Page 28 of David

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LIZ

I finish putting on my makeup, brushing my hair, and looking in the mirror, and I am finally happy with how I look.

Things look all right. A deeper shade of red on my lips would look better in the pictures.

Taking pictures of myself is number three on my list of life goals, and it could mean anything, from dancing for tips on the internet to finding a sugar daddy or hooking up with someone on a dating site.

I’m open to anything.

Number one is keeping my part-time job at Maggie’s, my favorite store in town, where I buy almost all my clothes.

Number two on my list is holding onto my writing, although my muse is a complete asshole.

I’ll stop at that.

Number four has to do with me living on my own.

A noise comes from the garage, making me whip my eyes to the front of the house.

My mother is here, and there’s no point in her seeing me like this, so I swivel and collect my things––the makeup case, a few clothes, and my eyeliner and lipstick.

Fake lashes would set off the color of my eyes, deepening my gaze. This is something to consider the next time I prep myself for a photo session.

This was only a rehearsal.

I sprint to my room, toss everything into a drawer, run my fingers through my hair, pull it up into a bun, and go straight to the bathroom.

Within seconds, I grab a few cotton rounds and a bottle of oil-based makeup remover and clean my face.

Face makeup-free, I turn around and rush out.

Moments later, I help my mother unload the groceries before we both walk in.

She wears a blue dress and sunglasses.

“What?” she asks as I peer at her.

“You look good.”

Removing her glasses, she gives me a suspicious smile.

“What did you do, Liz?’

“Nothing.”

She drops the paper bags onto the counter and looks at me sideways while I set the rest of the groceries on the table.

“You have an answer for me,” she murmurs.

“Maybe,” I say, smiling mysteriously. “Chloe is back.”

“Ahh…”

She slides her sunglasses onto the counter.

“She convinced you to go to Thea’s wedding.”

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