Dark City

62.

Alex spent the day preparing herself at home. In spite of everything the town had been through, she wanted to have a party to celebrate her success and healing.

Lillian Stockton was thrilled to hear it and wanted to turn the whole affair into some kind of debutante affair. She sent out black tie invitations and hired a woman to come do Alex's hair and makeup. The artist appeared gaudy with her eyelashes as thick as a muppet's and her lips shiny like wax. She put Alex's hair in large, loose curls, pinned up like a lady of Verona. As the woman finished doing Alex's base and reached for a pink powder puff, Alex made it a point to tell her, "No blush, thank you."

The woman shook her head. "Sweetheart, we don't want you to look like a ghost."

"I want to look like myself."

The makeup artist finished quickly after that. She left and Alex waited in silence, staring at herself in the mirror. Her mother brought in her Vera Wang dress with a silk slip.

Alex asked for privacy. She waited doe her mother to be gone. After she zipped herself up, she reached into her pillowcase and found some oxy. One little pill and she would banish the dark shadow looming over the evening.

The scraps of rabbit food left her brain running in circles, going back to Liam. One little pill and she could stop caring.

But she couldn't break her sobriety. She stuffed the pill back inside her pillow. Treatment was behind her. She wanted to move forward not backward.

There was a knock and then her mother entered.

"Oh, Alexandria! You look like a doll!" said Lillian, pinching Alex's cheeks into a natural blush.

Alex looked at herself in the mirror, checking if she still had henna on her back. The faint lines of the stain remained, tracing out the dangerous symbol. The capped sleeves made her feel covered, but she fingered the delicate sheer ruffle on the plunging neckline.

"Mom," she said, face turned red.

"Oh, honey. What's wrong?"

Alex hugged her mother and hid her face in her shoulder. She shook as she tried not to ruin her makeup.

"Shh." Her mother rubbed her hand gently against Alex's back. "It's just a party. Just say hello, eat a piece of cake and have a glass of champagne at midnight."

"I can't drink," Alex said, blinking back tears. "Rules of treatment." She sniffled until her sinuses were clear. She checked her makeup in the mirror, took a tissue, and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

Mrs. Stockton picked up a jewelry box that was on the bed and handed it to her. Inside was a thin antique gold chain with a pearl clasp in the back. Instead of a pendant, there was a cameo, an oval portrait of Edmund Leighton's painting The Accolade.

"I thought about getting you diamonds or Japanese pearls, but when I saw this, I realized it would mean more to you."

"It's exactly what I like." Alex said. "Thank you, Mom."

Lillian squeezed Alex tight. She clasped the necklace around her neck.

The doorbell rang. Alex took her mother's hands in hers. "Oh God! It's got to be Tom. I'm nervous."

"Ha!" her mother cried. "Nervous over a silly boy? That's where the champagne helps."

Lillian went ahead out of Alex's room, opening the door downstairs.

Alex peeked from the top of the stairs. Standing in the entryway, lit up by the brilliance of the chandelier, was Tom in his best suit, which was rather shabby and tailored to a different body shape.