Page 8 of Twisted Thorns

I also have no idea where I am going to wear that green velvet dress, as gorgeous as it is. Parties, galas, and balls no longer interest me. I just want to curl up with some hot tea and a good book.

I freeze as I realize I have gone on my mental tangent for too long and all the girls are staring at me, waiting for me to say something else.

"You know, I think you're right. It would look fantastic with that green dress." I smile at Amanda, hoping my anxiety at my delay isn't too noticeable. She is trying to connect with me in the only way I think she knows how, and I should meet her halfway. "But where would I wear it?”

Amanda smiles brightly, clearly in her element. "Oh, the Preston Gala at the end of the month! I'm sure we have enough time to find you a date between now and then, too!"

I blink, caught off guard. Going from talking about dresses to dates felt like diving into a near frozen lake, a shock to the system. I understand that this was the norm for Amanda, but all my bones rattle in a warning I do my best to ignore.

Once again, it feels like I’m donning a mask and playing pretend, unable to shake off this costume I have worn for so long.

Growing up in Kingsdale, wealth was power and everyone wanted to offer theirs up on a glittering display. There were always elaborate events to attend and outlandish donations to be made. Even birthday parties were monumental events. My parents, as lovely as they are, can’t fathom the idea of a simple gathering with cake and presents. I remember my 10th birthday party was a tea party. At a 5-star hotel with an actual horse drawn carriage. It carried us around the hotel to the elaborate gardens where petite fours and ice sculptures awaited us. My 18th birthday is the last birthday I remember. It was a luxury wellness retreat in wine country, with private yoga and a hot-air balloon ride.

This getaway is just like those parties, elaborate and not at all in accord to who I feel I am now. The weight of familiarity hangs heavy on my shoulders, dragging me through endless rows of stores and through meaningless conversations. The laughter and energy of my friends echo around me, but I can’t shake the feeling of being a puzzle piece that no longer fits in this picture-perfect world.

We decide to wrap up our day with some relaxation in a luxurious cafe, the scent of coffee and herbal teas wafting through the air. The laughter of my friends fills the air, but it sounds foreign to me, like a language I no longer understand. With all the chatter around me about parties and gossip, the latest fashion trends, and meaningless drama. I feel like an outsider, unable to take part in their conversations or share their excitement.

"Hey, Avalina," Amanda leans over the table, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Remember that night we snuck into the club and danced on the tables? That was wild, right?"

I rack my brain for any fragment of memory, but all I can muster is a vague recollection of flashing lights and deafening music. "I'm sorry, I don't remember," I admit softly, feeling a pang of disappointment in my chest.

"Ah, don't worry about it," she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You'll be back to your old self in no time."

“Well, that’s what this trip is all about!” Iris chimes in. “Making new memories with your friends. Right, Avie?”

“Right.” I nod. But I don’t want to be my old self - not anymore. I know that with an echo in my bones. Surrounded by these familiar faces, I suddenly long for the serenity of the woods, the scent of damp earth and the soothing rustle of leaves. My heart aches with the desire to follow my own path, even if it means leaving behind everything I once knew.

Once we return home, the promised matchmaking from Amanda begins in earnest. A ding interrupts the baking show that Iris and I are watching, and I look at my phone, face falling as I read the text from Amanda.

“Wait, she was serious?” I exclaim as I scroll through the questionnaire about what I look for in a man, including the size of his 401k.

“Who was serious?” Iris asks as she leans over my shoulder to peer at my screen.

“Amanda!” I practically shout as I shove the phone in her direction. “Look at this! She wants to set me up on a date for the Preston Gala. Ugh, that’s the last thing I need right now.”

Iris grabs the phone from me and swipes through the messages. “I don’t see what’s so bad about it. Amanda’s just trying to help you get back to normal, to feel comfortable in your life again.”

“Iris, there is a questionnaire! About who I want to date! Who does that?”

“Literally every dating app.”

I groan. “It just feels so, ugh, I don’t know… I just don’t feel like dating.”

“The rest of us have dates for the gala. Amanda just doesn’t want you to feel left out.”

“You think this is a good idea?” I stare at my sister.

“It couldn’t hurt. I don’t know why you’re being so weird about it.”

I frown, uncertainty weighing me down. Maybe my sister is right and I am just overreacting. I continue watching the show with Iris until she heads out to meet her boyfriend for lunch.

All the interference from my friends has my brain spiraling, and my mind feels like a dog with a bone it just won’t let go of. I figure getting into a new environment will help, so I grab my things and head to one of my favorite places, the library.

Walking downtown, I can’t help but admire the way the oak and maple trees are shifting colors, their green foliage giving way to autumn hues. They accent the picturesque stone streets of Kingsdale and brick buildings, some with little iron gated gardens out front. The library is on the same side of town as my apartment, surrounded by ancient trees and a mix of old and new architecture. On the outskirts of this part of the city there are some farms, and you can find a farmers market each weekend at Fox Lane Park across from the library. Head east and you enter the newer section of Kingsdale, with high-rise buildings, a hospital, and the River Arts District, where there are artists’ workshops, restaurants, and museums.

Entering the library, I head straight for my favorite table and sit down, ignoring the buzz in my pocket. It’s probably Amanda texting me again, asking me what kind of date I’m interested in for the gala. That is a conversation I’m not ready to have. Instead, I pull out my laptop and scroll through job listings.

My parents have graciously been covering my expenses since the accident, but I know I need to stand on my own two feet again. The art gallery has offered my old position back, but with no recollection of art history from before the accident, it feels like playing a role instead of being myself. Before and after the accident, that's how I divide my life.

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