The Hard Way Home

by C. W. Farnsworth

  “Don’t forget to take photos!” Gramps calls through the rolled-down passenger window as he starts to back the truck up.

  “I won’t! You’ve reminded me twenty times!” I call back. My less cynical side knows he actually demanded to drive me because it was his way of being part of this moment.

  The door opens and Cassie appears in the doorway. Her hair is in curlers and she’s wearing a pink, shiny robe that looks like it’s made of some fancy fabric.

  “You actually showed up?” she teases.

  “I figured you might come to my house if I didn’t,” I respond.

  “You figured right.” Cassie grins. “Come on up to the salon.”

  The foyer is quiet, empty, and clean when I step inside. There’s no sign of Cassie’s parents or brothers. Josh is probably back at school. I follow Cassie up the stairs and into her colorless room. Except it’s not entirely white the way it was last time. There is a rainbow of colored fabric flung across her bedspread.

  “Take your pick!” Cassie exclaims, skipping towards her bed.

  “Which one are you wearing?” I ask, surveying the options.

  “Mine’s hanging up there. These ones are all for you.” Cassie gestures towards her closet door. There’s a dress hanging up there, and I immediately realize why I didn’t spot it right away. It’s a pale shade of yellow embossed with some sort of crystal that glimmers like the dress has been sprinkled with glitter. It suits Cassie’s blonde hair and light room perfectly.

  “It’s beautiful,” I say.

  Cassie ignores me. “Forget about what I’m wearing. You need a dress!”

  I turn my gaze back towards the much brighter options in front of me. I’m glad none of them are white. With my pale skin and light brown hair, I’m sure I’d end up looking like a sallow vampire. There is one dress that’s a muted shade of pink with an even lighter flower pattern on it, which I dismiss immediately. It’s too . . . girly. The next is purple and lacy, which I also skip past. Red, shiny fabric catches my attention, but I decide against that, too. It’s too bold. Too sexy. Then, there’s the fourth dress. It’s a darker shade of blue. Almost navy, but not quite so dark that it could be mistaken for black. It’s strapless, made out of a soft, silky material I think is satin, with a bodice that’s the same material, but overlaid with lace that’s the same color. I ordinarily could care less about what I wear, but there’s something about this dress that makes me unable to look away from it.

  “This one,” I say, stroking the blue material. It feels even softer than it looks.

  “I knew it,” Cassie informs me with a grin. “Come on, let me do your make-up before the rest of the girls get here.”

  She leads me over to her vanity. I don’t protest. If ever there was a night to wear make-up, this feels like it. And it’s just as soothing as it was last time when she rubs various creams and foundations across my face. I lose all sense of time or anxiety about tonight as I relax into the luxurious sensation.

  “Okay, you’re done.”

  “Wow,” I tell Cassie as soon as I open my eyes and catch a glimpse of my reflection. I still look like myself, but a perfect version of it. My under-eye circles have disappeared, along with every blemish and oversized pore. My eyes are lined, making the brown-green irises pop. And my lips are shiny and pink. “Thank you.”

  Cassie hands me a tube of lip gloss. “Keep this. You’ll have to reapply after we eat dinner.” Her expression turns sly. “Or once a certain guy sees you.”

  “That’s no—” I start, but she holds up a hand and gives me an admonishing look.

  “Lennon. Come on. You seriously thought I didn’t hear you made out with Caleb Winters in front of half our class on the camping trip?”

  “It was a dare,” I mumble.

  “It’s okay if you like him.”

  “Don’t you have a crush on him?” I blurt.

  “Well, I have eyes, so yes. Along with every other girl at school, probably. But I don’t think you like him because of his looks. And I do think you like him.”

  “Who cares if I like him? He’s got half the school panting after him, as you just pointed out.”

  “I’ve kind of gotten the impression he might care,” Cassie tells me quietly.

  That’s not news to me, but Cassie realizing it is. “You have?” I fish.

  “I’ve heard some things,” she tells me vaguely, not elaborating on what she’s heard or who she’s heard it from. “And . . . he, I don’t know, he acts differently around you.” I’m about to press her for details when the sound of the doorbell echoes through the house. “I’ll be right back,” Cassie tells me, before disappearing to answer the door.

