snug around the bust but otherwise looks pretty good. My face, on the other hand, needs some serious attention. The mascara smudges are gone but my eyes are still pink and puffy from crying. The mixture of tears and booze has left my skin looking paler than usual. I dab some concealer beneath each eye and apply thick layers of black mascara to try to bring out more of the blue and less of the morose. It almost works. I swipe a creamy blush across my cheeks and drag a comb through my hair, grateful for the natural curl. As I pat a light shimmery gloss over my full lips, I do my best not to think about the last time they were kissed by my lying, cheating ex.
Luanne is in full dressing-down mode as I enter the living room. I pity the soul that’s crossed her this time.
“Listen, Jo. I put in fifty hours at that rat-trap you call a bar last week alone. If you want me to cover Angel’s shift tonight, I want time-and-a-half and I want it in cash before I lock up. I don’t care about any stupid taxes. Well, have fun covering the shift tonight, then. No, you go to hell. I will. Fine. Love you too.” Luanne snaps the cell phone shut and drops it into her open purse.
“Your Aunt Jo?” I ask.
“Of course. The old bat wants me to cover that moron Angel’s shift again tonight. That’s the second shift in a week I’ve covered for her.”
“Maybe she’s sick or something.”
“Yeah, sick and tired of working for a living. Nah, she’s got herself a new man up in Denton County, an insurance salesman or somethin’. She thinks he’s going to marry her and take her away from all of this,” Luanne says, spreading her arms wide.
“Well, maybe he will,” I say, squishing my feet inside white strappy sandals.
“Oh, really? Huh. Funny, last night I remember someone who looks an awful lot like you runnin’ on at the mouth about how all men are scum. Now ‘Insurance Man’ is suddenly going to turn into a white knight?” Luanne stares me down, incredulous.
“I don’t know, Lu. Maybe they are all scum. Maybe it’s us, not them. But we have to put ourselves out there, right?” I ask, or rather, pray.
Luanne grunts and moves past me, bending down to pick up a piece of paper that’s half hidden beneath the sofa. As she straightens up she reads, “I hereby resolve that I will no longer date men who are too handsome, suave or otherwise clever enough to get me in bed before the sixth date, dangerous or exciting, or have long eyelashes.” She pauses to give me the old ‘Are you freaking kidding me?’ expression.
She hands the paper to me and I see that it’s not only written in my handwriting but has been signed by me, witnessed by Luanne, and sealed with what can only be the smudge from a chocolate chip. I stare at it in disbelief and try to recall when my drunken resolution met paper during the night. “When did I write this?”
“At about four o’clock this morning, after your visit to the porcelain God. You wrote on the back of my cosmetology application, thank you very much. I only signed the damn thing to get you to shut up.”
“Well,” I say, drawing myself up to my full height, “I mean it. I’m done being a magnet for lousy men. This paper is a contract. It represents the start of my new life.” I finish this sentence with as much bravado as I can muster given the fact that I’m wearing a pink polka-dot mini dress. I may’ve been drunk when I resolved to give up dating my ‘type,’ but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea.
“Listen, Ellie, you know I love you. Hell, a few more bad dates and you might start looking pretty good to me yourself, but you and I both know how much you love those bad boys. You just can’t help yourself.”
“Well, I’ve changed,” I say, following Luanne to the door, gathering my jacket and purse from the arm of the sofa on the way. “This is the first day of new Ellie. I’m not going to give my heart away to the wrong man ever again,” I declare as we walk into the hallway.
Luanne uses her key to lock the door and throws a raised eyebrow in my direction. “You better knock on some wood,