anyone is coming!” Sloane gushed dramatically.
“Not me! I’m sitting here watching Jeopardy and eating cheese puffs!”
“Cheese puffs! Get dressed! I’m coming over!”
“What?!”
Before Holly could stop her friend from barging into her peaceful evening, Sloane had hung up the phone and was running out her front door.
Within ten minutes, Sloane barged through Holly’s front door, kicking fresh snow off of her three-inch red stiletto pumps in a most animated fashion. She took one look at Holly, and her jolly tone of voice went murderous.
“You’re still not dressed?!”
Holly looked up at her friend with a most matter of fact expression. She eyed her up and down, admiring her very festive attire. Sloane knew how to dress to impress. Her red mini-dress sparkled and glinted in the low light of the foyer. Her black hair charmed in her usual sassy bob. Sloane’s makeup was gorgeous. She looked perfect and Holly was utterly depressed.
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“Not kidding. Go look for yourself.”
Sloane gave Holly a look of total disbelief as she walked across the hardwood floor sounding like a horse trotting slowly through downtown. Holly looked amused as she helped herself to yet another cheese puff.
Sloane hiked up the steep wooden staircase that led to the second floor. At the top of the staircase was little Belle’s room. Then, as Sloane curved around the bannister, she bypassed the bathroom, Tressa’s room, Randy’s room and finally, she had arrived at the door to Holly’s bedroom. Sloane paused for a moment before entering as she did not know what to expect on the other side.
She allowed the door to creak open ever so slowly. Inside, she found a perfectly tidy bedroom. The bed linens were neatly made. There was not a single sock on the floor. There wasn’t even a bit of clutter on top of her bureau. All that rested on there were her jewelry box with her wedding ring nestled inside, a tube of half-used deodorant, and a nearly spent bottle of perfume that Brant had given Holly for Christmas over three years ago.
Getting frustrated by the lack of excitement in Holly’s bedroom, Sloane sashayed over to the closet. She was greeted by an overwhelming array of business suits, mom jeans, and a colorful assortment of wool sweaters.
“Oh my God, I’m in fashion hell!” yelled Sloane as she jumped back in shock as if the off-brand clothing were about to gobble her whole.
Holly, hearing her friend’s outburst, called up the steps with a tone of alarm.
“Is everything alright?”
Sloane, still deciding whether to laugh or cry at the dilemma before her, called out, “No! All your clothes have been stolen and replaced with that of an 80-year old spinster’s!”
“Very funny! I told you I had nothing to wear…”
Sloane started to rummage through the closet. She pushed shirts aside, held up trousers, and shook off dresses that look like they hadn’t been worn since their days at Drexel University. She was starting to get desperate. Surely there had to be a pair of shoes to get started with. Sloane began sifting through a few of the shoe boxes that sat on the top shelf of the closet, but she got more than she bargained for. Sloane came across a shoe box that was labeled hastily with a magic marker that said simply “Brant.” In a moment of pure clumsiness, the box toppled off of the shelf as a swarm of photographs, letters and cards came raining down upon Sloane’s head. Finally the box thudded to the ground.
From downstairs Holly called up the steps again, “What was that?”
Sloane, freaking out, made something up to keep Holly downstairs while she cleaned up the mess, “Nothing! Stubbed my toe. I’m fine.”
Sloane looked at the floor around her and saw Brant’s signature everywhere. Holly had kept every photograph, every love letter, and every
“Not me! I’m sitting here watching Jeopardy and eating cheese puffs!”
“Cheese puffs! Get dressed! I’m coming over!”
“What?!”
Before Holly could stop her friend from barging into her peaceful evening, Sloane had hung up the phone and was running out her front door.
Within ten minutes, Sloane barged through Holly’s front door, kicking fresh snow off of her three-inch red stiletto pumps in a most animated fashion. She took one look at Holly, and her jolly tone of voice went murderous.
“You’re still not dressed?!”
Holly looked up at her friend with a most matter of fact expression. She eyed her up and down, admiring her very festive attire. Sloane knew how to dress to impress. Her red mini-dress sparkled and glinted in the low light of the foyer. Her black hair charmed in her usual sassy bob. Sloane’s makeup was gorgeous. She looked perfect and Holly was utterly depressed.
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“Not kidding. Go look for yourself.”
Sloane gave Holly a look of total disbelief as she walked across the hardwood floor sounding like a horse trotting slowly through downtown. Holly looked amused as she helped herself to yet another cheese puff.
Sloane hiked up the steep wooden staircase that led to the second floor. At the top of the staircase was little Belle’s room. Then, as Sloane curved around the bannister, she bypassed the bathroom, Tressa’s room, Randy’s room and finally, she had arrived at the door to Holly’s bedroom. Sloane paused for a moment before entering as she did not know what to expect on the other side.
She allowed the door to creak open ever so slowly. Inside, she found a perfectly tidy bedroom. The bed linens were neatly made. There was not a single sock on the floor. There wasn’t even a bit of clutter on top of her bureau. All that rested on there were her jewelry box with her wedding ring nestled inside, a tube of half-used deodorant, and a nearly spent bottle of perfume that Brant had given Holly for Christmas over three years ago.
Getting frustrated by the lack of excitement in Holly’s bedroom, Sloane sashayed over to the closet. She was greeted by an overwhelming array of business suits, mom jeans, and a colorful assortment of wool sweaters.
“Oh my God, I’m in fashion hell!” yelled Sloane as she jumped back in shock as if the off-brand clothing were about to gobble her whole.
Holly, hearing her friend’s outburst, called up the steps with a tone of alarm.
“Is everything alright?”
Sloane, still deciding whether to laugh or cry at the dilemma before her, called out, “No! All your clothes have been stolen and replaced with that of an 80-year old spinster’s!”
“Very funny! I told you I had nothing to wear…”
Sloane started to rummage through the closet. She pushed shirts aside, held up trousers, and shook off dresses that look like they hadn’t been worn since their days at Drexel University. She was starting to get desperate. Surely there had to be a pair of shoes to get started with. Sloane began sifting through a few of the shoe boxes that sat on the top shelf of the closet, but she got more than she bargained for. Sloane came across a shoe box that was labeled hastily with a magic marker that said simply “Brant.” In a moment of pure clumsiness, the box toppled off of the shelf as a swarm of photographs, letters and cards came raining down upon Sloane’s head. Finally the box thudded to the ground.
From downstairs Holly called up the steps again, “What was that?”
Sloane, freaking out, made something up to keep Holly downstairs while she cleaned up the mess, “Nothing! Stubbed my toe. I’m fine.”
Sloane looked at the floor around her and saw Brant’s signature everywhere. Holly had kept every photograph, every love letter, and every
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