Elizabeth

After the day I had yesterday, I am drained. The bright side is that I woke up on time today. Today, the day that I have classes only late in the morning; the irony is surely not lost on me.

I am, at the same time, preparing breakfast and bracing myself for Poppy's wrath. I was so caught up yesterday with Axton--I mean, the project for James' class--I didn't have time to go dress shopping with her.

Speaking of the she-devil, I answer my phone. "Hello, beautiful."

Poppy is shrieking on the other side. "You are certainly not abandoning me today again, are you? The Brit is hot and all, but I am in a crisis here and I need you." I can practically hear her pouting through the phone.

I sigh. I can be such a shitty friend sometimes. "No dear, tell me where to be, and at what time, and I'll be there," I assure her.

"Be gorgeous. I am picking you up at two, right after class."

"Deal."

Thank God I have time to get ready like a normal person today. Throughout the shower, I keep reminiscing about my day yesterday. Axton is surely not the traditional good boy; he seems nice nevertheless, but his fire is the alluring trait. He is kind at times, but always edgy. I never seem to know what goes on behind those green eyes of his. His humor is peculiar, and he does not seem to reveal much about himself, which I can understand. I stay in the shower for a couple more minutes, daydreaming, as the cold water falls on me. It is uncomfortably hot today--or maybe it is just me.

Once I leave the bathroom, I see that it is certainly not only me; as a matter of fact, it is quite warm today. Looking at my closet, I pick a black and white plaid skirt with a bow on the waist, a V-neck cherry t-shirt, my favorite Gucci loafers and many golden chains around my neck. The color cherry brightens my complexion and calls attention to how blonde my hair is. With this outfit you can see many of my tattoos: the rose on my wrist that rests under my Tiffany's bracelet I never remove, the flowers on my arm and the bird on the inside are also visible. I fancy admiring them.

I hit shuffle on Spotify, and one of my favorite songs comes on, blasting through the speakers, I love when that happens. Maybe I'll play this one later on today at the radio station. As if drawing energy from the music, I finish getting ready in ten more minutes, signature smoky eye and all.

I arrive to class ahead of time today and pick my seat without much competition. When the professor calls us for roll call, I hear Axton's name, but my English boy is nowhere to be found; the grayish-white walls feel empty without his presence and his acid remarks.

__________

The class ends, and I leave for lunch. I might be able to squeeze in a meal before Poppy arrives; I could kill for sweet potato fries, or mozzarella sticks, with quesadillas, and cheesecake right now. They're technically not lunch, but I am insatiable.

I enter Tom's; the restaurant is crowded today, the hustle and bustle are characteristic of New York. In the city, people are always hurried, running around like working ants.

I've just sat on a booth when my phone rings.

Thinking it's Poppy, I answer, "Hey babe."

The voice on the other end is flat. "Hello, Elizabeth."

Oh, fuck. I should have learned to always check the caller ID by now.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and answer as dryly as possible, "Hello mother. How are you?"

"I am fine, and you?" Giving me absolutely no time to reply, she continues, "I need to know whether you're coming home this weekend or not. It's not like you to come home anyhow, but I thought it'd be polite to confirm. If you aren't, I am going to Lake Placid with Delilah."

It amazes me how polite she can be, and still throw punches at me. She's that good.

"Well, mother, what can I say? I am rooting for the crocodile."

"Have you gone fully insane? You're not making any sense." Her voice grows snappier.

I sigh. "God forbid I stand in the way of your mini-vacation, mother." I distractedly flip through the worn out pages of the menu on the table.

"Don't be so theatrical Elizabeth. You would be coming as well hadn't you--"

"I wouldn't be going either way." I shift uncomfortably on the sofa. Why she has to initiate confrontation is beyond my ability to comprehend.

She sighs on the other side, exuding disappointment. "I have been meaning to talk to you, I met Delilah yesterday to plan our small getaway, and she asked about you." Oh no. No, no, no, no. I can feel sweat forming on the back of my neck; I rub it, trying to dry it.

"She has no animosity towards you, you know. I swear, that woman is a saint. They've just gotten back from Europe, have you talked to--"

"No, I haven't," I say firmly.

I had absolutely no clue they were back. It's not like I've received a memo, and why would Delilah be crossed with me? I did nothing wrong or slightly disrespectful--not to her, in any case. Fucking crazy rich people. I swear, sometimes it feels like I'm in a bad reality TV show.

"Elizabeth Anne Acker! Will you stop interrupting your mother? It's disrespectful. Have I taught you nothing, daughter?" she says, spitting veiled contempt.

I have absolutely no intention of discussing my personal life with my deranged mother, so I fill her head with harmless facts.

"Excuse me, I am sorry. I've been preoccupied with college, and I've been helping Poppy with Mr. King's party." I use the tone I have used to appease her countless times before, as well as including P. in the answer; that will please her, she adores my best friend.

"Oh, yes. Of course! I will go to Lake Placid with Delilah, but I'll be back in time for Henry's party. Will see you there," she says and hangs up.

Wow. I really need to double the intake of calories in my meal, so I can relax after this marvelous experience of being kicked around and tortured for minutes straight.

This woman is absolutely maddening. Ever since I was a kid, it's been like this; every time I talk to her, the frailest contact we have, I feel the weight of all the decisions I have ever made that she found unacceptable and absurd. Her insanity knows no limits.

I eat my food with some time to spare, but my spirits are low. As soon as I turn 49th St., I see Popps waiting for me at the corner of Saks.

"Are you ready, baby girl?" I ask.

"Yes, for round one," she huffs.

"Hey! Don't be a Debbie Downer. You'll find your dress." I am not encouraged myself, but I am doing my best to cheer her up.

She stops and thinks for a moment. "I want something shiny, and sexy, and short. No! Long, with prints, and lots of tulle."

"Babe,"--I wave my hands in front of her forcing her to look at me--"if you find the dress you're describing, you're going to look like a crazy ass, clown-like lady, socialite gone insane."

She pouts, and I lead her into the store, going through the lush golden double doors. "Let's see what we find, ok? We're going to get you something pretty." I might as well be dealing with a five-year-old at this point.

On the second floor, I select some dresses to guide her--I fear she'll go full bonkers and buy a potato sack, or something resembling a set of curtains or, maybe, a picnic cloth if unattended--while she chooses others.

Waiting on the couch for her, I grab some champagne and make myself comfortable. I suspect this will take a long time.

Despite every dress being drop-dead gorgeous, Poppy dislikes them all. More than three hours later, she has disdained twenty-three of them. According to my friend, one is too short, the other, too long; one is too bright, and the next, too dark, and so it goes. She finds flaws in fabrics, colors, fittings; she is worse than Miranda Priestly. I guess the devil doesn't wear Prada after all, Prada didn't make the cut today.

I turn to her using my most loving voice. "Sweetie, I think you should take a break. Let's get the hell out of here, breathe in some fresh air. How about that?"

"I cannot not have a dress, Lizzie"--she looks down at the floor--"I'm just anxious, what if he's there at the party?"

"If he's at the party, he's going to drool all over you either way. You're not in the right mindset to find a proper gown today. We'll try again in a couple of days," I say like it's already settled.

She shuffles her feet. "Ok." My friend looks utterly defeated.

"You know what you need? You need someone to fuck Josh out of you, that's what you need."

She grins. "Thank you, Lizzie, you're the best."

"I know, it's a curse."--I flip my hair and wink--"Now, let's spend the rest of our afternoon eating chocolate and surveying the eye candy at Bryant Park."