Page 5 of Always Been You
I hold the dress up to the mirror, not fully convinced, but Dzifa’s voice in my ear keeps me going.
“I’m telling you, a night out will change everything. You don’t even have to talk to anyone. Just sit at the bar, order a drink, and pretend you’re enjoying life. Fake it till you make it, right?”
I grab my comb and run it through my hair, half listening, half wondering if Dzifa and everyone are right. Maybe I could fake it for a few hours. Just pretend I’m the old Lawliss again—confident, carefree, untouched by heartbreak.
“You really think it’ll help?”
“I know it will. And if you don’t go, I’m flying down there and dragging you out myself and please tell me you’re not putting on that ‘I’m sad and single’ outfit. Go for something hot. Show the world what Derrick threw away.”
“I wasn’t planning on looking sad, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” I stomp my foot playfully, like a child, and she must hear it because she immediately says,
“You know what I mean. You’ve got that off-the-shoulder neckline black dress, The one above the knee, right? Wear that. Make people wonder who the hell let you get away.”
I glance at the black dress hanging in the closet. I hadn’t realized I had packed it. It’s been ages since I wore it, and right now it feels like it belongs to someone else—someone who had their life together.
“So… are you going or not?” Dzifa ask and I take a deep breath. I’m scared. I don’t know why, but the thought of stepping outside this room this evening feels like too much. But if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it. Dzifa’s still on the other end, waiting for my answer.
“Yeah. I’m going.” I finally say.
“That’s my girl! And hey, send me a selfie before you go. I need proof that you’re not hiding in sweats.” I roll my eyes but smile anyway.
“Fine. Talk to you later.”
“Later, babe. And don’t forget one drink. That’s all it takes to start feeling like yourself again.” I hang up and toss my phone into my bag. I grab the black dress Dzifa suggested, then zip up the dress and sit back down on the edge of the bed. I check myself in the mirror one last time. It’s strange seeing myself like this again, dressed up for the first time in weeks.
“One drink,” I whisper to myself as I walk out the door.
Chapter Three
Eddie
“I’m serious, Grandpa. I don’t need to date right now,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as I pull into the parking lot of Glitter & Bad Decision.
The neon sign flickered. It’s a bar that lives up to its name—gaudy, loud, and full of people either chasing memories or trying to forget them. I’m not sure which camp I belong to tonight.
“I disagree. You need to settle down, Eddie. You can’t keep drifting like this forever,” Grandpa’s voice echoes in my head as I park.
Great.
Exactly what I need. More reminders about my love life, or lack thereof. I kill the engine and stare up at the bar, feeling the weight of another night filled with nothing.
There was a time when I’d have walked in here without a second thought, ready for a good time. But lately, it seems like I can’t even convince myself that a night out will fix anything.
“I’m not drifting, Gramps,” I mutter, though the words feel hollow even as I say them. The weight of the lie settles in my chest, heavy and familiar. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I pull into the parking lot, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m just… busy.”
Busy.
That word again. It’s my go-to shield, the excuse I pull out whenever things get too close for comfort. It keeps everyone at arm’s length—companions, family, even myself. As long as I’m busy, I don’t have to think about what I’m avoiding. I didn’t have to face the yawning gap in my life, the one I’d try to fill with work, distractions, and a string of meaningless relationships that never lasted longer than a few months.
Grandpa doesn’t buy it. He never did. “You’ve been busy for eleven years,” he sighs, his voice thick with the exhaustion that comes from worrying too much. “And all you do is work. Do you think your mother or father would have wanted this?”
My hands freeze on the steering wheel, the air in the car suddenly feeling too tight, too still. Not them. Not now. The mention of my parents always hit me like a gut punch. Even after all these years, the wound is still raw, like it has never truly healed. I can almost hear my mother’s laugh, the way she used to hum and dance along to whatever song was playing on the radio or TV, her voice and moves always a little off-key and the imitations of TV shows were so off but so full of warmth and dad always looked at her as if she hung the moon.
They’re gone, just like that. One moment, they were a phone call away, telling me to hurry home. The next, they were just … gone.
And no matter how hard I work or how far I run, I can’t outrun the silence they’ve left behind. The crash—God, the sound of it still echoes in my head sometimes. The shattering glass, the screech of tires. The somersaulting replays in my nightmares for years, and even now, there are nights when I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, convinced that it was happening all over again.
I don’t need this tonight. I don’t need Gramps reminding me of everything I’ve lost and of how much I fail to live up to the future they probably imagined for me. A future that does not involve vengeance or pining over a married woman.