  When she returns, Shannon and Eliza are right behind her. “—some sort of shoe crisis,” Eliza is saying. “She said she’d be here soon.” Since Tina’s the only one missing, I surmise they’re talking about her.

  Both Eliza and Shannon greet me, and then Cassie starts on Eliza’s make-up.

  “Do you want me to do your hair?” Shannon offers. “I’ve always thought it would look really pretty curled.”

  “Meaning it’s not always pretty?” I tease her for what sounds a little like a back-handed compliment.

  Shannon laughs, and I’m relieved to realize we’ve reached that point in our friendship where we can joke with each other without either taking it the wrong way. “Are you kidding? I’d kill for your hair. It’s perfect. But it’s fun to switch things up sometimes.”

  She grabs the curling iron off of Cassie’s desk, and then clips half of my hair up. It’s a long process as she winds section after section around the hot barrel, letting each spiral fall after a couple dozen seconds. After she’s finished with the iron, she brushes through the curls, and then coats my hair in a spray that smells like coconut.

  Tina arrives just after Shannon has finished my hair. “Hot damn, Lennon,” she comments, letting out a long whistle. “You’re going to need to walk in after me, okay?”

  I laugh off her compliment, but secretly I’m pleased. I kind of get why most romantic comedies have a makeover scene now. It’s a heady boost of confidence to have others fuss over and compliment your appearance after years of wearing messy buns and ripped jeans.

  Everyone else finishes getting ready, and then it’s time to get dressed. I swap out my usual clothes for Cassie’s blue dress. She may have bought it, but it clings to me like it was custom made. Cassie talks me into wearing a pair of her heels by telling me it will ensure I don’t trip over the hem. They’re too tight on me, but at least I don’t feel like I’m about to topple.

  Everyone finishes their final touches, and then we head downstairs as a giggling, glittery group. Cassie’s parents are waiting in the living room, and take a series of photos of us striking ridiculous poses. I send three of them to Gramps, though I know I’ll have to show him how to look at them tomorrow morning.

  We walk outside, and I’m expecting to climb into Cassie’s silver SUV. Instead, there’s a shiny, black limousine sitting in the front drive. I’m the only one who falters; everyone else seems to be expecting its presence. Cassie, Tina, Eliza, and Shannon all clamber inside, and I follow, looking around the plush interior in awe. The nerves that have been swirling in my stomach all day rapidly return, mingling with the anticipation that’s lingered ever since I saw my full reflection. Vainly, I’m eager to see my classmates’ reaction to my new look. Truthfully, there’s one person in particular who I’m looking forward to seeing react to Cassie and Shannon’s handiwork.

  We’ve barely made it to the end of the street when Cassie pulls a bottle of champagne out of the chiller that is hidden beneath her seat. Tina produces flutes from some other secret compartment, and Cassie directs the frothy liquid inside from glass to glass until the bottle is empty.

  Once we’re all clutching the thin glass stems, Cassie raises hers in a toast. “To . . . ”

  “Prom?” Eliza finishes.

  “The rest of our lives?” is Tina’s suggest
ion.

  “The Ladies of Landry!” Shannon adds in an overly aristocratic tone that trills each syllable.

  Mostly because it sounds so fun to say, we all echo Shannon’s words before clinking our glasses together in one mass of champagne and crystal.

  I’ve only been to Landry’s country club a couple of times before. It looks just as pretentious and grandiose as it sounds, but it’s also stunning. Ethereal. We walk through the lobby to the inside of the ballroom, and I feel like I’ve stepped inside a fairytale.

  “Whoa,” Shannon breathes, looking around at the twinkling lights, bouquets of flowers, and round tables laden with multiple sets of utensils. “This is way nicer than the gym was last year.” I follow the rest of my companions over to one of the open tables, eyeing the two plates, three forks, and multiple glasses a bit apprehensively. I’ll have to follow everyone else’s lead once dinner is served.

  More and more of my classmates continue to trickle in, all dressed in their finery. I was a little worried I might stand out as being overdressed, but I definitely didn’t need to be concerned about that. Everyone else is dressed just as decadently.

