Page 45 of Just Ten Seconds

She walks into the stall to change, and I take a moment to check my hair and makeup. I braided my hair after my shower this morning and let it curl, so it looks like it’s permed with a black velvet bow pinning one side up.

“You guys look so cute in your eighties clothes,” she calls out from the other side of the door.

I adjust the long strand of beads around my neck. “Look in the bottom of the bag.”

Jackie shrieks at the sight of the elbow-length gloves and pearls. Her dress has some serious Material Girl action going on. “You’re the best!”

I flip around and rest my butt against the sink as she comes out in her dress and gloves. Her hair is a frizzy mess. I take out a large scrunchie and start picking up hair off her head and pulling it into a high ponytail while she takes out the makeup and starts to do herself up.

“I know you’re not in the market for anyone, but here’s my advice to you,” she says as she applies bronzer. “Find a man who will follow your instructions to throw a kick-ass surprise party and then add his own surprise on top. I seriously would never have thought he’d make it a costume party.” She stops what she’s doing and asks seriously, “Am I a bitch if I admit that I would have preferred it not be at happy hour?”

“Yes,” I state and turn her face back to the mirror. I weave my fingers through my beads. “Just got a better deal on the party because eight to midnight is Joe’s busy time.”

“Makes sense. Plus, I’m so happy Nick is out. Getting him to the bar is huge. Ever since we took over the café, it’s been nonstop work. Which is good. I’m proud of him. And I know what needs to be done to get out of the financial bind we’re in. I just hope he doesn’t burn himself out.”

Her worry for her husband is sweet. I never had to worry about Benjamin. He always had an answer for everything. And as successful as he was, he was never a workaholic. Yes, he sometimes worked long hours but never to the point where I thought he’d burn out. In fact, everything about his life seemed so carefree.

“You picked a good man for a husband,” I say.

“You will too. I know it’s in the cards for you.” She has a flinch of remorse with the comment. “Speaking of which, Nick’s friends are here!”

I let out a groan as I adjust my hair bow. “Please don’t set me up.”

“Please don’t make me be one of those best friends who says stupid shit like, Just get one notch on your belt, and you’ll be able to move on,” she says, sounding like a valley girl, and then makes a vomit face.

“Good. Don’t say that.” I laugh.

“A notch wouldn’t be awful.” She holds up her arm in mock defense like I’m going to hit her, which she obviously knows I wouldn’t. “By notch, I mean, accept a drink from a guy and talk to him for more than thirty seconds. Maybe even accept an invitation to dinner. Small notches. More like itty-bitty, tiny holes that you don’t even know are there.”

When something happens in your life, people are quick to tell you to move on. Losing a job, getting divorced, hell, even the death of a loved one prompts everyone to remind you to keep on living. Carry on. Don’t dwell on the past. Focus on the future. Live like today’s your last day.

I get it. I don’t necessarily agree with it. But I get it.

“Maybe.”

Waving her mascara wand in the air, she says in a mock state of shock, “I’ll take it!” She drops the mascara in the bag and then leans a hip on the counter, morphing her tone into a serious yet friendly one. “As your older, wiser friend, I feel it is imperative that I impart my wisdom upon you. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel less than perfect. We’ve been friends a long time, and your self-worth means more to me than you can imagine. I want you to be happy. With life. With who you are. All of it. I don’t care if you find happiness in one of those furry-fetishes.”

“You mean, the people who dress up like animals and have sex with one another?”

“Whatever makes you feel like your authentic self, then do it. I just want you to be happy. Like before that awful, horrible person came into your life.”

“Wow, thirty is really maturing you.”

“Watch your mouth. I’m twenty-five!”

“Well, in that case, happy fifth anniversary of your twenty-fifth birthday.”

“That’s more like it. Now, let’s go party like it’s 1989!”

We walk back into the bar area, and Jackie is finally able to take in some of the decorations. Hot-pink streamers are hanging from the ceiling, and posters from iconic movies are taped to the walls. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Footloose, Dirty Dancing, and The Karate Kid to name a few. A-ha’s “Take on Me” is booming over the loudspeaker as Nick hands her a pomegranate mojito in a lime-green plastic tumbler with a plastic curly straw.

Jackie pulls me up to the dance floor where there’re strobe lights pulsing. The music is blaring out the speakers, and everyone is swaying with their drinks in hand.

The synthetic pop music beats loudly as Jackie pretends to be playing an electric keyboard. She’s so carefree. We’re the only people dancing, and she couldn’t care less about the prying eyes of those around us as she acts like a total fool while she mouths the words as if she were in a music video.

She tries to pull me out of my simple two-step—you know, the side-to-side sway with a little snap or tap for good measure. I shake my head at her.

The song changes to “Let’s Hear It for the Boys.”