When Girlfriends Break Hearts by Savannah Page Page B

mind.”
    “Are you sure everything’s alright?” I studied her face, trying to read any expression.
    “Just another stupid argument about our future,” she said, her face blank. Was a surge of crying on its way? It was hard to tell. Usually Claire was easy to read. When she was sad, it was obvious. When she was happy, the world knew it. And when she was depressed or on the verge of crying, all of the typical warning signs would show. But right now she didn’t seem bothered.
    “Are you upset?” I asked. “You sounded kind of upset. Not that I was listening to…everything.”  
    She cracked a small smile and waved her hands again. “It’s nothing. Seriously. It’s not even anything to cry over or be angry about. It’s just Conner and me being stupid, that’s all.” She smiled again. Maybe it was only a simple couple’s spat after all.
    “Well,” I said. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
    “Thanks, Sophie. Now…” She turned to my closet and pulled it open. “It’s time to get ready. Tonight’s about letting our hair down and having fun.”
    “If you insist.” I started to rifle through my wardrobe.
    “Great! I’ll go get ready real quick. An hour we’re out, okay?” Then she bounced back to her bedroom, clearly much more excited about our night out than I was.
    I stared at my overpowering black and white wardrobe. God, I need some life. Some color. It was as dark as the past week had been. Pathetic. I reached for the brightest thing I could find with the least amount of effort afforded. A light grey pencil skirt. Great. Grey. That’s the closest to chipper yellow I can find.  
    Habitually I grabbed for my favorite bright white, ruffled, sleeveless Liz Claiborne blouse. It was the perfect fit for the skirt, although a bit chilly for the night. The warm front that was atypical of April had passed and Seattle was presented once again with its usual chilly April breeze and showers. I found the chic, grey jacket that matched the skirt and headed off to the shower.
    A depressing night out as a single woman. This is going to be a great night… .  

    ***
    The bar of the night was Claire’s choice. She chose a mutual favorite: Vogue , a swanky bar over in Capitol Hill. The drinks were reasonably priced and always made perfect-to-taste. The music was a nice blend of house and indie soft rock. The crowd was the mid-twenty to mid-thirty yuppie sort. The atmosphere was laid-back, with white, faux leather sofas and chaise lounges throughout the large loft-like bar. The lighting was that kind of lighting a girl wishes she had perpetually following her. The kind where it’s not invasive fluorescent where you always look your worst, but not the kind where it’s so dark you’re not quite sure what color shoes you’re wearing. Vogue had sleek ambience, and it was one of the regular bars the girls and I frequented the past couple of years.
    “First drink’s on me, Sophie.” Claire confidently took a seat at the bar on one of the metal swivel barstools.  
    “Uh, the only drink, girl.” No more. We had work to tend to the next day.
    “Yeah, yeah, right.” She gave me a wink, then with a flick back of her tightly curled hair she leaned in to the bar, beckoning the bartender.  
    Claire had charm and a sweet self-assurance. Not a boasting assurance or anything that, say, our good friend Jackie exuded. Claire may have been wrapped up in a long-term and serious relationship of seven years, but she wasn’t blind. She knew an attractive man when she saw one, and she knew a not-so-attractive one, too. Regardless, she knew she possessed strong flirting capabilities and never saw a need not to wield them…“just if necessary,” she would say. She was cute, bubbly, and beautiful. She was physically everything my opposite and even though I had my own mark of “tall and dark” beauty, sometimes I wished I had her looks, her personality…the whole thing.
    Her hair was rather long, like mine,