Page 32 of Revenge Cake

“What do you think?” I ask Brenna as I walk out of the dressing room. She emerges from behind a rack of clothes. “I love it!” she shouts. “You look like a slutty Audrey Hepburn!”

A smile spreads across my face as I stare into the mirror, running my hands over the black, elastic fabric hugging my hips. The dress shows off my long legs. Logan loves my legs. The last time I wore a short dress, he told me he wanted to lick them.

“You think so?” I ask while I run my eyes over my reflection.

“Absolutely. You just need a pair of sunglasses and a long cigarette. Armaan, what do you think of her dress?”

Armaan’s eyelids flutter as he lifts his eyes from his phone. He’s been sitting in a chair near the dressing room for the entire forty-five minutes we’ve been in this boutique. Once, he mentioned walking to a pub a few blocks away and waiting for Dean to arrive, but Brenna threatened to castrate him. His presence is essential this afternoon after all our careful planning.

Everything has to be executed perfectly. Everything from my new dress to Dean and Armaan’s unknowing cooperation to Logan’s whereabouts. If anything goes wrong, it will be back to the drawing board for Brenna and me.

Armaan sighs heavily as his eyes roam my body, making it clear to both of us that he finds his assigned task of fashion judge onerous. “She’s too skinny for a dress that tight.”

“Fuck you!” Brenna shouts. “You’re too skinny.”

Armaan returns his gaze to his phone, not even flinching at Brenna’s tone.

Something about the contempt in Brenna’s voice causes a memory to surface. The memory I often try to suppress, of the horrible things I said to Logan on that wretched night. The memory I don’t remember, thanks to Ativan, and the shame that comes with it makes my throat tight.

Brenna walks over to me, holding a deep burgundy maxi dress high in the air to keep it from brushing the ground. “I want you to try this on. Red for the meeting this afternoon,” she enunciates with a raised brow, “and Slutty Audrey for later tonight.” When her phone rings, she glances down at her purse. She pulls it out and looks at the screen before looking back at Armaan. “Your mom is calling me. Can you please call her back? I’m sick of making excuses for you.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on his phone. “No,” is all he says.

Clenching her teeth, she turns back to me and mutters under her breath, “Fucking worthless, piece of shit son. I wish I was fucking his brother instead of him.” I widen my eyes at Brenna to silently scold her, but she only waves me off. “Next time his family visits, I’m switching. No joke.”

I glance at Armaan just before walking back to my dressing room. He doesn’t look at all offended, and he must have heard her. She meant for him to hear her. She knows his older brother’s academic and career success is a sore spot for him, and she used it to hurt him.

The memory of that night threatens to choke me as I unzip the black dress and let it drop from my body to the floor. I can’t even be angry at Brenna for being cruel, because that’s exactly what I did to Logan. I shut my eyes, lifting the burgundy dress from the hanger and clutching it to my chest.

Don’t think about it. Think about that god-awful phone call instead.

He paid me back for my sins.

By the time I open my eyes, I feel significantly calmer. I can’t let shame and guilt interfere with our plan for today.

***

Item 2—Lure him back

By the time we arrive at bouchon, Dean is already sitting at a back table. He waves an arm high in the air as we walk through the front entrance. “Look at you, Lani!” he says as we approach the table. “That color looks great on you.”

I glance down at my burgundy dress, smiling. “Thank you.”

I’m about to ask Dean about his drive from the Bay Area when our server comes, handing out menus and asking if we want anything to drink. Dean orders a pitcher of beer and four mugs. Heat creeps into my cheeks as I correct him, telling him we only need three mugs, but thankfully he doesn’t ask for details.

Belatedly, I realize I wasn’t even tempted to let his mistake slide, to have just one beer because, what’s just one beer going to do?

It gets easier every day.

Granted, I still long for Ativan. Sometimes I catch myself fantasizing about what it was like when that warmth descended over me, when my mind went quiet and my heart grew light. Sometimes I even think about running outside in the middle of a rain storm, dodging pedestrians as I rush down a busy sidewalk, and bursting into an Upper West Side apartment in my soaking clothes so that I can tell Ativan what I fool I was for ever letting it go.

But it gets easier.

“So, what are your plans after graduation?” Dean asks, drawing my attention to his golden-brown eyes.

Ugh. The dreaded question. I force a smile. “I’ll probably move back home for a bit and apply to graduate schools in the fall.”

Apply to graduate schools for the second time you conveniently left off, Leilani—is what everyone at the table is probably thinking but won’t say.

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