Somebody Else

I haven't seen her in over four years. But there she is. Standing ten feet away from me. Congratulating Ally on her new marriage and apologizing profusely for missing the ceremony.

Is she more beautiful now? Or have I just forgotten how stunning she is? It can't be the former. She was already the most beautiful woman to walk this earth in the history of humankind. But it also can't be the latter because I can't hear the word beautiful and not associate it with her.

I've heard that a little black dress can make anyone look good, but I've never seen someone look this stunning in such simple attire. I almost want to apologize on behalf of Lauren for upstaging the bride herself.

I'm looking at her for the first time in four years. Staring is probably a more suitable word, honestly. It's like I've lost all control over my body. I hope no one is watching me hold my wine glass in a frozen position, only a few centimeters away from my lips, as if I just remembered that white wine is the kind that makes me embarrass myself in public.

I wonder if anyone else can hear my heart beating out of my chest. I wonder if they can hear my inner thoughts yelling at me to find Dinah and ask her to come up with a grand scheme to get me out of staying at this reception for any respectable amount of time.

Just then it happens. The one thing I thought I'd sheltered myself from.

Somebody else comes into the scene. A familiar face, but one I'd be okay with never seeing again. Lucy. I watch, almost in slow motion as she slides in next to Lauren, taking hold of her hand and intertwining their fingers.

Up to this point, I thought I'd done pretty well. For the last four years, I've managed to avoid the disgustingly cute photos of them in Paris. I've avoided reading the detailed notes on social media about their deep admiration and adoration towards one another. I've dodged every "did you hear about Lauren and Lucy-" thrown at me by mutual friends.

I'm not saying I want her body, but I hate to think about her with somebody else.

Even Lucy, as great, gorgeous and thought-provoking as she may be, is not what I want to see on the former love of my life's arm.

I can't tell you how long I've been staring. But I can tell you that the last song has changed from a slow and melodic rhythm, to all the screams and rushed footsteps of all the excited people who've chosen to embarrass themselves to Bruno Mars's "24K Magic" on the dance floor.

That's when I'm taken from my stupefied bubble. To remind me of who I am and where I belong in this situation, the universe decides to fuck with me. Go figure.

"Camila, can't you hear me? I've been calling you for like the last hour," Normani dramatizes.

I finally break out of my trance, "what?"

Normani laughs, "I've been screaming your name since the song started. I want to dance. Come on." She turns me towards the dance floor and tugs on my arm before we're interrupted.

"Camz?"

Oh god.

I haven't heard that voice so close to me in four years. I haven't heard that raspy, angelic voice address me since our last goodbye.

I'm frozen in my spot. I can't believe my luck. I was starting to believe I could avoid running into her for the rest of the night.