There’s a full-length mirror in the middle of her hallway, leaning against the wall. She stops before it and examines herself, her expression fading from excitement and morphing into pure, unabashed fear.
In slow-motion real time, I watch as her eyes glass up and thick, mascara-colored tears slide down her perfectly made-up cheeks.
“Helena, Helena,” I take her aside, sliding my hand down her arm. “Stop. Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”
She pushes me away, tearing at the dress, trying frantically to get it off. Her creamy skin fills with red blotches and she gasps for air.
“Get it off,” she says, breathless and panicked. “I can’t . . . I can’t do this . . .”
I tug the zipper down her back and escort her into her room, where she lets the dress fall to the floor and reaches desperately for her robe. Covered and hunched over on the side of her bed, she buries her face in her hands.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taking the spot beside her. I rub my hand across the small of her back, which sends her into an immediate state of inconsolable sobbing.
I sit with her, not saying a word, being the surrogate friend she so clearly needs in this moment, and when she finally comes up for air, she turns to me, her face a ruined mess.
“I can’t go out there,” she says. “I can’t look like this and wear this dress and pretend to be someone I’m not and hope that this complete stranger will love me half as much as Harold did.”
Helena sobs into her hands again, her shoulders heaving with each ragged breath.
“Clearly you’re not ready,” I say. “And that’s okay. Don’t feel bad about it. Brad will understand.”
She snorts. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”
“You know,” I say, “I’ve lived in this city for five years now, and you know what I’m starting to realize?”
“What’s that?”
“This place is full of people faking it. Everyone’s pretending to have their shit together, but very few actually do,” I say. “You know that saying, fake it ‘til you make it?”
“Yeah.” She reaches toward her nightstand to grab a tissue, and I spot a half dozen wadded up tissues beside the box.
“Can you do that tonight?” I ask. “Can you fake being the confident, beautiful woman I know you are underneath all these tears?”
Helena laughs, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t know, Aidy.”
She rises, moving to the dresser mirror and dabbing the black streaks on her cheeks.
“I’ve ruined the beautiful makeup job you did,” she says.
“You didn’t need it anyway,” I say with a wink. “But I can do a touch up on the house. Only if you want . . .”
She turns to me, her expression undecided.
“But if I fix your makeup, I’m going to expect you to go on this date,” I say, injecting the kind of tone I’ve seen my sister use on Enzo.
Helena glances back at her reflection, gathering the lapels of her robe in one fist. I watch as she drags in a hard breath and lets it go.
“Fine,” she says. “Let’s do it.”
“Good.” I stand, clapping my hands together. “Let me grab some makeup remover. I’ll be right back.”
Leaving her room, I make a mad dash to my cosmetics case on her kitchen table, rifling through the myriad of products in search of the small and oh-so-necessary bottle of makeup remover I keep on hand.
Gone.
Shit.
I search again, wondering how the hell I’m going to explain to my brand new client that I showed up without all the necessary tools for the job.
An electric wave of panic sears through me until I recall passing a CVS on my way here. It’s just down the street, situated right on the corner.
“Helena?” I call out.
“Yes, Aidy?” She peeks her head out from behind her bedroom door, and I catch a glimpse of her bare shoulder.
Good, she’s getting dressed again.
“I need to run to CVS really quick. I’ll be back in five,” I say. “Or ten. At most. Please tell me you won’t change your mind before I get back.”
Helena nods and gives me a thumbs up before waving me out. I grab my purse, leaving all my products scattered across her kitchen table, and make a mad dash down the hall. Flying down three flights of stairs, I nearly knock over a middle-aged man carrying a bag of groceries.
“Sorry,” I call out, but it’s too late. I’m already outside, feet on the pavement, running in ballet