yesterday in the bathroom with Travis. It’s one thing to be smart and tenacious and strong. But beauty and sex have a different allure. A power all their own.
I just need to set them free.
Chapter Eleven
The sun is still hovering over the mountains and the sky is streaked with pink. My bike chain falls off before I even clear the downtown streets and it takes me ages to fix it. By the time I reach Liz’s cute little rental house, the streetlights are kicking on. I know that Travis is in Boulder visiting a few of his college buddies this weekend and I’m hoping Liz is home.
A frizzy-haired redhead answers the door, releasing a waft of garlic and olive oil smells into the air. The girl appears to be surgically connected to her cell phone and she doesn’t even stop yammering when she sees me waiting on the porch. In fact, she barely acknowledges me.
“I mean, I like him,” she drones on, looking at me but not really seeing me. “But I’m not sure I like *like* him, you know? I just don’t know…”
“I’m looking for Liz,” I say loudly, interrupting her.
She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are glazed over and a million miles away. She drifts away from the door without a word to me, leaving it standing open. I wait to see if she’s gone to get Liz, but no one comes.
“Hello?” I call inside. I step into a little entryway with a secondhand Japanese stool and several pairs of women’s shoes in a tidy row. “Liz?”
Finally, Liz appears with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Mickey! What the hell?” She looks surprised and very happy to see me. With a wide grin she throws her arms around me. “Come inside! Have you eaten?”
I follow her down a short hallway of polished hardwood and into an unexpectedly spacious kitchen. It’s very neat and nicely decorated; the opposite of Travis’s kitchen, which is always full of dirty dishes and pizza boxes. The garlic smell intensifies and my stomach grumbles. A pot of pasta sauce simmers on the stove and a colander of spaghetti sits steaming in the sink.
“Actually, I’m starving,” I admit.
Liz drags me to the table and pulls out a chair. It’s a cheap but attractive dining set that screams IKEA. “Sit, sit, sit!” she insists, patting the chair. “I hate eating alone and Travis is out of town until Monday.”
“Why don’t you eat with your roommates?” I ask, looking around for the annoying redhead.
“Screw that!” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “I don’t like eating alone, but I do like to enjoy my food.” She grins and heads for the cabinets to fish out a couple bowls. “You like pasta?”
I settle into the chair and smooth the frumpy skirt over my legs. “What’s not to like?” When she sets a heavenly smelling bowl on the table in front of me, I give her a gracious smile. “Thanks, Liz. This is really awesome of you.”
She glides around the kitchen, fetching napkins and a bottle of Merlot. Every time I look at her, I’m struck by how pretty she is. Her silky blond hair, the thin, athletic body. She’s a classic Boulder girl.
“Is there something you needed?” she asks, pouring us each a glass of wine. “Or did you just come to hang out?”
“Kind of both,” I say. I’m feeling weirdly embarrassed and Liz can tell. She settles into her chair at last and gives me a joking look of suspicion.
“What are you up to, Mickey?”
I’m quiet for a moment. I take a long drink of the wine; it’s cheap and full of bitter tannins, but I like the wave of calm it sends through me. It’s silly that I should be nervous about this. But there’s something about embarking on a big change that makes me feel unsettled. Like I’m not going to be me anymore. Or even worse, what if it’s a hopeless cause and I’m just irredeemably ugly? But I fight back the fears and take a deep breath.
“I’m tired of being ugly,” I blurt out.
Liz puts down her glass and cocks her head.
I just need to set them free.
Chapter Eleven
The sun is still hovering over the mountains and the sky is streaked with pink. My bike chain falls off before I even clear the downtown streets and it takes me ages to fix it. By the time I reach Liz’s cute little rental house, the streetlights are kicking on. I know that Travis is in Boulder visiting a few of his college buddies this weekend and I’m hoping Liz is home.
A frizzy-haired redhead answers the door, releasing a waft of garlic and olive oil smells into the air. The girl appears to be surgically connected to her cell phone and she doesn’t even stop yammering when she sees me waiting on the porch. In fact, she barely acknowledges me.
“I mean, I like him,” she drones on, looking at me but not really seeing me. “But I’m not sure I like *like* him, you know? I just don’t know…”
“I’m looking for Liz,” I say loudly, interrupting her.
She doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are glazed over and a million miles away. She drifts away from the door without a word to me, leaving it standing open. I wait to see if she’s gone to get Liz, but no one comes.
“Hello?” I call inside. I step into a little entryway with a secondhand Japanese stool and several pairs of women’s shoes in a tidy row. “Liz?”
Finally, Liz appears with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Mickey! What the hell?” She looks surprised and very happy to see me. With a wide grin she throws her arms around me. “Come inside! Have you eaten?”
I follow her down a short hallway of polished hardwood and into an unexpectedly spacious kitchen. It’s very neat and nicely decorated; the opposite of Travis’s kitchen, which is always full of dirty dishes and pizza boxes. The garlic smell intensifies and my stomach grumbles. A pot of pasta sauce simmers on the stove and a colander of spaghetti sits steaming in the sink.
“Actually, I’m starving,” I admit.
Liz drags me to the table and pulls out a chair. It’s a cheap but attractive dining set that screams IKEA. “Sit, sit, sit!” she insists, patting the chair. “I hate eating alone and Travis is out of town until Monday.”
“Why don’t you eat with your roommates?” I ask, looking around for the annoying redhead.
“Screw that!” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “I don’t like eating alone, but I do like to enjoy my food.” She grins and heads for the cabinets to fish out a couple bowls. “You like pasta?”
I settle into the chair and smooth the frumpy skirt over my legs. “What’s not to like?” When she sets a heavenly smelling bowl on the table in front of me, I give her a gracious smile. “Thanks, Liz. This is really awesome of you.”
She glides around the kitchen, fetching napkins and a bottle of Merlot. Every time I look at her, I’m struck by how pretty she is. Her silky blond hair, the thin, athletic body. She’s a classic Boulder girl.
“Is there something you needed?” she asks, pouring us each a glass of wine. “Or did you just come to hang out?”
“Kind of both,” I say. I’m feeling weirdly embarrassed and Liz can tell. She settles into her chair at last and gives me a joking look of suspicion.
“What are you up to, Mickey?”
I’m quiet for a moment. I take a long drink of the wine; it’s cheap and full of bitter tannins, but I like the wave of calm it sends through me. It’s silly that I should be nervous about this. But there’s something about embarking on a big change that makes me feel unsettled. Like I’m not going to be me anymore. Or even worse, what if it’s a hopeless cause and I’m just irredeemably ugly? But I fight back the fears and take a deep breath.
“I’m tired of being ugly,” I blurt out.
Liz puts down her glass and cocks her head.
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