Fake It List

Fourteen

Reysha had emptied her entire closet. Every article of clothing she owned was scattered around her small bedroom. Lifting the bottle she'd set on her nightstand to her lips, she finished off what was left of the cranberry vodka cooler she'd opened. It tasted bitter and warm.

"I see you've been busy," Stacey said, walking into Reysha's bedroom.

She'd heard the door open, so she wasn't surprised to see her friend stroll into the room. Why had she given her a key again? Oh, because someone should have access to her home in the case Reysha slipped in the shower and couldn't get to the door. In the event she got a cat and needed someone to feed it. Right. When you're out of town on all your spontaneous adventures?

"I'm minimizing." Hands on her hips, she stared around the room, wondering where to start. That was the "in" thing to do, right?

Stacey gestured with her chin toward the two empty bottles on her table. "Looks like you're drinking."

Reysha shot her a look and went to the pile in the middle of her bed. Her preppy phase. Collared shirts, pleated skirts, and pale cardigans. She scooped it all up and carried it to the corner of her room. The over-and-done pile. That pile was going to be huge.

She sank onto the side of the bed. "I'm cleaning out my closet and actually getting rid of things, rather than convincing myself I'll wear them one day. I deserve a drink or two." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Stacey, giving her what she hoped was a cheeky smile. "The new me. This is the twenty-one-year-old me."

Stacey chuckled, leaned on the doorjamb. "Amen, sister. As long as your twenty-one-year-old, independent self isn't drowning some misplaced sorrows over your asshat ex rehashing your dirty laundry—no pun intended—while re-enacting The Purge on your poor wardrobe."

Eyeing a very unique pile by the closet door, Stacey crouched down. "What the—?" She lifted crocheted cardigans—or what were meant to be cardigans—shawls, and scarves. She arched her brow so high it almost disappeared into her hair. "What were you thinking?"

Reysha giggled as she stood up. "Dad wanted to buy a boat, and it pissed Mom off. She hates the water. So, she took up crocheting. It was a dark time that resulted in all of that. I should hang on to those and give them to you on special occasions."

Stacey stood up. "You're a mean drunk."

Reysha's phone buzzed on her nightstand. She spun a little too fast in her attempt to look at it. Okay, maybe she didn't drink all that often, and maybe she'd started today because Simon the Snake had slithered even lower than expected.

CHRIS: I need to drop by and talk to you. Is that okay?

Reysha picked up her phone and typed:

Why not?

He might as well join the party. She set the phone down and turned again, slower this time. She looked at the mess in her room and sighed, frustrated with herself. "You know, I never wear this stuff. Why do I even have it?"

Moving into the room, Stacey went to the new-and-improved pile that they'd mostly purchased last week for her dates. "Because it's hard to let go of things and say good-bye to them even when we should? Because each of them represents a stage in your life? A little piece of who you were, even if you don't want to be that person anymore?"

Reysha snorted and walked to the bed. She curled up in the middle of it, her body curving around the pile Stacey was admiring. "You're pretty philosophical about my spring cleaning."

Stacey lifted an armful of the garments and walked to the open door of the closet. She began hanging things back up. "It's summer. Too late for spring cleaning."