Tomorrow is new year's day. Everyone thinks I'm going because my friend Eric RSVP'ed me. And I'm having second thoughts about not going.
I'm pretty sure my absence will not be noticed if I don't show up tomorrow night, right? I mean, who am I for everyone to want me to be there?
My train of thought was interrupted when I heard my phone ring from on top of a marble tray where I keep my car keys. I closed my book and hurriedly grabbed my phone hoping it was Savannah but only it wasn't... it was Eric.
Already knowing why he's calling, I still answer. "Hello, Ric." I greet, keeping my voice as jolly as possible.
"So are you coming?" He asked as if it was a matter of life and death.
I heaved a deep sigh before answering, "Yeah... I've decided that I'm going."
Eric squealed in delight, "Wonderful! Stick to the theme and bring your girlfriend, okay? Bye!" He added before ending the call. I didn't even get to say goodbye.
Great. Now I have to go to the mall to buy an outfit.
I drove myself to the mall this time because I felt like driving today. I didn't want to ask my stylist to design a suit for me. I didn't want to bother my chauffeur anymore. I wanted to feel like, for once, I was in control of my own life. I walked to my favorite clothing store.
"It's nice to have you back, Mr. Lewis. Tell me, what are you looking for?" Paula has been my go-to for fashion. She's the expert. I told her the theme of the party — we just have to wear an all-white outfit.
Paula found me a dress suit that fits me perfectly. I thanked her for her services and paid for the item. I drove through the night — past glowing yellow orbs on posts, through the dances of papery leaves choreographed by the wind, and melancholic tunes coming out the car speakers from all four corners — it keeps me grounded.
Who knew darkness is just as beautiful as daylight?
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On the day of the party, I was doing the things that I still normally do — reading a book in my favorite spot in the foyer, hanging out in the garden, picking out a new vinyl to listen to while I painted.
A monarch butterfly made a gentle landing on my right hand, flapping its gossamer wings. I smile as I continued to stare at it. Butterflies have become frequent visitors of ours, but Savannah never notices the butterflies in the garden.
I go inside and take out a canvas from the storage and place it on a stand. I will my paintbrush to make elegant strokes as I stand in front of the large canvas. I had picked out my fanciest colors and best brushes to paint as I've never before. I drew my only muse, the inspiration behind every one of my portraits.
Paint smears my hand as the brush glides along the canvas, drawing the only woman who occupied my every thought. I draw every detail from the freckles on her nose to every shade of brown in her eyes.
Without warning, the doorbell rang throughout the house. I put down my painting equipment and walk over to the door.
I open my door to a huge bouquet of red roses on my doorstep.
I threw the whole bunch in the trash without giving a single glance at who it was from. Savannah would never send me flowers without occasion. I threw away the roses as it reminds me of someone in the back of my mind. Someone I did not want to think about.
Riley.
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The bland red roses lay forgotten on the park bench beside me. Riley sat on my left, wearing her best with a backless red dress, no doubt just as her father intended. I had to admit she looked spectacular, and I would've said it if we weren't deep in an argument.
"You do not want to marry me," she had said, looking the other way while she wiped away a tear. She said it more like an accusation more than a question.
"No, I don't." I had responded quietly, turning to look at her. Her bloodshot eyes met mine, the sunlight reflecting my grey eyes on her green.
"Savannah," she says, more of her smudged mascara running down her face.
"Yes," I confirm, and her lips trembled ever so slightly. I almost wanted to hug her and say that it wasn't any of her faults, but that would've been impertinent.
We sat there in silence for a long time, not giving a single glance at each other. Finally, as she grabs her purse to leave, she looks at me like there are words on the tip of her tongue she couldn't quite place. She took sudden interest in the grass growing between the stone steps. Her brows creased in question. "Why her?" She asks.
"Why anyone else," I say, glancing up at the sky blotted with clouds like cotton candy, thinking of Savannah who was in my every waking thought. "When she exists?"
