~ Emma
I know I’m late from the second I arrive home and it has nothing to do with my roommate Owen yelling out, “You’re late,” as soon as I walk in the door. In fact, him yelling it only serves to annoy me more. I don’t care that I’m late because I don’t even want to go. I ignore him as I walk into the kitchen, knowing the look he’ll be giving me as he follows me in there.
“You okay?” he asks, as I throw my bag down and reach into the fridge for a drink. “Em?”
I shrug, grabbing a bottle of water. “Tired.”
“Long day at work?” he asks.
I glance back at him knowing he doesn’t know the half of it. Not that it’s Owen’s fault. I’m not exactly an open book when it comes to talking about the shit I see and deal with. It’s bad enough I go through it, why would I want to subject Owen to that stuff too.
“It was okay,” I say, shrugging as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.
Owen watches me for a second, almost as though he’s debating about whether to ask me more, like he doesn’t believe I’m being honest. I twist the cap off my bottle and take a long sip, hoping he’ll drop it. As long as I can make it to my room without any more questions, I know I’ll be good. And the only way I’ll do that is if I act as normal as possible.
Owen opens his mouth and I immediately cut him off as I ask, “How was your day?”
He stops, closing his mouth before he says, “Fine, same as usual.”
Owen’s a graphic designer, a good one too. He works with another guy in a company they started up together about three years ago. They’re still pretty local but they’ve been slowly building a following, which is why he’s working long hours and weekends at the moment. It fits in with my hours and makes us perfect friends and roommates because we’re both never here and when we are, we are both happy to veg on the couch and do nothing. Still, I know this won’t last for him. Eventually things will settle down and he’ll work more standard nine-to-five hours.
Me on the other hand, who knows.
“Go and take a shower,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand and shutting the fridge door.
“I think I’m just going to skip it,” I say, re-opening the fridge.
“Em,” he says, shutting it again. “You know you have to go.”
“Why?”
He grabs my shoulders, spinning me so that we’re face to face. “She’s your best friend. You have to go.”
I lean forward and rest my head against his chest, my eyes closing. “You’re my best friend, I should just stay here with you.”
Owen chuckles as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. He’s warm, familiar, comforting. “She’s getting married, Em, you’re her bridesmaid, you need to be there for this.”
“The wedding’s not for eight months,” I protest, my eyes closing as I sink further against him. “Who the hell has a bachelorette party eight months before their wedding?”
I feel Owen’s kiss against the top of my head even though I’ve just come off a fifteen-hour shift and must stink. I really need to go and take a shower, regardless of whether I’m going out.
“Sarah does,” he says. “And given it’s her wedding, I’m thinking she can pretty much do whatever she wants, including expect her best friend to show up tonight.”
I shrug, knowing he’s partly right.
Sarah is my best friend. The problem is we hardly see each other anymore. It’s not intentional; it’s just that so many other things always seem to get in the way.
Like work.
Being a resident at a major city hospital isn’t exactly conducive to maintaining the lifestyle I had during my days at university. Sarah gets it, mostly, I mean she works too, but I’m starting to wonder if my endless excuses to skip whatever pre-wedding event she’s organised aren’t starting to wear thin.
I do try. But even I can admit my enthusiasm is a bit half arsed at times. It doesn’t help that she actually has three other bridesmaids and doesn’t really need me there.
“Come on,” he says, pulling away as he turns and pushes me in the direction of my bedroom. “You do need a shower,” he says, swatting me on the arse. “Go and get yourself pretty.”
I let out a frustrated groan knowing I’d like nothing more than a shower and a night on the couch watching some mindless TV show that I’ve not been following and have no hope of understanding, despite how much Owen tries to get me up to speed. But I also know Owen’s not going to let me get away with that, so I drag myself into a scalding hot shower and try to wash away all of the crap that happened today.
Afterwards, I walk into my room to find my outfit for the night already laid out on my bed. I can’t help but roll my eyes, knowing that having a gay roommate can have both its perks and its annoyances. Regardless, I pull on the dress he’s chosen for me, knowing he will of course have gotten it right. In the bathroom, I slap on some eyeliner and mascara, a touch of lip-gloss, before quickly running the hair dryer through my hair.
When I’m finally done, I stand back and survey how I look.
Like shit.
There are dark circles under my eyes from too little sleep. My skin is pale, almost translucent, from too many hours spent indoors and I’m sure this dress wasn’t this loose when I bought it. Either way, it will have to do because it’s too late to change now. I’m already far too late as it is.
“Taxi is waiting for you downstairs,” Owen says handing me my coat as I walk into the living room. “You look great, Em,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.
“You’re such a liar,” I say, playfully punching him in the stomach. “But thanks.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “Go, have fun,” he tells me. “For once don’t think about work or how much you don’t want to be out tonight, okay?”
I shrug. “I’ll try.”
Owen shakes his head. “There is no try, only do.”
I roll my eyes at him, not even bothering with a response as I walk out the door and head downstairs, wondering if it’s even possible for me to have fun anymore.