  It’s not until the waiters start serving the first course that it occurs to me he might not be coming. None of his friends are here, either. Not even Madison and her crew. But no one else seems to be missing. Maybe they’re having their own private get-together? I almost ask Cassie, who’s seated next to me, but I decide against it. Either he’ll show up or he won’t.

  Dinner is possibly the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Aside from special occasions, Gramps and I tend to eat a rotation of the same five or six meals we’ve managed to make before without burning. We’ve certainly never taken the time or had the necessary knowledge to blend the exotic flavors I’m sampling tonight. There’s a salad with zesty dressing, pepper-crusted filet mignon, lemony green beans, and crisp potatoes.

  After the plates have been cleared, there’s a spread of rich, delectable desserts laid out along the back tables already laden with coffee, tea, soda, and water. The piano music that’s been softly playing in the background stops, and a DJ takes the stage. Pop music starts pumping moments later, completing the shift from classy to club. Fellow seniors start to gravitate towards the dance floor, pulled in by the pumping bass.

  Shannon scoffs in her seat across from me. “Fashionably late, of course.” She’s looking towards the door, and I twist my head before I can stop myself. He’s here. Looking heartbreakingly handsome in a tuxedo. In the midst of his friends, teammates, and an awful lot of girls. Including Madison.

  I tear my gaze away. “Of course.”

  Cassie goes and grabs a variety of desserts from the buffet, and I nibble at the rich flavors, already stuffed but unable to resist the sweets. I listen with unveiled interest as my tablemates speculate about the couples dancing. I haven’t paid close attention to the romantic intermingling of my peers, and most of the pairings aren’t ones I would have expected. I’m hardly one to judge, though.

  My eyes stay on the dance floor, but I can feel the pull to glance to my left. Finally, my empty glass provides me with an opportunity to scan the room and preserve my pride. “I’m going to get a drink,” I announce. “Anyone else want anything?” Silence. “All right, then,” I draw out the last word as I stand. “I’ll be ba—” I start to turn, and stop speaking when I realize there’s something blocking my path. Someone blocking my path. My mute chums make more sense, all of a sudden.

  “Hi,” I breathe.

  “Hi.” That’s all Caleb says. No mention of my appearance. No compliment. But maybe the fact he’s not saying anything says an awful lot. He’s definitely noticed what I’m wearing, and I experience a thrill of satisfaction. For some reason, I think of the dress I wore the first day of high school. And that too-short, cotton frock is a far cry from the rippling sheets of satin pooling around me. Not to mention the curves my body didn’t have when I was fourteen are prominently displayed in the form-fitting material.

  I know I’m not unattractive. Guys have shown interest in me before. But none of them have ever looked at me the way Caleb Winters is looking at me right now: like I’m oxygen and he’s just run out of air.

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob before he speaks. “Do you want to dance?”

  I nod, forgetting about my thirst, and he steps to the side, allowing me to pass him and venture away from the table. His hand settles on the small of my back like a whisper, not quite touching, but close enough to tease. I can feel the heat radiating off his palm, warming the thin fabric of my dress.

  The DJ is already in the middle of a song, so we take our time settling into position across from each other.

  “I was going to ask you.” It’s the truth, and also the least I owe him. Somehow he became the more vulnerable of the two of us, but it doesn’t make me feel powerful. It makes me feel inadequate.

  One corner of Caleb’s mouth twists cynically in response to my confession. “Sure,” he says easily.

  It suddenly strikes me how much I relied on Caleb’s constant challenges over the past four years. It’s immensely unsatisfying to watch him just agree with me.

  “I was,” I insist. “After I . . . ”

  “After you what?”

  “I don’t know. Worked up to it, I guess.” I take a deep breath. “I wasn’t even sure if you were coming. And then I was worried you might say no,” I admit quietly.

  “When has me saying something you didn’t want to hear ever bothered you?”

  “It’s always bothered me, Caleb.” I’m painfully honest.

