way, toward the home office. I’m left struggling with feelings of nervous anticipation.
Okay , I tell myself as I climb the stairs to Jeremy’s bedroom, and our now-shared closet. There’s a reason Jeremy invited his father to dinner. He wouldn’t do it ‘just because’ .
What might the reason be? I have no idea.
I shower quickly, glad to shed the constricting work clothes. I blow dry my hair and apply the usual, lightest touch of makeup.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look…not amazing. But not half bad, either. Definitely more than presentable, but by no stretch flawless , either. Not what Jeremy requested.
I can’t help it. Long hours during the day, coupled with Jeremy’s insatiable appetite at night have created a lifestyle not exactly conducive to sleep. My eyes are slightly red—well, there’s Visine for that. The discoloration underneath? Nothing a little more concealer can’t fix.
And so, I spend way more time than anticipated analyzing my reflection, searching for blemishes, and doing my best to make them less noticeable.
Jeremy’s words had the edge of a warning: It’s paramount that you look flawless tonight .
I don’t know what he’s planning. I sure as hell don’t want to disappoint.
Could this hearken back to his obsession about maintaining appearances? What kind of picture has he painted of our lives to Hugh?
And the way he sprung it upon me has me more concerned than anything. ‘ Oh, hey Lilly, dinner’s in an hour and a half with the man I despised growing up and who is probably a danger to you. Run along now and try not to let that affect you.’
I scoff. Jeremy didn’t tell me about it until the last moment on purpose. Does he want me to be off-kilter? Why?
Flawless , I keep repeating in my mind. Flawless, flawless, flawless .
I don’t know if I’m ever going to get there. And fuck him for telling me that I should! It’s a goal nobody can reach. The more I obsess over it, I tell myself finally, the further away it’s going to seem.
So after more than an hour locked away in the bathroom, I finally emerge, only to realize I have less than thirty minutes to pick out a dress.
‘The red one,’ he said. I look at the rows of fabric before me with a wary eye. There are dozens of red dresses there. Which one did he want?
I walk out of the room and lean over the railing. “Jeremy?” I call out. “Jeremy, I need your help with something!”
I hear his footsteps, and then a barked, “What?”
“What dress do you want me to wear?”
“Are you kidding? You called me out here for that?” He emerges from the hall and looks up at me. He’s already changed into a crisp, beige silk suit, quite fitting for the warmer spring weather outside. “You didn’t just get out of the shower, did you?” He sounds incredulous.
I roll my eyes, huff, and turn away. He can be impossible sometimes!
“Lilly!” He shouts my name.
I stop but don’t look back. “Yes?”
He exhales audibly, and I can just picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he says, “I’m sure that whatever dress you pick out will be just fine.”
Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.
“I’m sure it will be, too,” I say, a bitchy bite in my tone. “After all, you were the one who approved their purchases.”
With that, I walk back into the bedroom.
“Stubborn, arrogant man,” I mutter under my breath as I jerk the hangers out of the way searching for the mythic, ‘perfect’ dress. “No. No. Wrong. Wrong…”
And so it goes down one entire rack, and then the next. I know I’m just taking my frustration out on this search. The point isn’t even the dress really, or the way Jeremy informed me of tonight’s company, when it comes down to it. The point is that I am becoming more and more annoyed with my own reaction to everything tonight. It’s a vicious cycle. I don’t know what Jeremy intends. This fuels my uncertainty, which, in turn, fuels my frustration
Okay , I tell myself as I climb the stairs to Jeremy’s bedroom, and our now-shared closet. There’s a reason Jeremy invited his father to dinner. He wouldn’t do it ‘just because’ .
What might the reason be? I have no idea.
I shower quickly, glad to shed the constricting work clothes. I blow dry my hair and apply the usual, lightest touch of makeup.
I look at my reflection in the mirror. I look…not amazing. But not half bad, either. Definitely more than presentable, but by no stretch flawless , either. Not what Jeremy requested.
I can’t help it. Long hours during the day, coupled with Jeremy’s insatiable appetite at night have created a lifestyle not exactly conducive to sleep. My eyes are slightly red—well, there’s Visine for that. The discoloration underneath? Nothing a little more concealer can’t fix.
And so, I spend way more time than anticipated analyzing my reflection, searching for blemishes, and doing my best to make them less noticeable.
Jeremy’s words had the edge of a warning: It’s paramount that you look flawless tonight .
I don’t know what he’s planning. I sure as hell don’t want to disappoint.
Could this hearken back to his obsession about maintaining appearances? What kind of picture has he painted of our lives to Hugh?
And the way he sprung it upon me has me more concerned than anything. ‘ Oh, hey Lilly, dinner’s in an hour and a half with the man I despised growing up and who is probably a danger to you. Run along now and try not to let that affect you.’
I scoff. Jeremy didn’t tell me about it until the last moment on purpose. Does he want me to be off-kilter? Why?
Flawless , I keep repeating in my mind. Flawless, flawless, flawless .
I don’t know if I’m ever going to get there. And fuck him for telling me that I should! It’s a goal nobody can reach. The more I obsess over it, I tell myself finally, the further away it’s going to seem.
So after more than an hour locked away in the bathroom, I finally emerge, only to realize I have less than thirty minutes to pick out a dress.
‘The red one,’ he said. I look at the rows of fabric before me with a wary eye. There are dozens of red dresses there. Which one did he want?
I walk out of the room and lean over the railing. “Jeremy?” I call out. “Jeremy, I need your help with something!”
I hear his footsteps, and then a barked, “What?”
“What dress do you want me to wear?”
“Are you kidding? You called me out here for that?” He emerges from the hall and looks up at me. He’s already changed into a crisp, beige silk suit, quite fitting for the warmer spring weather outside. “You didn’t just get out of the shower, did you?” He sounds incredulous.
I roll my eyes, huff, and turn away. He can be impossible sometimes!
“Lilly!” He shouts my name.
I stop but don’t look back. “Yes?”
He exhales audibly, and I can just picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation as he says, “I’m sure that whatever dress you pick out will be just fine.”
Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.
“I’m sure it will be, too,” I say, a bitchy bite in my tone. “After all, you were the one who approved their purchases.”
With that, I walk back into the bedroom.
“Stubborn, arrogant man,” I mutter under my breath as I jerk the hangers out of the way searching for the mythic, ‘perfect’ dress. “No. No. Wrong. Wrong…”
And so it goes down one entire rack, and then the next. I know I’m just taking my frustration out on this search. The point isn’t even the dress really, or the way Jeremy informed me of tonight’s company, when it comes down to it. The point is that I am becoming more and more annoyed with my own reaction to everything tonight. It’s a vicious cycle. I don’t know what Jeremy intends. This fuels my uncertainty, which, in turn, fuels my frustration
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