn’t help that Mara had caught on to the hype, and the savvy optometrist had taken to using it whenever possible to sell more frames—which the little trick accomplished prodigiously.

  So, when the day for the launch had finally come, Evie was all too ready to get it over with it.

  The store closed early that day, allowing Mara, Evie, and Ian the afternoon to prepare what each was respectively responsible for at the gala. The redhead had left the other two at the store, headed home with a tool kit for adjusting frames at the launch. She was allocated the prestigious opportunity of fitting Blake Carter, who was flying in that morning just before the event—who was she kidding?

  It may be prestigious, but it was probably one of the most monumental tasks Connie had handed out. Evie would be responsible for fitting a Thistle frame for a celebrity who would be photographed and spread all over the internet within minutes of his debut at the event.

  Evie raced back to the flat. The rain had started that morning heavy and thick, leaving the sidewalks a puddle-ridden mess. The redhead was wet up to her calves by the time she got home. As she came in, she was forced to back up and wait for Serena’s guests to get their shoes on and grab their luggage.

  They did a do-si-do around one another as they left. As Evie shucked her shoes and drop her gear, she was met with Serena’s austere countenance.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Serena grit and bared her teeth, shaking her fists as she vented, “Last minute change of plans!”

  Serena rolled her eyes back and raised her voice an octave higher, as she mockingly complained, “’The plane was delayed, so we’re going for a beer before grabbing our things.’”

  “Oooohh,” Evie knew that Serena was usually very accommodating, but today was also an important day for her girlfriend, Becca. She had promised to be at the venue to help the minute her guests had departed—which was supposed to have been mid-morning, not early afternoon.

 
; Evie patted the other girl’s shoulder and gave her a sympathetic squeeze.

  “Becca has lots of help, and it won’t ruin the day to have her wait for your moral support.” Switching to a lighter note, she added, “We could share a cab.”

  Serena gave her large dark eyes another dramatic roll. She planted her hands on her hips, and sarcastically translated, “You mean, please dress me and do my hair, so I look fabulous for my designer-boyfriend on his big night?”

  Evie gave her flatmate a large grin and an eager head shake. She had meant to make a hair appointment, but between working the storefront and prepping for the launch, the task had simply slipped her mind. The other girl looped an arm around Evie’s waist, rambling on about how they needed to leave her hair free and natural looking to take advantage of the copper and gold highlights under the ambient lighting at the venue.

  In the bathroom the two girls shared, Serena worked her magic. Her length of red mane was brushed and blown out, primped to shine. With a few quick strokes of a flat iron, Serena transformed her rain-dampened frizz into something that was both sleek and sophisticated, while still appearing natural.

  Evie had attempted to do her own make-up but was quickly overtaken by her flatmate, who stepped in to demonstrate how to perfect the ‘no makeup’ look.

  “You can’t just slap on any old cosmetics, Evie. Yer goin’ ta be in competition with that braw bloke, Blake Carter.” Serena reminded her smartly, as she expertly flicked the sharpened end of a dark roan eye pencil across her upper lash line. “Let’s leave you looking relatable. You’re the face of Thistle that is going to convince every girl that they must have a pair.”

  Evie did not need reminding.

  Daintily painting on the mascara, she added another breathy sentiment, “You and Connie are goin’ to look so bonnie.”

  Evie felt her mouth tingle at the corners. She hoped the evening was perfect. Evie wanted to see her designer on that stage showcasing his boundless talent, and hear the awed response from the crowd. She would finally be by his side—on his arm. Connie had accomplished so much, and tonight he would finally get the recognition that he deserved.

  “There we are,” Serena stepped back to take a long appraising look at her subject. Sher directed Evie’s face from either side and sassily proclaimed, “That oughta have the lads droolin’ and the lass’s cussin’.”

  The door buzzer drew Serena out of the bathroom.

  Serena wasn’t gloating. Evie did look like she had won the genetic lottery, thanks to her flatmate. Somehow Serena had used very little cosmetics to sculpt and highlight the angle of her cheekbones, the arch of her brows, and the curve of her mouth. The small spattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose had been dusted with an illuminator, making them appear charming rather than trying to hide them beneath layers of muddy foundation, and the dark roan around her lashes made her blue eyes appear larger and brighter without being caked-on. The light lipstick helped to emphasize the curve of her lips, without making them shout for attention. All of it was seamless and effortlessly natural.

  For the first time, Evie wasn’t hiding anything, and she wasn’t advertising either. She was just being, and that was enough.

  “Evie,” Serena sang her name, as she laughed and announced, “Mr. TDH has truly outdone himself!”

  The redhead felt her cheeks pink, an affectionate heat welling up from her belly to her collar bones, as she moved to investigate. Evie found Serena in the kitchen, arms full of parcels and flowers, on the verge of dumping the lot of them on the floor. The redhead snagged a large bouquet, flourishing with bright colours and fragrant aromas, as Serena laid two large rectangular boxes on the table.

  Curious, Evie held the flowers to one side, peering over her flatmate at the boxes. They were both white and unlabeled, sent by personal courier.

  “Go ahead and open them, Serena, while I grab something to put these flowers in.”

