Save the Date(92)

“She didn’t say. She looks great, though—really natural but still somehow made-up?” I hesitated, wishing I was better at describing this.

Brooke continued to study my face. “We can do that.” She nodded like she’d decided something, then crossed back to the dresser and brought over her makeup bag, standing in front of me again. “Close your eyes.”

I tried to sit as still as possible as Brooke smoothed primer, then foundation, on my face, neither of which I’d worn since the prom. Even though she’d never done my makeup before, Brooke wasn’t hesitating or needing to try out lots of colors before applying anything. She was working with remarkable efficiency, like in addition to being a doctor, she also dabbled as a makeup artist.

“Okay,” Brooke said after a moment, and I opened my eyes. “We can do a more natural look since it seems like that’s what Linnie wants.” She sounded almost resigned. “But just so you know, for the future, you should lean more toward blue eye shadow. It’ll make your eyes pop.”

“Blue?” I’d usually gravitated toward greens and purples, but I was realizing now that was just because that’s what Linnie always wore, and I’d just copied her.

“Blue,” she confirmed. “A cool blue. Trust me.” She leaned toward me, and I closed my eyes automatically, feeling the featherlight brush as it passed over my eyelids. “This is going to look good,” she said, but softly enough that I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to herself. “Just try and sit still.”

“Okay,” I said, concentrating on not moving as I felt slight pressure on my eyelid—probably eyeliner being applied. The longer I sat there, trying not to even breathe too much, the worse I started to feel. Brooke did not need to be doing this for me. It wasn’t like I’d been particularly nice to her since she arrived. It wasn’t that I’d been mean—at least, I hoped not—but I hadn’t welcomed her in. I’d resented that she was here—messing up my plans and taking away Danny’s attention. She had been nothing but sweet and kind to me, and in return, I had treated her shabbily.

“Open,” Brooke said, and I opened my eyes to see she was leaning forward, uncapped mascara wand in hand. “Now look over my left shoulder and try not to blink.” I stared ahead at the wallpaper by my door as Brooke leaned closer to me, carefully applying mascara to my eyelashes.

“Um,” I started, running my fingers through Waffles’s fur. I wasn’t sure what I even wanted to tell her, but I knew I had to at least try. The longer I sat here, with Brooke helping me when I didn’t deserve to be helped, I was feeling like I had to say something, even if it didn’t come out right.

“Look up,” she murmured.

“I just,” I started, then tried again. “I wanted to say—”

“Right shoulder,” she said, switching to my other side.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, and Brooke lowered the mascara wand and straightened up, taking a step back. “I’m sorry if I’ve been—if I wasn’t—” I realized I wasn’t making any sense, so I took a breath and started over. “Thank you for doing this for me. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel welcome.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking. She looked down at the black tube in her hands and turned it between her fingers for just a moment, then took a slightly shaky breath, the mascara spinning faster. “I should have known, I guess. But I just thought . . .”

She uncapped the mascara and leaned forward again, and I looked over Brooke’s right shoulder, trying to stay still, knowing somehow that there was more she wanted to say and that it would be easier for her if she didn’t have to look right at me. “Danny and I had been dating for a few months, and we talked about me coming to the wedding. But then we broke up . . .”

I felt my eyebrows rise even as I tried to keep looking in the same direction and not get stabbed in the eye by a mascara wand.

“And then we got back together, and he said that I should come. I might have pushed him on it—I really wanted to meet all of you, and I thought it meant something that he asked me. . . .” I blinked but tried to keep looking ahead, at the height lines that crawled up my doorframe, marking every year of my life until I’d declared myself over it at eleven. “But I think it’s just hard,” she said, taking a step back and capping the mascara. “I don’t . . . think it’s what he thought it would be.”

“Well,” I said, taking a breath, getting my automatic defense of Danny ready. But I hesitated, Brooke’s words hitting me, and letting myself see, for the first time, just how she might have felt about this weekend. I suddenly saw all the times we had made it clear we hadn’t known she was coming, all the times Danny had wandered off, not making sure she felt comfortable or happy. But he probably hadn’t meant anything by it. He probably just hadn’t realized how she felt. I tried to tell myself this—and I believed it—but it didn’t necessarily make me feel any better.

I opened my mouth to respond to this when Brooke nodded and spun my desk chair around so that I was facing my dresser mirror, causing Waffles to raise his head and look around, like he was confused as to why we were moving. “You’re done,” she said, stepping back with a smile.

I blinked at my reflection. My hair was in rollers all over my head, but my makeup looked amazing. I was wearing more than I normally ever did, but it didn’t look like it was garish or too much—I still looked like me, but with all my features subtly enhanced.