Karma. How had I forgotten karma could bring the good with the bad? I didn’t know exactly how karma would reward the kid, but I knew it would. And it was strange. In that moment, after living a lifetime wanting to know deep down that good things could happen to good people, I now had a role in that. It made me proud of my powers for the first time.
I sighed and looked down at the table. No more time to waste if I wanted to eat. And I really wanted to eat. Unpacking the food, I moaned in delight. Just the smell of whatever was in the box was enough to have my mouth watering and my stomach growling.
I swallowed a mouthful of drool and cracked open the box. A bowl of rigatoni sat inside, the noodles covered in a creamy-looking sauce that had my mouth watering all over again, not to mention the kale and sausage that were mixed in.
My fork dove into the dish as though it had a mind of its own, but I knew it was just that I was hungry enough that shoveling food into my mouth was the last thing I was going to be embarrassed about. I speared a few noodles and a bit of kale and popped it in my mouth, having to breathe in because it was still so hot that it was scalding my tongue. The creamy, pumpkiny, tomatoey sauce was luxurious, so much so that I groaned out loud and looked down at my food bowl with skepticism. Was I imagining how good this was?
Doubtful.
Deva was just that good.
I should never have let so much time pass between eating meals she made.
The next forkful delivered a few more noodles and this time I could taste the touch of sage and browned butter in the sauce. Damn, this woman was good. She should go on Iron Chef or something. Did that show even still exist? I'd loved it but Rick had hated it, said that it took no talent to cook, which was why I did all the cooking. He certainly didn't have the talent for it.
Bite after bite filled me with a delicious sense of fullness and soon enough the bowl was empty.
After cramming the to-go container in the garbage can, I went to see what I had to wear. I wasn't exactly excited about the choices that awaited me.
I hadn’t brought a single thing with me that was appropriate for wearing to a club, unless mom jeans and a v-neck tee were club outfits these days. Wouldn't that be nice? Let women be comfy when they go out. Who wants to stuff themselves into spiked heels and tight dresses with our hair and makeup done to hell and back? Couldn't we just wear whatever we wanted, throw our hair up in a messy bun, and call it done? I mean, that's what they would get eventually anyway. We're all just deceiving ourselves if we expect to be picture perfect all the time. Would Beth still take me to the club in my mom jeans?
Somehow I doubted it.
I didn't even check my bags, knowing there was nothing waiting for me in there. Wincing, I opened my closet door.
As I’d suspected. It was mostly empty. I slid the few hangers from one side to the other. After our parents funeral we had donated most of their clothing, except for a few pieces we couldn't stand to part with. That wasn't my goal, though. No way was I wearing one of my mom's old dresses, unless it was retro night or something, and even then I wouldn't want to risk it. We held on to them because of sentimental reasons, which meant I wasn't about to accidentally wreck it just because I needed something to wear to a vampire club.
No, my goal was the few things that I'd left behind, ones that Henry had moved in here when he converted my old bedroom. The first thing that caught my eye was my high school cheerleading outfit. There was the bridesmaids dress I'd worn at Deva’s wedding, a few old pairs of jeans that I loved and had decorated myself with patches and embroidery, and a couple flowy, summery skirts that I'd thought were the coolest thing when I bought them, although seeing at them now I probably looked like I belonged at some kind of commune. Then, at the back, behind my high school graduation robe, a slinky black dress. I was surprised I’d even left it, but it had blended in with the dark fabric of my robe. If I hadn't noticed the final hanger hook then I probably wouldn't have looked any further.
There was no way this thing was fitting. I was a good twenty pounds heavier, and it was only a little bit in the boobs.
But it was literally the only appropriate thing to wear, so I tried it.
Oh, damn. What about shoes?
When it came to shoes, I knew I had too many but I couldn't help it. They were so pretty and there were so many different styles. It was because of how many I had, and therefore had packed, that I thought I may actually have something appropriate to wear. I grabbed my suitcase and rifled through, grinning triumphantly when my fingers slid over some familiar black leather. I’d brought low-heeled, black ankle boots. They’d work great. See, the thing was, even though I had a bunch of shoes, I only ever wore a few pairs. I saved the others for just the right occasion, which never really came.
Ten minutes later, I had my hair in a high ponytail and a couple of layers of mascara on, some shiny lip gloss, and was ready to step out front with my phone and debit card and ID in my bra to wait for Beth. It was nearly ten, anyway.
Standing awkwardly, I tugged at my dress.
