Addicted to You

I SIT on a Victorian chaise in the dressing room lobby, surrounded by too many mirrors and too many racks of dresses, some costing more than bridal gowns.

While my sisters try on long, draping beauties in deep wintery colors, I protect the dozens of shopping bags from the jewelers and shoe stores. After choosing a plum gown with lacy sleeves—my first choice—I no longer have to agonize over what to wear to the Charity Gala. I happily sit outside, stealing glances at a cute guy one chaise over. He twists a ring on his finger and checks his watch, waiting for his wife in a curtained dressing room to the left of Rose’s.

I am not a proponent of infidelity, adultery, cheating, you name it. I’ve never intentionally hooked up with a married man, and I don’t plan to now, but staring…that’s not against my rules.

Anyway, I can’t help it. His whole jaw is lined with scruff, the kind you want to run your hands on. His light green eyes stay in his vicinity. For the best, I suppose, but a huge part of me wants him to look over. To stand up and come—

“This is so ugly.”

I jump as Daisy emerges from her dressing room. She pads to the set of mirrors in the lobby and does a little spin. I cringe. Yeah, the big bow situated on her butt is not helping. Neither is the puke-green color.

“It’s hideous,” Rose agrees, pushing back her curtains and joining us.

“Oh, I like yours,” Daisy exclaims.

Rose takes the time to check out her velvet blue dress in the mirror. The fabric cinches at the bust and hugs her slender frame perfectly. “What do you think, Lily?” We’ve made up since the “pregnancy” debacle at the luncheon. Rose apologized during breakfast one morning at my apartment. She brought over everything-bagels, my favorite, and subsequently, I said I was sorry too. For not being around more. That’s how our relationship goes. I disappoint her. She forgives me, but never forgets, and we move on.

“It looks beautiful on you, but so did the last fifteen.”

Poppy’s voice trickles from her dressing room. “Put your arm in here. Stop being so difficult.” She sighs exhaustedly. After a couple seconds, she enters the lobby with a squirming little brunette girl.

“Aw, Maria, you look so cute,” Daisy says, touching Maria’s lacy pink dress with white tights. Poppy finally coaxes Maria against her hip, settling down.

“What do you say?” Poppy tells her daughter.

“Thank you, auntie.” She puts her thumb in her mouth, and Poppy immediately takes it out.

“You’re too old for that.”

She’s three and in the Calloway clan, potty training, walking, reading, spelling, writing must all be achieved before the average age, lest we turn into normal people.

Rose inches closer to me, away from Maria who makes her grimace. Her hatred of children is actually amusing. I smile as she suffers, and when she notices it, I suspect a wave of bitchiness headed my way.

“Who are you bringing?” she asks.

Oh. Not too bad. “Lo, of course.” My smile widens. “The better question is who you are going to bring.” Rose constantly fights for the right to go stag, since no guy can ever live up to her impossible standards. But our mother insists on dates, believing that if you arrive without a man, you look cheap and unwanted. Something that I disagree with—Rose even more vehemently than me. Fighting our mother exhausts me, and for Rose to back down, my mother must have brought the waterworks. Rose hates tears almost as much as she dislikes children.

“I’m working on it.”

She usually takes Sebastian, her go-to arm candy, but apparently he’s ditching her this year for his boyfriend. I listened to her rant about it all last week, and I think she’s out of fire to reignite the same conversation.

Daisy chimes in, “I’ll probably bring Josh.”

I frown. “Who’s Josh?”

She pulls her brown hair into a pony. “My boyfriend. Of six months,” she emphasizes, her voice still light.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “I just…” Am never home to see her. Or him. And I don’t listen well.

“It’s okay.”

I know it’s not.

She shrugs and disappears into her dressing room to take off the green monstrosity.

Rose shoots me a cold glare. “Who do you think she’s been texting all day?”

She’s been texting? “Dad?” I try.

Rose rolls her eyes dramatically.

Maria throws her ballet flat at me. Jesus!

“Maria!” Poppy exclaims.

Rose laughs loudly. I think this is the first time a child has made her smile. And it was by abusing me with a shoe!

“They’re stupid!”

I gape. Did she call me stupid? Is everyone really that mad at me? Even a child?

“Don’t use that word,” Poppy scolds. “Tell Lily you’re sorry.”

“I hate shoes!” Okay, good. At least someone still hasn’t fallen out of love with me. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“What about these.” I point to a box of glittery silver flats with pink clips. Maria’s eyes widen and calms. I smile. “Are you sure she’s not Rose’s kid? Toss her some Prada and she shuts up.”

Rose’s laughter dies down. “Funny.”

Poppy says, “I’m going to take Maria to the bathroom.” She’s going to spank her. My mother used to threaten with a wooden spoon. Those hurt, you know. They’re pretty damn scary, and I learned to quiet in public places, fearing the wrath of my mother and the swat of a utensil. “Can you watch my dressing room, Lil? My purse is in there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Once she disappears from sight, Rose moves a few bags and finds a seat next to me. “Is it Loren?”

I frown. “What?”

Her yellow-green eyes meet mine. “Is he keeping you from us?”

My stomach churns with acid. Lo keeping me from them? I want to laugh or cry or scream, anything—maybe, just maybe, even shout the truth. I can’t fit you into my schedule, not when it’s booked with sex, not when you wouldn’t understand.

“It’s not Lo. I’m just busy, sometimes even too busy for him.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

I look at my hands, a small tell, but I doubt she’ll pick up on it. I shake my head. “No.”

After lingering silence, she says, “I told Mom that Penn would be too hard for you. Of course she didn’t listen. You weren’t the model student at Dalton.”

I laugh, that’s an understatement. “My grades sucked.” Dalton Academy rode me hard, in many ways. Without my family’s achievements, I wouldn’t have been accepted to an Ivy League. That much is clear.

“I remember filling out your applications,” Rose says with pursed lips, but there’s a shimmer in her eyes, as though the moment is a fond one for her. I barely remember it. I must have been surfing the internet, looking at porn. Thinking about sex.

“You did a good job,” I say. “I got in.”

“What did it matter? You chose Penn, not Princeton.” She stands and pretends to admire herself in the mirror, but I can tell she’s trying to hide her real feelings. We fought a lot when I made the decision to go to college with Lo and not her. She never talked about being roommates with me, but Poppy later told me that Rose had already begun picking out dishware and furniture for an apartment off campus that she hoped we would share.

At the time, I blamed my choice on Lo, telling everyone that he hadn’t been accepted to Princeton. Of course, he was, but how could I enjoy my freedom and live in close proximity to Rose? I couldn’t. She would find out about all the boys. She’d be repulsed by me and cut me from her life for good. I can’t take that rejection or criticism. Not from her. Not from someone I truly adore.

Very softly, I say, “I’m sorry.” I feel like all I do is apologize.

Rose looks blank. Completely shut off. “It’s fine. I’m going to try on that black dress.” She slips into her curtained room, leaving me alone. Well not totally alone.

I glance back at the other Victorian chaise.

My heart sinks. Empty. He’s gone. Great, now I don’t even have someone to ogle.

My phone vibrates in my jeans. I pluck it out and frown at the unknown number. Hmm. I open the text.

Want to hang out? – 215-555-0177

Must be a guy I drunkenly gave my number to after we hooked up. I usually keep personal information to myself, considering it provokes attachment and stalking.

My lips grow into a smile, wondering who could be on the other line. The excitement actually takes me by surprise. If I was drunk when we met, I probably won’t remember him. Anonymous. Technically, it’ll be like a first encounter.

I make my choice.

Where do you want to meet?