by Roya Carmen
He flashes her that cocky grin of his and takes a seat across us. He stretches his long legs and seems to take over the whole kitchen. “So what’s new, Freckles?”
I snicker.
Corrie smiles. She’s enjoying this.
“Heard you got ditched at the church.”
Asshole.
Sensitivity has never been one of Blake Taylor’s strong points.
“Obviously, the guy’s an idiot,” he adds with a wink.
“Well, I agree with you there,” I say.
“Me too,” Corrie chimes in, her gaze still glued to Blake. She looks like a tween girl staring at a poster of Shawn Mendes.
“So, are you still a virgin?” he asks.
My jaw drops. It’s more of a joke than a serious question.
“Finally gave it up for him and he dumps you on your wedding day. That must sting.”
Asshole.
I seriously want to punch him in the face. What is he doing here, anyway? I’m going to need to have a serious talk with Momma.
“I’m sure you had it all planned out,” he goes on. “Marry the guy who popped your cherry. Move into the fancy house, and pop out two kids or three… or four.”
God, I want to kill him. Is it a sin to wish someone dead?
What gets to me is that he knows me so damn well – that was exactly the plan.
“Looks like your plan went bust,” he adds with a cocky smirk – the one that always got to me – it hasn’t changed one bit – still as frustrating as ever. “What you gonna do now, Freckles?”
I don’t quite know what possesses me to do it – it all happens so fast, I don’t even think about it. I blame it on the short fuse I’ve inherited from Daddy. I throw my glass of iced tea right at his face.
I think his heart stops for a second. His face is completely drenched, and the top of his t-shirt too. His hair is splattered on his forehead, and he looks completely shell-shocked.
Corrie’s eyes are wide and her mouth hangs – she’s never seen this side of me. I keep it well hidden, but when Blake Taylor is around, that’s pretty hard to do.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he scoffs and stands up. He walks over to the kitchen sink and grabs a towel and dries himself off. “You have some issues, Freckles.”
“Correction… I have one issue. And that issue is you.”
Corrie is on the verge of laughter, thoroughly entertained.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” Blake says. “I’m mowing your mom’s backyard, and then I’m outta here. I was just joking around with you. You take things way too seriously. I don’t need this shit.”
“Neither do I,” I snap. “Good riddance.”
He turns to Corrie. “Nice to meet you.” He flashes her his charming smile, and she goes weak at the knees.
As soon as he disappears, Corrie breaks into laughter. “That was awesome.”
“Shut up.”
Momma makes a sudden reappearance. “Sorry, that was Marilyn on the phone. She’s coming over tomorrow with the kids.”
I smile at the thought of seeing Maddie and Jake again. I’ve missed them so much.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
Corrie’s smile stretches wider. “Maeve just threw her glass of iced tea at Blake’s face.”
Momma shakes her head. “What is it with you two? Always fighting like cats and dogs.”
Yes, cats and dogs.
Oil and vinegar.
That’s Blake Taylor and I.
* * *
“I love your room,” Corrie says. “It’s so you.”
We’re both stretched out on my childhood bed, just as it always was, with its polka-dot bedspread and fuchsia pink pillows. It reminds me of Blake, of the countless times we made out on this bed, almost going all the way.
I stare up at the flowery wallpaper and the shelves covered with stuffies. My vanity mirror is framed with old pictures of me and my friends, most of them long gone, save for Mandy who will always be in my life. All the photos of Blake have been removed. The only reminder of him is the jewelry box he made me in shop class – he painted it pink (my favorite color) and added sparkly hearts.
“So what’s the deal with Blake?” she asks. “He’s so hot.”
My heart threatens to leap out of my chest. “Don’t even go there,” I snap.
She laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it… I know he’s your ex.”
“Good.” The last thing I need is my best friend hooking up with my ex.
“I bet he’d be great in bed,” she says. “He looks like he’d know what he’s doing.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell her.
She turns to me. “Really?! You never slept together?”
