The F It List - Alexis Winter

One

Cora

That poor girl. I can’t believe she was left at the altar!

I don’t know how she’s going to recover from the embarrassment!

She just couldn’t lock him down. No wonder. He was waayyy too good for her.

These are the things that run through my head every time I look at myself in the mirror—all the things that people are saying behind my back or when they think I’m not paying attention. Of course, they’re also wondering what’s wrong with her?

What is wrong with me? Why is it that all of my friends are happily married with kids or with kids on the way, and I can’t even manage to hold on to one guy? What’s so wrong with me? I mean, I guess I am a little too thin. I would like to have a curvier body—a body like an hourglass, if you will. The only curves I have are from my B-cup breasts, and trust me, they’re always overlooked because they’re a B-cup! My ass is too flat, and my hips are practically nonexistent. I’m also too short. I’m a 24-year-old woman who’s built like a 14-year-old girl. Harley says I’m adorable and pixie-like, but I think most men look at me and see a girl instead of a woman.

I lean into the mirror and inspect further. My eyes are blue, but they’re not a striking blue or dazzling in any way like they once were. Lately, they’ve been puffy and glassy with the amount of crying I’ve done. In fact, my eye shape isn’t right for my face at all according to several beauty magazines I’ve read. My big round eyes and cherub cheeks just accentuate the adolescent look I’ve been trying to change. I’ve always wished I were that girl with gorgeous almond eyes and an angular jaw à la Gal Gadot. Look, I’m not ugly, but I’d be lying if I didn’t wish I looked a little more interesting instead of the pale, short girl next door with a blonde bob and petite features.

A puff of air leaves my lips as I turn away from the mirror and bend over the tub to turn off the water. The tub is full of bubbles but I add in a few essential oils. I already have a dozen lit candles scattered around the tub and the vanity counter. The tray that rests across the tub is complete with a glass of wine—the bottle on the floor well within reach—and a box of chocolates. It’s been a few weeks since my failed marriage ceremony, and you could say I’m still wallowing. This is my weak attempt at putting myself back together, but in reality, I’m just licking my wounds.

I remove my robe and drop it onto the floor as I climb into the tub. It’s an old-school clawfoot tub and it’s completely full, so the water covers my entire body. I pick up my phone and start up some music that plays softly in the background to help me relax. Then I pop a chocolate into my mouth and wash it down with a sip of wine. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting the hot water relax my tired body. I breathe in the scents of the aromatherapy candles and oils. Slowly, I begin to feel myself start to relax.

Behind my lids, a vision of Jimmy appears, and I feel the ping of pain he’s left in my heart. I can see his blond hair that was always neatly combed. His green eyes and sharp jaw. His plump, soft lips. I remember the way those lips felt when they’d kiss down my neck. My heart feels like it cracks open and breaks. Tears build in my eyes. It doesn’t take long before they overflow and run down my cheeks. This is it, I tell myself. This is the last time I cry over stupid Jimmy Reynolds. This is my last night of moping. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and look at life in a whole new way. I need to get myself over this hurdle and find the man I’m supposed to be with.

All I’ve ever really wanted in life is to be married to a man who loves me deeply—a man who wants to be with me and will do anything it takes to keep me. I want the big yard, the picket fence, and a couple of kids running down the hall. I want to tuck my kids in at night by placing kisses on their