All the Lies - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,9

My hair, shoulder-length and light brown, is half-dry and half-frizzy.

While my sisters are probably getting their hair professionally blow dried and their makeup professionally applied, I do it all myself.

I've never liked getting glammed up, especially not in a room full of relatives. I have always felt like an outsider and the girl staring back at me now confirms that fact.

I take off the blue dress and reach for the dark blue one with little pink flowers that I got at a thrift store on Fairfax Avenue.

I know that they are expecting me in something more lavish and appropriate for the evening, but the fact that I have to go there in the first place is making my blood boil.

They have worked hard on this party, but I also know that I shouldn’t be expected to go to my own engagement party a few hours after I caught my fiancé cheating on me.

After I change into the thrift store dress, I look at myself in the mirror.

Yes, this is much better. The dress is casual, but not so casual that it looks like a day dress.

In a picture, it could possibly pass for something costing over $200, but up close, you can tell that the material is subpar.

I don't care.

It feels nice to the touch and it looks good on me.

Let's just say that I don't have that type of body shape that’s becoming to all dresses.

That's one of the reasons that I tend to stay away from them in the first place.

I feel most comfortable in something casual; leggings, a big T-shirt, and sneakers.

Heels? I fucking hate heels.

I slip my feet into the most comfortable pair of low-rise loafers that I have and grab the heels that I'm going to wear at the party with me.

I scan the room looking for anything that I might have forgotten. Catching my reflection in the mirror again, I know that my mom will be disappointed.

I let my hair air dry without a stitch of product. I'm wearing a little bit of foundation and mascara.

My lips are lined with one of my favorite plumb colors of gloss and my eyebrows are accentuated with just a little bit of wax.

The look basically says I’m trying but not very hard.

I don't care.

I'm going there in protest.

It's the last place that I want to be, but I'm afraid that if I don't show up the consequences will be dire.

The cerebral, objective part of me realizes that given that I'm a grown woman who doesn't rely on her parents for money, there are not many consequences that they even have the ability to give me, but still.

After all these years, I feel a sense of obligation to keep up appearances and to not fuck my mom and sisters over by standing up a party in my own honor.

The last thing I grab before walking out the door is my Kindle. The walls of my apartment are lined with bookshelves which overflow with books.

I have loved to read since I was a little girl. Nothing makes me feel better about escaping into another world and into other people’s problems like a good book.

When it comes to reading, I like both paper books and ebooks. I always carry my Kindle in my purse. It's small and doesn't take up much room and never weighs me down and it can hold thousands of books.

There's something different about it than just reading on my phone. This is a device just for reading. There are no interruptions and no notifications. I'm not tempted to go on social media or do anything else.

I know that it's probably a long shot that I'll be able to sneak away sometime during the party, but I take it with me just in case.

7

Emma

After fighting traffic for close to two hours, I finally get to the hills above the 101. It's springtime and the land is green and lush after a winter soaked in rain.

As I go around the narrow switchbacks, a sweeping view of the ocean pops up, taking my breath away.

I grew up here and I pretend to like the grind and the concrete that dominates downtown LA, but I really don't.

When I pull up to the gate of my parents’ sprawling estate and enter the code, my chest tightens up.

Regardless of the views or the avocado orchard that welcomes me up the curvy driveway, claustrophobia settles in.

My parents’ estate is a 7,000 square-foot house in a gated community with three other homes. It sits