“We fooled around a lot, but I just wasn’t ready. We were so young.”
“You’re such a prude, Maeve. I would have been all over that.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
We stare at the ceiling for the longest time. Finally, Corrie breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Maeve. You must be feeling like shit. First, Peter dumps you. And then you come here, and run into the boy who broke your heart, and he’s kind of a total dick.”
I smile. “Well, I’m glad you can see it too. My mom seems to thinks he walks on water and can do no wrong.”
“Well, he is pretty charming. I’ll give him that.”
“Cocky, more like.”
We study the ceiling again.
“So have you heard from Peter at all?” she asks.
Peter. I’ve been trying to forget him. I’ve been trying to pretend like my other life doesn’t even exist. I haven’t just been fired. I haven’t been dumped at the altar. “Well, like I told you, he sent me an email,” I tell her. “I never responded.”
“What exactly did this email say?” she asks in typical Corrie fashion – there are no boundaries when it comes to Corrie.
I reach for my handbag and pull my cell out. I tap on my Gmail app, and show her the email. Why not? I have nothing to hide from her.
I stare at the walls of my old room as she silently reads the long message. When she’s done, her mouth is agape. “What a dick! Forget about Blake… Peter is the real asshole.”
“Yes, it’s a close race,” I joke. “I wonder who will win the ‘biggest jerk’ award.”
“Peter,” she scoffs. “Definitely Peter.” She’s still holding my phone. “I can’t believe he dissed you about your job, and said you were boring. What an ass.”
She’s livid. I think she hates him more than I do right now.
“We should show him,” she says. “Show him you’re not the ‘sweet girl’ he thinks you are.”
I smile wide. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
She smirks. “Great minds think alike.”
“How do we show him though?”
She bites her lip as she mulls this over. She’s still looking up at the stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. “What if… we did a makeover?” she says.
“What kind of makeover?” I ask, curious.
“Get rid of the sweet frilly skirts and blouses. Get you some slutty clothes. Are there any good places to shop around here?”
I laugh. “Nope.”
She turns to me. “Really?”
“Well, there are only two places to buy clothes in this town,” I explain. “There’s In Style Boutique, owned by Mrs. Davies, a nice elderly lady, but all they sell is Gramma clothes, and then there’s Fiona’s Fashions. It’s owned by this girl I went to high school with, and it’s all biker clothes, black leather, chains, and stuff like that.”
She lights up. “Sounds perfect!”
“C’mon, Corrie. Can you really see me in clothes like that?”
She laughs. “Not really, but it’s just temporary. Think of it as playing dress-up.”
“So what do we do exactly?” I ask, still not quite following her plan.
“We get you some new clothes, snap a few pics and post them on Facebo
ok. Make him see what he’s given up.”
I ponder it for a few seconds. I do want him to see what he’s thrown away. I want him to miss me. I want him to want me back. And it’s just an outfit or two. It’s not like I’d be getting a tattoo. “Let’s do this.”
Mandy startles the both of us when she swoops in and throws herself on the bed, right on top of me. “Maevie-girl,” she squeals and plants a wet sloppy kiss on my cheek. I hug her tight and laugh my head off.
She finally pulls from me. “When did you get in?”
“About an hour ago,” I tell her.
“So what’s the plan for today?” she asks.
“We’re going shopping,” Corrie tells her.
“In Westbrooke?” Mandy asks, confused.
“We’re going to slut-up Maeve,” Corrie tells her.
She laughs. “Well, after that, do you guys want to go to The Spot tonight, shoot some pool?”
I smile. The Spot is the local pub. I’ve only been there a handful of times, but I know it’s a regular hang-out for Mandy, Blake and a bunch of other locals.
“Will your brother be there?” I ask.
She smiles. “Probably.”
“Then, no,” I deadpan.
She laughs. “C’mon, Maeve. This is a small town… you can’t avoid him.”
“Blake is perfect,” Corrie blurts. “He’s perfect.”
“What?!” I scoff. “He’s far from perfect.”
