Like Gravity(94)

I rolled me eyes and walked toward the car without her.

“Oh, lighten up!” She said, racing to catch up with me. “It really does look great, though.”

As much as I hated to admit it, Lexi had been right about the haircut; it was exactly what I’d needed to shake off the gloom that I’d been drowning in for the past week. The stylist had been lectured thoroughly by Lexi for fifteen minutes before even so much as lifting a brush – in fact, I was surprised Lexi hadn’t just grabbed the scissors and started hacking off clumps of my hair herself.

Thankfully, it didn’t get that far and her micromanaging hadn’t escalated to actual maiming.

The stylist, following Lexi’s instructions to the letter, had chopped off several inches of my long hair, leaving it just long enough to brush the tops of my breasts. She’d added layers and trimmed the pieces around my face to better accentuate my features. Lastly, she’d threaded caramel-brown high-and low-lights throughout my hair, a look I’d never before attempted with my dark locks.

I’d originally been worried about how it would turn out, but as soon as I’d seen the finished product in the mirror, I’d fallen in love with it. The cut was flattering, showing off my small features and framing my face in a way that made my mouth look more supple, my cheekbones higher. The new color offset the deep green of my irises, making them stand out more prominently and flattering my skin tone.

In short, I looked – and felt – like a new woman.

After our stop at the hairdresser, I learned that it had been only the first on a long agenda of activities Lexi had planned for the day.

Next, we drove across the street to Lexi’s favorite nail salon, where we were manicured, buffed, and top-coated to perfection. Then we hit the local strip mall for some quality retail therapy, each buying a few new dresses and tops. I even found a gorgeous vintage pair of Chanel heeled boots in a second-hand shop of designer cast offs, scooping them up for a fraction of their original price.

After our shopping spree I thought for sure we were done, but instead of heading home, Lexi steered us toward the local movie theater. We ate stale popcorn with too much butter and laughed ourselves silly at the on-screen antics of our favorite female comedy duo.

By the time we finally pulled in at the house, it was well after midnight and I was exhausted from a jam-packed day of girltime. We sat in the driveway, staring at the Victorian, and I realized I’d barely thought about Finn all day – Lexi had kept me too busy.

It had been so good to laugh – to get out of that room, away from all the memories. I almost didn’t want to go back inside to face everything.

“Hey,” Lexi said, breaking the silence. “There’s one more thing on our itinerary.”

“What?” I asked.

“Sleepover. Just like when we were thirteen; we’ll eat ice cream from the carton and talk about how I’m going to marry Lance Bass and you’re going to have seventeen babies with Justin Timberlake. Except now we have the added benefits of vodka.”

“Firstly, we are never revisiting the ‘NSync phase, no matter how drunk you get me. Secondly, Lace Bass is openly gay, so good luck with that plan of yours. And thirdly, thank you.”

“Moi? Whatever for?” Lexi grinned.

“For being you,” I shrugged. “We don’t have to do the corny hug-it-out thing, right?”

“But…” Lexi winked, then burst into song. “IT’S TEARING UP MY HEA—”

“Stop!” I interrupted her. “There will be no singing, either!”

Two hours later we were both half in the bottle, singing Backstreet Boys at the top of our lungs into hairbrush microphones.

When we finally fell asleep, spooning like little girls in Lexi’s bed, a solitary tear slipped from my eye and rolled across the pillow. I thought I’d lost everything when I lost him, but I’d been wrong. I still had Lexi. And, more importantly, I had myself.

It had been a tough week, but I knew deep down that Lexi had been right – it doesn’t matter that you get knocked down.

It’s how you get back up and carry on that matters.

***

After that day, I forced myself to start living again. Eating regular meals, sleeping semi-normal hours. Piece by piece, I picked up the discarded fragments of my life and tried to find myself within the chaos.

I threw myself into my schoolwork, which was a good thing considering how many classes and assignments I’d missed during my week of hibernation. I had a lot of ground to make up academically, especially with finals and the end of the semester approaching. At least my professors had been understanding.

Dr. Angelini was a different story.

To say she was frustrated with me would be an understatement. Not that she showed it, or anything –outwardly, she appeared as calm and collected as always. But the storm of emotion raging behind her eyes gave her away.

So, to appease her, I told her everything.

“I found the trigger,” I said as soon as I sat down in her office.

“Pardon me?”

“The trigger. It was Finn.” I swallowed. “He’s the boy of my dreams.”

“Finn is the little boy from your dreams?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” I asked, growing frustrated.

“No, you said, ‘he’s the boy of my dreams,’ which has an entirely different connotation.”