The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller(35)

“Wow, that’s pretty Quinn. Are you wearing that tonight?” I ask, reaching forward with outstretched fingers grazing the sheer fabric of the top layer.
“No,” she giggles, “You are!”
“What?” I screech as the gown lands in my lap.
Undaunted, Quinn turns and approaches her closet, snagging another gorgeous dress. She slides the hanger over her head before moving in front of the mirror, fanning out the skirt as her eyes meet mine in the reflection.
I avoid her gaze and focus on her dress. Pink and sparkly. Big surprise.
“You. Are. Wearing. That. Dress.” She emphasizes each word as I move my eyes downward and glare with disdain at the offending garment in my lap.
“Um, no.” Taking the hanger in my hand, I rise and turn to set it on her bed, carefully smoothing it out with both hands.
“Aubrey Miller! It is your birthday! And you are wearing a goddamn dress if I have to wrestle you to the floor, pin you down, and force you into it!” She pivots around with the dress still draped across her body and marches to her bed, knocking me aside as she grabs it and forces it into my chest, her fist colliding with my shoulder.
Mouth open and offended, I rub my now aching muscle. “Ow, Bitch. That hurt.”
“You haven’t seen bitch yet. And you don’t want to. I suggest you go put that dress on now, and then I will touch up your makeup.” She knocks my already aching shoulder with hers and I give her a dirty look, but it soon disappears as she peers at me and smiles softly. “You look so beautiful, Aubrey. You really do. I’m so proud of you.”
My throat practically squeezes shut and I swallow deeply as tears surface.
Damn you alcohol.
Her grin widens. “Plus, I really, really, really want to see Kaeleb’s face! Come on, Aubrey! You have to or I will officially take back my Kick Ass Friend nomination.” With that, her face falls serious, but the excitement and anticipation of seeing Kaeleb’s reaction still twinkles in her eyes.
Looking at Quinn’s half-drunk, half-pleading expression, I can’t do a damn thing but smile back at her. Again, I blame it on the alcohol and the fact that I’m also curious as to what Mr. McMadden will think of my make-over.
My heart rate picks up, and before I know it the hanger is hooked over my finger and I’m heading to my room with a ridiculous smile on my face as I bounce off the balls of my feet. Kinda like how Quinn does constantly.
Shutting myself in my room, I take a deep breath and drape her gown across my bed before turning to glance in the mirror of my dresser. My reflection isn’t much different than when I left the salon, with the exception of makeup applied to my face. My hair is still very blonde, and my cheeks are rosy and warm. Reaching up, I push my bangs away from where they shadow my eyes, surprised at the life that emanates from them—life that I never thought I would find the courage to allow myself to experience.
Yet, here I am.
My eyes drift to the left and land on the picture frame on top of my dresser. I pick up the photograph of Kaeleb, Quinn and myself, and my mind reels when I think of how much my life has changed over the last year.
I remember the day the picture was taken like it was yesterday. Blackened hair with blue ends, those freaking cat-eye contacts, blood red lipstick with my eyes caked in black putty-like shadow, and my face expressionless with the refusal to let myself smile.
My mouth falls as I set the picture aside, saddened by the person captured in the image. I’ve denied myself so many experiences, so many innate emotions and connections, so many things that constitute…life. So much energy wasted fending off every single thing that was needed to nourish and sustain my soul.
Hope drowns out the sorrow with one very important conclusion drawn as I look back into the mirror.
I was dead.
But now, I am very much alive.
My eyes rake over the navy dress on the bed and I find myself smiling again because I know for certain that Kaeleb McMadden is the reason. He saved me.
And he’s on his way over here.
So I need to get dressed.
Shimmying out of my cargos and yanking my T-shirt over my head, I jet over to the bed and grab the dress, only to pause in question.
Does this go over my head? Or do I step into it? And what about my underwear? And bra? What about shoes?
“Quinn!” I screech. “Help!”
I’m approaching full panic mode when she finally decides to make her appearance.
“You okay in there?” she asks through the door.
“No, I’m definitely not okay. How the hell do I get this thing on, and more importantly, what do I wear under it?” Jesus, who knew being normal would be so difficult.
“Are you decent?” The knob on the door turns, and I quickly snake a towel off the floor to cover my pitiful excuse for a bra and panty set.
Quinn enters my room with a freshly filled glass of champagne…laughing at me. But not before handing me a box wrapped in yellow birthday paper with little party hats and slices of cake all over it, topped with the biggest bow I’ve ever seen. Setting the flute on my bedside table, she yells, “Happy birthday…again!”
“Quinn, the salon was more than enough. I can’t take this from you.” I shake my head and press the present into her pink terrycloth robe, only to have her push the gift back in my direction.
“You can and you will. Open it.” Sighing outright to note my protest, I tighten the towel around my chest and then take a seat on the bed next to the dress. The bow unfolds slowly as I pull one of the edges and I lay the ribbon beside me before peeling the paper off the box. The solid pink lid and the alternating pink and white stripes of the box underneath it tell me all I need to know.