  They didn’t have a vase for the flowers, so she grabbed a pitcher of water and balanced the brimming bouquet in it on the kitchen counter. She was admiring the thoughtful gift when Serena’s breathy gasp drew her attention back to the gifts.

  “This is jus’ pure tidy…isnea?” Serena wondered in awe, as Evie beheld the beautiful bodice of a folded dress in the first box and then the glittering simplicity of a pair of silver pumps.

  Evie felt her throat constrict.

  Serena gushed over how thoughtful Connie was, lifting the gorgeous navy dress out of the box to hold up against Evie. The redhead tried to hide the apprehension that penetrated her bones like a deep biting frost.

  “How regal! You’re goin’ ta be pure barry.”

  With her teeth worrying her lower lip, Evie snatched the dress away.

  “I better get this on. It’s getting late.”

  In the privacy of the bedroom, Evie held the dress out in front of her, as though it might physically harm her if she gave in and put it on.

  Why Andy?! Why did you do it, she questioned the gift.

  Would it be deceitful of her to wear it to the frame launch—the most important night of her boyfriend’s career? She would be at Connie’s side, loyally supporting his dream coming to fruition…in a dress Andy had bought her.

  Did it need to be a dramatic dilemma?

  Her mind whirred with the conundrum.

  The dress was beautiful. It hugged her every curve and accentuated her skin and hair. Andy had bought it because he was her best friend and he had loads of money—Hello! Millionaire’s son and freakin’ businessman extraordinaire. Andy was just as invested in the success of this night as Connie was. Andy just wanted her to help them both succeed, by having her look absolutely stunning, with a Thistle frame crowning the whole package. Was there really anything weird or wrong with that?

  “Awwwweee!” Serena squealed, busting into the room and thrusting a handwritten note under Evie’s nose.

  It was a little pink card, likely from the bouquet. On it, in a slanted hand was written:

  ‘Little something to remind you and everyone else just how amazing you are.’

  “You’ve been holding out on me, Evie!” Serena reprimanded, holding the card against her own chest, “You didnae tell me that Connie was such a romantic!”

  Because he’s not.

  The thought had popped into Evie’s brain like the crack of lightning, just as sudden and electrifying. It startled her. She didn’t want to draw any more parallels between the two men—not now when she was hours away from being front and center with both in front of a ton of people.

  Evie scrubbed all thoughts of men from her brain. Focus!

  The dress and shoes were here, it didn’t matter whom they had come from, she would look amazing in them. That was her purpose.

  They finished preparing themselves for the evening ahead and caught a cab to the venue. Evie tried to leave her confusion at the flat, but like a dizzying miasma, it trailed after her, a strange and disquieting off-gassing that leeched out of the dress and shoes, despite how they made her look and feel.

  18

  Surprisingly, the task that Evie had been dreading the most was the simplest. The vibrant green and white marshmallow tones of the last plastic frame Connie had picked for Scottish icon Blake Carter—one of twelve pairs of glasses, to be exact—fit perfectly. All the frames needed only simple adjustments for stability and comfort. The optician had slid the glasses onto the short-statured actor, and each suited his handsome features uniquely.

  Blake Carter was a lot shorter than Evie had expected. The low-heeled pumps that she had haplessly been gifted that afternoon worked ideally. If the heels had been any higher, she would have awkwardly towered over the famous actor. As it was, they had met on the same level and, thanks to his down-to-earth demeanour, the dispensing optician had been able to leave name and title behind, fitting the frame with smooth professionalism.

  Evie was appraising her work, checking the hazel-eyed celebrity for symmetry and balance, when the first
of her two men appeared on the scene.

  “Blimey, Blake,” Andy sarcastically began to cajole the actor as though they were long-time drinking buddies, “I wasn’t sure it was possible, but those really do make you look better.”

  With a crooked smirk that showcased his trademark chin-dimple, Blake smartly remarked, “Better lookin’ than you any day, mate.”

  Evie stepped back and handed the actor a small hand mirror. Blake approvingly nodded his satisfaction, thanking her with a firm-gripped handshake.

  As though on cue, she heard a woman’s breath-taken gasp. To Evie’s utter disbelief, it was Mara.

  “Why, Blake, those are perfect on you,” the woman flattered.

  It certainly wasn’t a gushy simpering fan-girl trill. The words came out like a feline’s pleased purr, allowing the optometrist a suave and classy segway into an introduction, that left the two discussing the actor’s potential for long-term endorsement. Evie was impressed with the shrewd woman’s uncanny ability to slip from adulation to business without making her guest even bat an eyelash.

  Gentle fingers took her elbow, and Evie turned to her friend. Andy’s features were professional, but his eyes were excited, as he leaned in and whispered, “You’re beautiful,”

  Not, ‘you look amazing’ or ‘the dress is so beautiful on you.’

  It was the simplicity of the sentiment, ‘you are beautiful,’ that set Evie’s cheeks on fire and cracked her welded nerves that had gotten her through fitting her first celebrity. She felt foolish, as the heat and smile overtook her calm, and she felt the need to hide her face from her friend, ashamed to be sent into a tizzy by his words.

  There was no hiding it from Andy. Evie could feel him tense, instinctively moving closer out of concern, which only made her knees want to knock together.