KATE
It is surprisingly relieving to spend Christmas Eve alone. Britt felt terrible and awkward leaving me, but I assured her that it was fine, that I would truly rather be here than there. It's the first Christmas Eve that I can remember not going to church, not having a sit down dinner at my parent's house, not sleeping in my childhood bedroom. There is a dull ache in my chest at the thought, but it's oddly freeing.
I spend majority of the afternoon rifling through Britt's closet looking for something to wear to the Safe Side dinner party tomorrow; I have only a few things and nothing seems fancy enough. Britt is roughly the same size as I am, though as I try on dress after dress of hers, I note that my shoulders are considerably broader.
I decide on a red dress that comes down just above my knee, and find that Britt has red heels to match it. It is freezing tonight, and surely will be tomorrow as well, but I will have to make do. No way in hell am I wearing panty hose. The red dress is Christmasy and simple, but elegant, and can be paired with simple makeup, which is all I can do anyway. The beginnings of butterflies start to flutter in my stomach at the thought of tomorrow night.
Supposedly Michael won't be there, but where will he be? Is he spending Christmas alone, too? Or with Barbie, perhaps? My blood boils at the thought.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. Thinking like that won't do anything to calm my nerves. I hang Britt's red dress on the back of the kitchen door so that it doesn't get wrinkled. When I glance at the clock, it's only 8 p.m, but I am running out of things to do.
I wander into Britt's kitchen and look through her pantry, pulling down the container of coffee grounds from the top shelf. I don't question myself as I make a pot of coffee, but deep down I know that the warm, comforting smell reminds me of home...of him.
It's Christmas Eve and I sit alone in an apartment that's not mine, drinking a beverage that I don't enjoy, and living a life that doesn't feel like mine. I shiver, pulling my sweater a little tighter around me. The thermostat reads 70, but the cold I feel is not coming from the outside.
. . .
Yesterday's butterflies are nothing in comparison to the sheer panic that I feel as I follow my GPS to a fancy hotel ballroom on Christmas Day. So many what ifs are running through my mind that I almost make illegal u-turns at least three times. But Dana is expecting me, and like she said, it's better than being alone.
Before handing my car over to the valet, I check my makeup in the visor mirror one last time. It's simple, black eyeliner with red lipstick, a dangerous change from my normal clear balm, but a decent one. It makes me feel powerful. I'd even swept a little blush across my cheeks, something I've never actually done before, but my pale skin needed it desperately.
"Thank you," I tell the valet who takes my keys.
"No problem, ma'am," he says, looking slightly bemused. As I ascend the grand staircase to the hotel doors, I notice that none of the other guests speak to the valets, and it bothers me a little. These are all supporters of a fantastic charity, yet they see people who work below them as lesser. I guess you can't be good in every aspect, everyone has shortcomings.
As I walk into the entrance, I am thrown back in time to my first party at the Cliffords' mansion, but even that is dimmed in comparison to this. This is the real thing, a real dinner party, a gala. White Christmas lights wink at me from rows and rows of evergreens that line the room. Real pine garland hangs from the walls, tied with grandiose red bows, similar to those that garnish the back of every chair. The tables are made of glass and wrought iron, giving the illusion that they are made of ice.