“No, I mean… he’s the perfect guy to make Peter jealous, make him see that you’re not such a good girl, after all.”
“But I am a good girl,” I argue.
“It’s all about illusion,” she says. “We’ll just make you look like you’re a bad girl.”
“Good girl gone bad,” Mandy chimes in. “I like it.”
“Think about it,” Corrie goes on. “Blake is perfect. He’s got that whole bad boy, cocky-as-shit, sexy-as-hell thing going on. He’s the guy other men secretly hate. He’s the type of guy who makes other men feel like boys.”
“Really?” Mandy says.
Mandy doesn’t see it because he’s her brother, but I totally see it. Corrie’s on to something here. I just don’t know if I can stand Blake long enough to make him part of my plan.
“I don’t know, Corrie,” I say, still on the fence.
“Think about it, Maeve,” she says, beaming. “It will be so much fun.”
Fun. Yes, that’s something I could really use right now.
I bite my lip, still not quite sure. “Oh… why the hell not.”
6
“THOSE PANTS LOOK FABULOUS ON YOU,” Corrie cheers. “I love them.”
I stare down at the tight black leather pants. They do look pretty good with the black Pink Floyd t-shirt.
“Wow, if I had your body, I’d buy those in a minute,” Fiona says. As the owner of the shop, she’s a little biased. I’m sure that’s part of her sales strategy, showering clients with compliments. “We also have the mini skirt and shorts.” She’s holding both, silver hangers dangling from her fingers.
“Mini skirt?!” Corrie pipes up. “Let’s try that.”
I shake my head. “I’m not wearing a leather mini skirt.”
“Yes, you are,” she argues. She hands me the skirt. “Now, you get back in there.”
“You should buy the t-shirt too,” Mandy calls out as I’m trying on the skirt. I do like the t-shirt, but I couldn’t even name a single Pink Floyd song. I feel like a fraud wearing this t-shirt.
I step out of the change room. “What do you all think?”
“Hot!” Corrie says.
“Sexy,” Mandy adds.
“Aren’t I too old for this?” I ask.
“Hey, if you have it, flaunt in,” Fiona chimes in, still trying to make a sale.
“C’mon, you’re only twenty-seven, for God’s sake. I’m ancient, compared to you.”
I laugh. At thirty-five, Corrie’s not exactly ancient. “You think I should get it?”
They all nod in unison.
“Oh, and I have the perfect booties to go with that skirt,” Fiona cheers. “What size are you?”
“I’m a size seven.”
She turns on her heel, and less than a minute later, she’s back with the booties; peep-toed, lace-up tall black suede booties, with a stiletto four-inch heel. They’re actually quite beautiful. And very sexy. They have a Victorian vintage feel about them which I love. They could be worn with anything; skinny jeans, dress pants, a dress, or a black leather mini-skirt.
Corrie reaches for them. “These are freakin’ gorgeous. You have to get them.” She runs a finger along the curve of the heel. “Hell, I’ll buy them for you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” I say and take the shoe from her. When I look at the price tag, I think that yes, maybe she could buy them for me – they’re not cheap.
“Try them on,” Corrie urges. “I want to see them on you.”
I slip one of them on, and it fits like a glove. I tie it up, and check myself out in the tall mirror. It looks fabulous.
“Try on the other one,” Corrie urges. She’s more excited than I am.
I put on the other bootie and tie the laces. I study my reflection. The shoes look amazing with the shirt and skirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sexy in my life. I didn’t even realize I could be sexy. When I think of Corrie, I think sexy. When I think of Gabbie or Kayla, I think beautiful. Yet when I think of myself, I think cute.
“Meow,” Mandy cheers and I laugh – she’s so funny. Mandy is a very down to earth girl. She usually wears worn jeans and t-shirts. She’s pretty, but one would never call her sexy.
I walk around the shop a bit. The booties are surprisingly comfortable.
“I’m getting those for you, and that’s final,” Corrie says. “We’ll take the whole lot; the skirt, t-shirt, and shoes.”
