“What the hell are you still doing hanging out with that asshole?” Caroline asks dismissively. We are in Elle’s, a small boutique in Soho, where you can shop by appointment only. I didn’t even know these places existed until Caroline introduced me to the concept.  

Caroline is not a fan of Tom. They never got along, not since he called her an East Side snob at our junior year Christmas party at Yale and she called him a middle class poseur. Neither insult was very creative, but their insults got better over the years as their hatred for each other grew. You know how in the movies, two characters who hate each other in the beginning always end up falling in love by the end? Well, for a while, I actually thought that would happen to them. If not fall in love, at least hook up. But no, they stayed steadfast in their hatred.  

“That guy is such a tool. I mean, who the hell is he to tell you what to do anyway? It’s not like you’re his girlfriend,” Caroline says placing a silver beaded bandage dress to her body and extending her right leg in front. Caroline is definitely a knock out. She’s 5’10’’, 125 pounds with legs that go up to her chin. In fact, from far away, she seems to be all blonde hair and legs and nothing else.   

“I think he was just concerned, given all the stuff that is out there about this party.” 

“Okay, first of all, you have to stop calling it a party.” 

“Why? What is it?” 

“It’s not a party. It’s like calling a wedding a party. Is it a party? Yes. But is it bigger than that.” 

“I had no idea that you were so sensitive to language. Fine. What do you want me to call it?’ 

“An experience,” she announces, completely seriously.  

“Are you kidding me? No way. There’s no way I’m going to call it an experience.” 

We browse in silence for a few moments. Some of the dresses and tops and shoes are pretty, some aren’t. I’m the first to admit that I do not have the vocabulary or knowledge to appreciate a place like this. Now, Caroline on the other hand… 

“Oh my God, I’m just in love with all these one of a kind pieces you have here,” she says to the woman upfront who immediately starts to beam with pride.  

“That’s what we’re going for.” 

“These statement bags and the detailing on these booties – agh! To die for, right?” Caroline says and they both turn to me.  

“Yeah, totally,” I agree blindly.  

“And these high-end core pieces, I could just wear this every day!” Caroline pulls up a rather structured cream colored short sleeve shirt with a tassel hem and a boxy fit. I’m not sure what makes that shirt a so-called core piece, but I go with the flow. I’m out of my element and I know it.  

“Okay, so what are we supposed to wear to this experience if we don’t even know what’s going to be going on there.” 

“I’m not exactly sure but definitely not jeans and t-shirts,” Caroline says referring to my staple outfit. “But the invitation also said not to worry. They have all the necessities if we forget something.” 

As I continue to aimlessly browse, my mind starts to wander. And goes back to Tom. I met Tom at the Harvard-Yale game. He was my roommate’s boyfriend’s high school best friend and he came up for the weekend to visit him. We became friends immediately. One smile from him, even on Skype, made all of my worries disappear. He just sort of got me, the way no one really did.  

After graduation, we applied to work a million different online magazines and news outlets, but BuzzPost was the one place that took both of us. We didn’t exactly plan to end up at the same place, but it was a nice coincidence. He even asked if I wanted to be his roommate – but I had already agreed to room with Caroline.  

He ended up in this crappy fourth floor walkup in Hell’s Kitchen – one of the only buildings that they haven’t gentrified yet. So, the rent was still somewhat affordable. Like I said, Tom likes to think of himself as a working class hero even though his upbringing is far from it. Whenever he came over to our place, he always made fun of how expensive the place was, but it was always in good fun. At least, it felt like it at the time. Now? I’m not so sure anymore.  

“Do you think that Tom is really going to get married?” I ask Caroline while we’re changing.  

She swings my curtain open in front of the whole store. I’m topless, but luckily I’m facing away from her and the assistant is buried in her phone.  

“What are you doing?” I shriek and pull the curtain closed.  

“What are you thinking?” she demands.  

I manage to grab a shirt and cover myself before Caroline pulls the curtain open again. She is standing before me in only a bra and a matching pair of panties – completely confident and unapologetic. I think she’s my spirit animal.  

“Who cares about Tom?” Caroline demands.  

“I do,” I say meekly.  

“Well, you shouldn’t. He’s a dick. You are way too good for him. I don’t even understand what you see in him.” 

“He’s my friend,” I say as if that explains everything. Caroline knows how long I’ve been in love with Tom. She knows everything. At times, I wish I hadn’t been so open. But other times, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Even if she isn’t exactly understanding.  

“You can’t just go around pining for him, Ellie. You can do so much better than him. You were with your ex and he just hung around waiting and waiting. Never telling you how he felt. Never making any grand gestures.” 

Caroline is big on gestures. The grander the better. She watches a lot of movies and she demands them of her dates. And the funny thing is that you often get exactly what you ask from the world.  

“I don’t care about that,” I say. “We were in the wrong place for each other. I was with someone and then I wasn’t ready to jump into another relationship right away. And then…he and Carrie got together.” 

“There’s no such thing as not the right time. Life is what you make it, Ellie. You’re in control of your life. And I hate the fact that you’re acting like you’re not the main character in your own movie.” 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I say.  

“All I’m saying is that you deserve someone who tells you how he feels. Someone who isn’t afraid of rejection. Someone who isn’t afraid to put it all out there.” 

“Maybe that’s who you want,” I say.  

“And that’s not who you want?” Caroline says taking a step back away from me. I think about it for a moment.  

“Well, no I wouldn’t say that. It is who I want,” I finally say. “But I had a boyfriend then. And Tom and I were friends. So I couldn’t expect him to—“ 

“You couldn’t expect him to put it all out there? Tell you how he feels and take the risk of getting hurt?” Caroline cuts me off.  

I hate to admit it, but that’s exactly what I want. That’s exactly what I wanted from him back then. I didn’t want him to just hang around being my friend, making me question my feelings for him. And if he had done that, if he had told me how he felt about me earlier, before my awful breakup, then I would’ve jumped in. I would’ve broken up with my ex immediately to be with him.  

“So, is that what I should do now? Now that things are sort of reversed?” I ask.  

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, now that he’s the one in the relationship. Should I just put it all out there? Tell him how I feel. Leave it all on the table, so to speak.” 

Caroline takes a moment to think about this. I appreciate it because I know how little she thinks of him.  

“Because I don’t know if I can,” I add quietly.  

“Maybe that’s your answer right there,” Caroline finally says. “If you did want him, really want him to be yours, then you wouldn’t be able to not to. You’d have to tell him.” 

I go back into my dressing room and pull the curtain closed. I look at myself in the mirror. The pale girl with green eyes and long dark hair is a coward. She is afraid of life. Afraid to really live. Would this ever change?