Page 21 of The Last Dance

7

Near Death

Ambri

‘You’re meeting her for lunch?’

‘Yes. And hopefully she’s not one of those “I’m better than you” girls that I’d like to throat punch.’ I’m sure I’m overthinking this.

Claire laughs into the phone. ‘’Cause we both know there aren’t many of those types of girls walking the streets of Portland.’

Not that I’d ever actually hit someone, no matter what they’ve done. It’s more of a phrase I use when people irritate me. Which, like everyone else on the planet, can be often.

‘Only a few,’ I say right as my stomach lets out an obnoxious growl. ‘Ugh, I’m starving. I’ve seriously not had anything since breakfast in preparation for this lunch.’

That’s only almost true. I did have a protein bar for breakfast and a few strawberries about an hour ago. Healthy sometimes feels like nothing though, if I’m honest. It also doesn’t taste anything like the food that’s so good it’s considered bad for you. Say what you will about how necessary it is to eat healthily, I’ll never believe people love it. They do it because they need to. It’s not for taste, it’s for health. Lettuce just can’t fill the emotional gap in your heart like a big bowl of pasta.

‘What?You?Not having a bag full of snacks between breakfast and lunch?’

Claire loves nothing more than to make fun of my slight obsession with food. Food is a great distraction from life. I get why people don’t share my passion though. Most women would turn down an afternoon of five thousand calories to taste-test an entire menu. It’s not like I do it daily, but it’s been known to happen. Obviously for work. To cancel it out I also have been known to spend multiple hours at a time on my treadmill, which is now permanently parked in my living room with an unobstructed view of the TV. You know, for motivation.

‘I’m notthatbad. I mean, I did walk the eight blocks here.’

See, I even do random exercise. I’m not a total glutton.

‘I’m sure that will at least cancel out half of the five shot Starbucks I know you had this morning.’

The coffee, five shots and all, is an absolute necessity and she knows it. Without it days don’t go right and work doesn’t get done. It’s medicinal really.

I actually tried to cut coffee out once and I thought I was doing pretty well until my mother suggested out of the blue as we were shopping one day that maybe a cup a day, as opposed to the three or four I’d been known to drink a day, wasn’t so bad after all. I guess my bitchy noncaffeinated self that day proved I wasn’t handling the lack of coffee as well as I thought I was.

‘Exactly.’ I laugh. ‘OK, gotta go.’

‘Good luck! Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll be cool. I could really use someone else to spend time with when you’re being annoying.’

‘Haha. You’resofunny. Cross your fingers for me.’ I tap the end call button and shove my phone into my bag as I open the front door of Imperial.

The sweet scent of a mix of flavors intoxicates me as I enter. It’s so good I can hardly even concentrate.

‘Amber?’ A woman’s voice calling me the same wrong name a lot of people use upon first meeting me catches my attention.

Ambri is a name my parents compromised on shortly after I was born, mixing each of their picks: Aubri and Amber. I still get awkward names from people. Amber, Aubri, even Ombre once. And I answer to all of them because I get it – my name is odd.

‘Karmen?’ I’m almost positive it’s her considering she’s the only one in the room sitting alone.

She nods with a smile.

‘Hi. It’s actually Ambri.’ I grin, trying not to make her too uncomfortable but also not really wanting to be called Amber for the next hour.

‘Oh! I’m sorry. I could’ve sworn you said Amber last night.’

I shrug. ‘Not a problem. It happens a lot.’

‘It’s so great to meet you.’ Her whole face lights up when she smiles. She’s one of those girls who is probably pretty no matter what time of day you see them. Unlike me, who wakes up with my hair in a literal topknot and bags under my eyes that maybe only I see and have convinced myself that I need to buy special cream for. One that has the words anti-aging. You can never start on the anti-aging products too early, according to my mother.

A purple streak runs through Karmen’s probably not really blonde hair. Her make-up could easily compete with any YouTube tutorial, making my simple liner, lip gloss, and mascara ‘look’ feel a bit on the subtle side. And… she’s wearing spiked heels. I reserve heels only for the moments where they are absolutely necessary or when I’m told I need them. Heels and I have a bit of a love-hate relationship. She doesn’t even appear to be the snooty socialite I was expecting after our phone call last night. Not only does she look like a stylist, who are somehow always cooler than the rest of us, but she looks like acelebritystylist, which plays well for me considering it’s exactly what I’m looking for.

Sadly, all this also makes us worlds apart. I’m the girl next door in black skinny jeans and vintage band T-shirt that I bought at a second-hand store and she’s dressed for an impromptu cocktail party. Her hair looks ironed straight while my long dark hair is once again pulled into a messy bun. I think she’s even contoured and here I am, never having made it halfway through a tutorial on how to fill in my eyebrows, a trend I’m not ready to commit to.

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