Read Write On Press Presents: The Ultimate Collection of Original Short Fiction, Volume II Page 43
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Jesse frowned down at her choices. Forget the skirt and blouse. She hadn’t worn separates since college. She needed to weed out her closet. That left the two dresses. One was a clean looking white linen sheath that fell to the floor with a slit up the side. The other was a basic black tank dress that fit her body like a glove. She pursed her lips thoughtfully and quickly grabbed the linen dress.
Jesse hummed to herself as she ran a fragrant bubble bath. This might be fun. It had been over four years since she had gone to a formal event. The last four years had been spent in places that usually had dirt huts and no running water.
What she really had to do tonight was work on not feeling self conscious. Besides, Wayne was not going to be at her side pushing her to perform. All those years of functions as he worked his way up the corporate ladder had taken a toll on her.
After soaking in the bath she lavished lightly scented lotion all over, foregoing any heavy perfume and climbed into her robe. She stared in the mirror critically. Taking a deep breath, she began applying makeup the way she had been taught through countless makeovers with her mother. She applied base, powder, blush, smoky shadow around the eyes, and finally a light coat of lipstick.
Stepping back, she scrutinized; trying to see herself as others might. She definitely looked different. Shrugging she blew her hair dry in a straight simple style. With a few flicks of the hair iron, she was ready to get dressed.
Pulling her dress over her head she glanced at the box on her dresser. It was carved silver, burnished to a brightness that dazzled the eye. Smoothing the fabric over her body she slipped her shoes on and slowly walked over to the box. She still wasn’t sure why she had pulled it out of her closet with her clothes. Okay, maybe she knew why, but now what?
Her fingers slid the clasp open and she looked inside. Oh the memories. Anything and everything that had a sentimental value from her school days was in this box. And there, stuffed in an envelope almost at the top of the box was that damned bucket list.
Carefully she pulled it out and opened it, spreading it out on the dresser. She didn’t really have to read it. She knew it by heart. There was a check mark by a pitiful few of the things on the list. Her eyes took in the very last item on the list dated, July 1986—Find Nick Armstrong and Marry Him.
What a silly young girl she had been. The two weeks on the cruise with her parents had made her turn her first kiss into a romantic fairytale in her mind. She had come back envisioning a happy-ever-after with her own prince charming. Instead, he had vanished and she was left wondering.
Closure. That’s why she had pulled the box out. Now she needed to cross that last thing off her bucket list and write, Forget Nick Armstrong.
Taking a deep breath, she did just that. Ignoring the wave of sadness that ran through her, she squared her shoulders and promised herself she would put a checkmark next to that item before the week was over.
“Okay, this is as good as it gets.” Grabbing her clutch, she marched purposefully out the door determined to remaster the art of the social occasion. She could do this. If she could do surgery, she sure as heck could deal with a few conversations and dances. Without working the room, she reminded herself firmly, and without thinking about Nick.