Page 66 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“Same,” I say.
“No way! Really? Introvert?”
I nod, touch my glass to hers again. “Did you get the part about how pretending to be an extrovert can lead to extended periods of withdrawal and exaggerated levels of exhaustion?”
She laughs, touches my arm. “Yes! By the way, Exaggerated Levels of Exhaustion is my middle name.”
I laugh again even though I’m not sure that was particularly funny. “Is that what we’re doing now?” I ask. “Pretending to be extroverts?”
“Yes,” she says. “And we’re doing great.”
“You think?”
“I do. And I also think we should get another drink. That’ll help.”
“Yeah, probably.”
Before I head to the bar, though, her smile dips and she says, “I hope it’s not weird that I asked you to come out, though.”
Maybe it was, a little, I don’t know, but I tell her that it wasn’t.
“Normally I’d have thought of a bunch of reasons not to. But I’ve decided to try maybenotthinking for a while.”
“Let me know how that goes,” I say.
“Actually,” she says, “you know what? You wanna check out another spot? I kinda don’t want to find out if any of those girls over there really do puke. There’s a band playing Christmas songs at a place called The Horse You Came In On. Could be fun.”
I don’t respond right away. This isn’t because I don’t want to go; it’s because I’m surprised that I do.
I found Meredith online so fast that it made me worry for women in general—how easily locatable we are. Fortunately, I’m not a murderer or crazy or…well, a dude.
I remembered the name of her shop from the bag Henry brought our presents in last week. After knocking out the depressing last fifteen minutes ofEdward Scissorhandsby myself, I googled “Precocious HQ” and “Meredith,” and there was the shop’s website.
Her name is Meredith Greer and Precocious HQ is her passion project. On the bio page, she’s wearing a pretty Audrey Hepburn–esque dress. She’s attractive and tall and has wonderful glasses, and she went to Georgetown. I saw Brynn earlier on Henry’s phone, and after looking at Meredith, I understood the type of woman Henry was meant to be with. I put him and Meredith side by side in my mind, and they looked perfect together.
Now I’m just a girl in her closet drinking alone. And as if that sentence weren’t bad enough, the only thing I could find was Henry’s rosé, so I’m just a girl in her closet drinking rosé alone.
Seeing Meredith’s dress motivated me to do an inventory of my clothes, and I’m finding that my wardrobe is pure chaos. One thingno one tells you when you’re eighteen is that the career you choose will shape your style choices for the rest of your life, which is why I’m surrounded now by casual sweaters, tons of T-shirts, and Ravens and Orioles things with alcohol logos on them from vendors.
The dress I wore to Tim’s funeral catches my eye, as it always does. I hold it by its hanger and run my hand along the hem. The weirdest thing about that day was that people kept telling me how good I looked.
“Wow, Gracey, great dress,” they’d say as they hugged me or did that two-handed condolence handshake thing.
What was I supposed to say, exactly?This old thing?
When I told my mom how inappropriate it was to be complimented on my appearance at my husband’s funeral, she told me that people were just taken aback.
“I mean, maybe if you didn’t dress like a teenage boy with a social anxiety disorder all the time everyone wouldn’t be so shocked.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Love you.”
You would’ve made a joke I’ll bet, huh?
I ask Tim this because he’s here again, sifting through my clothes with me.
Of course I would’ve.
He puts his hand on my lower back and runs his fingers over the waistband of my yoga pants.I would’ve asked,Is this material felt?And you would’ve said,What?And I would’ve said,Well…it is now.