  There’s some upbeat pop song playing, and the final note draws out for what feels like an eternity as we keep swaying. I slow my movements, enough so that it probably appears as though I’m moving through tar, as I wait to see how he’ll react.

  It’s anticlimactic. He doesn’t say anything; he just keeps staring at me.

  The next song begins playing. We weren’t quite in tune with the last melody, but this is a slower song. I still entirely, fully expecting Caleb to drop his hands and return to his friends.

  He doesn’t. He tugs me closer. We’re still not touching, aside from our hands, but it’s closer than I’ve been to him in a long time, and my body reacts appropriately. Or inappropriately, rather. I can’t see his face anymore, just the starched black fabric of his tuxedo jacket. And the faces staring openly at us.

  “I wouldn’t have said no,” Caleb finally says. His tone is even and measured, and I can’t help but feel like it was a calculated decision to wait and respond to my admission when I could no longer see his face.

  “Okay,” I whisper back.

  Neither of us say anything else for the remainder of the song. It’s a melancholy tune, one I’ve heard played dozens of times before on the radio when I’m cleaning the barn. I can’t focus on the familiar words or the haunting melody. I’m fixated on every motion my body is making and the weight of Caleb’s hands resting possessively on my lower back.

  The music ends, and his hands drop. We stare at each other. “It’s for the best,” I finally say. I know he’ll understand what I’m talking about.

  “For me? Or for you, Lennon?”

  “Both. Besides, of the two of us, I think you’ll have the better dating prospects,” I point out. My stomach twists at the thought. Get used to it, Lennon, I tell myself. If Caleb returns to Landry, I doubt it will be alone.

  Once again, I’ve said the exact wrong thing. Caleb doesn’t engage. He just shakes his head, scoffs a little, and then walks away.

  I definitely don’t want to remain standing on the dance floor by myself, and I’m not quite ready to talk to anyone else yet. So I opt to stride towards my original destination: the dessert table. I fill a fancy glass with sparkling water and take a couple of long sips. The bubbles tickle my throat.

  When I finally make my way back to my table, it’s only a temporary stop. “I’ll be right back,” I tell them all, setting my half-full water glass down at my
spot. “Just running to the bathroom.”

  The marble restroom is empty when I enter it, and my heels echo as they clack against the glassy surface. It’s an endeavor to go to the bathroom in what feels like a ballgown, but I finally manage.

  The restroom isn’t empty when I exit the stall. Madison is standing at the mirror, carefully lining her plump lips. Her dress is a bold shade of teal that would look terrible on anyone else, but on Madison it’s just audacious enough.

  “Lennon,” she acknowledges, shifting the halter tie of her dress so the already daring back dips down a bit further.

  “Madison,” I respond, walking to the sink so I can wash my hands.

  “You’re looking less homely than usual."

  It’s the exact sort of comment I’ve come to expect from her. So, I respond in a way I don’t think she’ll see coming. “Why did we stop being friends?”

  Sure enough, that catches her attention. She snaps her clutch shut and turns to me, eyebrows raised. “What?”

  “You heard me. We were friends. Good friends. You’ve spent the last four years acting like we never were.”

  She studies me for a minute, obviously deliberating over what to say. Finally, she shrugs. “After your dad overdosed, I knew everyone else would steer clear.” There’s a pause. “But it wasn’t just because of how everyone else acted. Things just changed. We were in high school.” Another pause. “Caleb arrived.”

  “What does Caleb have to do with anything?”

  Madison laughs, but it’s not a pleasant sound. It’s ugly. Bitter. “He paid attention to you.”

  “Wait, what?”

  She looks away from me, at the vibrant vase of pink peonies sitting to the right of the sink. “He barely bothered to acknowledge anyone else. You? He talked to you every chance he got.”

  “Yeah. To argue with me,” I’m quick to add. But it also occurs to me that she’s right. I may not have viewed it favorably at the time, but Caleb has always paid attention to me.

  Madison shrugs. “More than any other girl got. More than I got.”

  “I don’t—” I start.

  “Save it, Lennon.” Madison holds a hand up. “You asked me a question. I answered it. But a little friendly advice? As far as I can tell, you’re making things a lot harder than they need to be.”