“Great decision,” Fiona says, beaming. It’s a good day for her.
It’s a good day for me too.
“Stay still,” Corrie scolds. “I’m trying to work some magic here.”
“Okay.” It’s hard to stay still because I’m full of energy, so excited about tonight. It’s just a night out at a pub, but I feel like a new woman tonight. A good outfit is a powerful thing. It can completely transform someone, make them believe they’re someone they’re not, make them believe in possibilities.
She’s working on my eyelids. “Do you have a soft pink lipstick?”
“Nope, I just have red.”
She sighs. “No worries. I’ll lend you mine. A soft pink lip looks fabulous with a smoky eye, and tasteful too. If you do the red with smoky eye, you end up looking like a tramp.”
I smile. “But I thought that’s what we were going for.”
“Now stay very still…” she commands as she pokes at my eye with an eyelash curler. “There’s a big difference between sexy and trampy,” she explains. “There’s nothing sexier than understated. That’s why those booties work… they’re classy, but also alluring.”
I stay very still as she finishes up my eyes. Then she completes the whole look with a few swipes of lipstick.
She stands back a foot or two and studies me for the longest time. A playful smile curves her lips. “Gorgeous.”
I turn to my vanity mirror and see the final result. I look amazing. She’s already styled my hair in loose bouncy curls, parted at the center of my forehead in a sexy seventies inspired style. “Wow.”
“Wow is right,” she says. “We better make sure your phone battery is charged. We’ll be taking lots of pics.”
I roll my eyes, brought back to her master plan – it all seems a little juvenile. Yet… I’ve always been a good responsible woman; my apartment is always organized and perfect, my clothes pressed, my taxes done ahead of time. I want to be carefree, frivolous and a little juvenile for once in my life.
I want to have a bit of fun.
The pub is already packed when we walk in. It’s exactly how I remembered i
t; vintage beer posters and sports paraphernalia on the wood panelling, wide screen TVs hanging from the ceiling, paper coasters, napkins and French fries littering the floor, old-school rock mixes, the clink of bottles, and lively chatter. The usual crowd is here; locals in plaid shirts, worn jeans, miniskirts and heels. The busy bar centers the rowdy space; a few beers on tap, glassware and a rainbow of liquor bottles line the shelves. Regulars sit on the old tattered bar stools. Spanky, a real-life Santa Claus, still mans the bar.
My gaze darts around, looking for someone I know. It feels strange to be here, in a hole-in-the-wall pub in a tiny town – it’s so not my scene, or Peter’s. I shake my head. I’m not going to think about Peter tonight. I’m just going to have fun.
“This place is adorable,” Corrie cheers.
I laugh. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.” I turn to her and flash her a grin. She looks amazing in torn skinny jeans, a Def Leppard t-shirt, and black high-heeled sandals. Her hair is down, and her eyes are smoky too. It’s not her usual look, but it certainly works for her.
We make our way around the bar toward the back, and that’s when I spot them; Mandy, Blake and Jeff (Blake’s best buddy), and another guy I don’t know. They’re shooting pool, playing teams. Blake is up – he’s always been a good shooter. I shamelessly ogle him – he’s changed. He’s always been tall, but he’s filled out. His arms are thicker, and his chest wider. Even his butt and legs seem bigger. He must have gained a good thirty pounds, and I hate to admit it but it looks good on him. And the beard… oh my. He was always clean shaven when he was young, and he looks so much more bad-ass with the facial hair. I didn’t even know I liked beards, but apparently I do. And then there’s that tattoo on his arm – a fish. I’ve never seen it before, but the guy is obsessed with fishing and owns a tackle shop, so it doesn’t surprise me.
He leans in for a shot and swiftly turns to me, as if he’s known that I’ve been standing here all along, shamelessly ogling him. I jerk my gaze away but it’s no use – I’ve been caught. I turn back to look at him again, and he’s wearing a playful smile that says, I caught you, Freckles.