Blood red lips. It’s called Black Honey, my favorite color. I’ve worn it since my freshman year of college and although I’ve dabbled in other colors at times, it’s always been a staple in my beauty bag. I rub my lips together and smack them once as I look at myself in the mirror.

My skin’s looking flawless with the Dior Airflash makeup and just a hint of blush I’m wearing. My lashes are thick and long. It’s a timeless look, classic and clean. And it hides everything. My reddened skin and the dark circles under my eyes are nowhere to be found.

I don’t look like the person I’ve become. This woman in the reflection, she’s who I used to be. A very large part of me wants this woman back. I want to smile like I used to and hear the sound of a genuine laugh from my own lips.

My heart pangs at the thought though.

He’ll never laugh again. It’s as if any small moment of time that passes where he’s forgotten for even a second is a disgrace. My eyes fall and I slip the cap back onto the tube of lipstick, tossing it into the pouch on my vanity.

No matter what I do, every little thing reminds me of him.

Trivial things, like the color of the granite he insisted we purchase for the remodel. The knobs on the bathroom drawers he hated and never failed to mention. Or the change he left in the cup holder in the Bentley. The small pile of dimes and pennies that clink together when I drive over speed bumps or a pothole. The same coins I refuse to touch. He put them there, and I can’t bring myself to move them.

So stupid. Fucking pieces of copper renders me useless.

It may seem pathetic, but not to me. From my perspective, I’m being as strong as I can. I face the New York City judgement every day, putting my smile on and taking care of my life the best I’m able.

All the while I shove everything I’m feeling deep down inside. That’s healthy, right?

I won’t let them see me crumble. They want to. Oh, do they want me to. I can practically hear them licking their lips.

It was all over the papers when it happened.

Julia Summers, born into wealth and raised on the Upper East Side. She always did everything by the book and married young to her high school sweetheart, Jace Anderson. With a loving family, a handsome and doting husband and the social life every young woman in Manhattan dreams of, Jules had a perfect life. Until her husband suddenly passed away at the young age of twenty-eight, leaving the twenty-seven-year-old woman widowed and alone for the first time in her life.

Twenty-eight now.

They’re waiting to see what I’ll do next. Pens to the papers and cameras ready. There’s nothing better for the gossipmongers.

They’d love to see me fall and I have, but not in front of their eyes. I’ll keep my hair pinned up and my makeup flawless.

I know what they say though. They don’t need to see the truth to figure it out themselves. There are whispers of alcohol. I don’t have enough money for discretion; all my employees have sold out to the papers for a hint of what goes on behind these walls. When you live on the Upper East Side, every single person who struts in front of my home is looking for a crack in my veneer.

What’s ironic is that there’s no glamour here. Nothing noteworthy in the least. Just a woman who cries herself to sleep still. A woman who’s struggling to move on. I suppose it’s what I get though. I loved the cameras and lived for that spot in the gossip sections. This is what I deserve.

Days turn to weeks and weeks to months. Now that my husband’s been gone for nearly eight months, I have plenty of cracks in this so-called perfect life. I’m fucking shattered.

I look back at myself and think, I won’t let them know it, as I tug my dress down just slightly and smooth out the black lace.

I clear my throat as I turn off the light, snatching my phone and checking the text again.

Are you sure you don’t need me to pick you up?

Kat’s a sweetheart. She’s always looking out for me. Of all my friends, she’s the one who still texts me religiously, which is insane because she’s constantly working and I have no idea how she finds the time.

My fingers tap tap tap away an answer. No thank you. Leaving now.

The Penrose is only twenty minutes away if there’s no traffic. Seeing how it’s 9 p.m. on a Friday night, I’m prepared to sit in the back of the taxi for half the night.

A light sigh slips past my lips as I bend down to pick up my Louis Vuitton heels. They have a row of spikes up the back and a hot pink underside. They have exactly the touch of color and attitude I would’ve worn back then. I almost second guess the simple black dress I’ve picked out. It’s a nod to Audrey Hepburn. But looking over my shoulder in the darkened bathroom mirror, all I see is an option for the funeral.

But I would’ve worn this back then. Back when I was happy and everything was how it was supposed to be. And don't I want to be that girl again?

I grit my teeth, holding the heels in one hand and the iron banister in the other as I descend the winding staircase.

I’m not that woman any longer, I’ve changed. I accept that, but I don’t fucking like who I am now. Eight months of a pity party and being stuck in a rut is quite long enough, thank you. I’d like to say that Jace wouldn’t want to see me like this… but I don’t even know what Jace would want for me. I’ve quit wearing my ring, although it still sits on his nightstand. I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to find out who I really am.

