Page 3 of Sebastian

“Yeah, we were.”

The memories, as wonderful as they are, only intensify the loneliness in my chest. I rub it absentmindedly, a dull ache reminding me of the void left behind by my parents.

2

CHLOE

“Ugh, why did I agree to go to this with you? I don’t even like kids,” I groan, falling back into the pile of clothes strewn all over my bed. “And I have nothing to wear.”

Watching my mom struggle to feed all of my brothers and sisters was enough to convince me to wait until I could financially afford them. It wasn’t until my mid-thirties and multiple relationships later that I realized something was wrong. By then, I was finally financially stable enough to afford one or two with the right person.

I had unprotected sex in my relationships all the time and wasn’t taking any preventative measures. I knew I was tempting fate to deliver me a surprise at any given month, but that heavy, painful period came and went like clockwork. After scouring the internet to diagnose myself, I finally booked an appointment with the doctor. He determined what my problem was after the first visit. Me.

Yeah, endometriosis is a hassle to live with, but there are worse problems in the world. Like being so fertile that you have kids you can’t afford and then remain on WIC and welfare fordecades trying to take care of them. Not that my siblings or I wouldn’t wantnotto be born. That’s not it at all. It’s that I was terrified of bringing a child into the world in the same conditions I struggled to escape.

I convinced myself that all that would change when I had an established career and a stable partner. Then the bad news came, taking away my decision entirely. Something I mourned then and have made peace with now.

“Stop being melodramatic. You have your guest bedroom converted into a dressing room,” she says, while Jinkies’s eyes close in contentment with the extra attention she’s receiving. Her white fur is a constant menace to my wardrobe, but here she is—a kitten dumped on the coldest day of the year outside my apartment building. Aside from myself, she was the first living thing I ever cared for, a commitment that initially terrified me. She was so tiny, and I worried endlessly about accidentally harming her since she was constantly at my feet. That was many, many years ago, and the rest is history.

“You know she’s not allowed on the furniture and, more specifically, my clothes,” I grumble as white fur flies from Taylor’s palm. “Whatever, covered in cat hair or not, I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. I gave up going with Paolo to accompany you there myself. It will be fun, you’ll see,” she continues as Jinkies purrs on her lap. “Besides, I’ve already done my hair and makeup for the occasion. So, it’s time for you to roll out of that pile of clothes and figure out what to wear. You’ve got more outfits than the entire mall, and it’s not like I’m dragging you to a white elephant ugly Christmas sweater party.”

I snort at her teasing before hauling myself from the bed.

“As if I’d go to one of those. As if I even own an ugly sweater.”

With a dismissive wave of my hand over the rejected winter clothes strewn across my bed, I wander back into my closet, having already gone through everything in my dressing room.

While I search, I shout from within the closet, “I meant to tell you that your hair and makeup look great. But why all the glam if it’s a kid’s party? Seems a bit much for a 5 pm start.”

I flip through more racks of clothes, too formal, too cashmere, too sequin, too feathery, too leathery, too shiny, too short, too long—I’m never going to find the right thing.

“It’s a charity event, not a kid’s party. There will be media, vendors, and influential people there.” She joins me in the closet, sans Jinkies, who better not be making a nest in my clothes. “Sebastian’s parents used to host these grand galas every Christmas, and they were frequently featured in the society pages. This is Sebastian’s first time hosting one on his own, and he’s using it as an opportunity to raise funds for the children’s charity and to strategically promote the charity’s work through the media.”

“That’s really sweet of him.”

I stop on my favorite red outfit that would look great with my hair pulled off my face and a red lip.

“Is this too Taylor Swift-ish?”

She pulls on the garment to get a better look and then snorts.

“No, you’re about ten years older than her. And I already mentioned all this about Sebastian and his event.”

“Only eight years,” I correct her with a grin, “I may have tuned you out after you said that kids and their families would be there. It sounded a bit too festival or folksy for my taste.”

I carefully examine the one-shoulder batwing sleeve red jumpsuit, appreciating how it elongates my lean legs and accentuates my trim waist with its knotted bow belt. Now, what blazer should I pair it with?

“How cold is it out?”

I narrow my eyes at Taylor, thinking about the same jewel-tone velvet one as the jumpsuit, which is very warm, or the light, more breathable black blazer.

“Cold. It’s a winter wonderland theme. He had snow brought in and a skating rink built in his backyard.” She rifles through my clothes and stops at different ones that catch her eye. “If we were the same size, I’d ask to borrow some things.”

“A skating rink? In hisbackyard?” I stop reaching for the blazer as I wait for confirmation. “I thought you said he lives inside the loop?”

“He does. He lives in River Oaks.” She nods as she continues to examine my wardrobe. “Sebastian went all out with this event. It’s not your typical charity gathering. He’s trying to make it unforgettable.”

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