Before I open the door, I glimpse out the large stained glass window in the foyer. It’s all grey outside, and the hustle and bustle below is only a fraction of what it could be.

A faint patter of rain greets me when I step outside. I don’t bother with an umbrella, simply tossing a trench coat on and quickly taking the steps to the street out front and hailing a cab. My heels click as I quickly wrap the belt tightly around me and tie my coat.

I could have called for someone to do this, to order me a cab so it would be waiting. I could ask for help with so many things. I’d rather do it myself though.

The breeze and rain feel real. The rain is cold to the touch and I’m sure I’ll be regretting it soon. But it’s something different. And I don’t want anyone’s help. I just need time.

A cab pulls up within seconds and I lower my arm. Climbing in and shaking off the gathered rain from my jacket, the inside of the cab is warm and welcoming. I push the hair out of my face and say, “Penrose, please.”

“You got it,” the cabby says as he looks over his shoulder to look at me. His thinning black hair is oiled over and he’s more than a little overweight. The buttons on his striped shirt are straining to keep it shut.

I can see the questions in his eyes, but just as he opens his mouth to ask something, I don’t give a fuck what, I turn to look out of the closed window.

Everything outside is wet and dreary. The people walk quickly and a couple only about ten feet away are fighting over an umbrella. It’s a cute little fight though and the tall man in a navy blue Henley lets the woman win. She’s dressed for business, while he’s in casual attire. But as soon as she takes full control of the umbrella, she walks closer to him and he wraps his arm around her waist.

I rip my eyes away and pick at my nails. It’s little things like that I find unbearable. I bite the inside of my cheek and hold down the bitterness.

Luckily, the driver gets the picture. I’m not in the mood to talk, and the cab moves ahead, taking me away from my sanctuary and toward another test.

That’s what these things really are. Tests.

It’s only in this moment that I realize I’m really doing it. I’ve put it off so many times. I’ve given so many damn excuses for not meeting up with the girls.

Why today? I don’t know. My heart sinks thinking that maybe I’m really getting over his death.

As much as I want to be the woman I used to be, happy and carefree, I don’t want to forget him.

I lay my head back on the headrest and close my eyes, my Jimmy Choo clutch in my lap. Jace gave it to me last Christmas. I snort at the thought, running my fingers over the smooth hot pink leather. Really, I picked it out and he paid for it.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. It’s calming, so damn calming driving in a quiet cab at night in the city. The quiet rumble of the engine and the white noise of the rain are a serene mix.

The last day I saw my husband was when we were watching my nephew Everett, so my sister could have a mother-daughter day with Lexi.

The thought of my nephew brings a smile to my face. With sandy blond hair that just barely covers his big blue eyes and a wide smile, you can’t help but smile back at him. He was only a few months old back then. A brand new life in this world. That’s the way it works, isn’t it? Life and death going hand in hand.

I look forward, my eyes popping open and I stare out of the windshield when we stop far away from Second Avenue where the bar is located; it’s just a bit of traffic is holding us up.

The cabby shrugs as he says, “We should be out of it soon.” He’s tense at the wheel, probably expecting me to snap at him, maybe blame him for taking the wrong route. More guilt washes down on me. I hate spreading negativity. I don’t want other people to see me and judge me, or feel as though this is their fault. I’m not an ice bitch… or at least I don’t mean to be.

I give him a soft smile, pulling my dress down slightly and placing my clutch in the middle seat, “I figured we’d run into something,” I say easily. My voice comes out even and calm. It’s the voice I use with my family. The kind of tone that says, I’m okay, just tired.

The cabby shifts, making the leather seat grumble and he tries to make small chat.

I nod my head and answer politely, but keep everything short and to the point. I can be accommodating to others and I want to be. I’m tired of being alone and pushing others away. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.

After a moment of quiet, I look out of the window again. The rain’s nearly stopped, and instantly the sidewalks are crowded as a result. The people were always there, just waiting under the awnings for protection. Not many people like to venture into the harsher nights with weather that washes away your makeup, and ruins even the best put-together look.

But they were waiting and ready to keep moving just the same. All they needed was a small break before they’d set out again. The only question is if there will be an awning to save them when the brutal downpour comes back.

The cabby stops and my eyes whip up to the sign on my right, my heart beating faster as I watch dozens of people walking in front of me on the sidewalk. Each going wherever it is that life has taken them. I don’t know if I’m ready, but I’m here. My time is up and they’re tired of waiting.

“Miss?” the cabbie asks. I shake my head slightly with quick motions and play off my hesitation, paying him and leaving a big tip as well. He deserves it for having to suffer my company.

“Have a good night,” I tell him as I slip out, my heels hitting the slick asphalt and the door shutting behind me with a deafening click.