only fools rush in
The dress cost me fourteen dollars, a black lace bodycon frock with a sweetheart neckline and lace overlay on the chest, found three days before New Year’s at Avalon with Arbela. Although it said “maternity” on the original tags from asos, it fit me like a glove, sending my hunter green jumpsuit into temporary exile behind a sea of occupied hangers.
Like last year, I boarded the eastbound rapid train to Tower City and made my way to East 4th Street. I went to visit my best guy friend at work, and maneuvered my way to an empty bar seat, ordering a Rum & Coke and making it last for two hours, not caring that the last few sips were basically all water. Every now and then I’d go up to the host stand to talk to him, sending me back to a time months before when he’d do the same at the restaurant I worked at across the street. The thought made me smile. For the first time in a long time, I was happy with where I was, physically and mentally speaking. I was right where I needed to be. A live band was playing a few feet away from the bar amongst the surrounding bubbly chatter and laughter. There wasn’t a television around to watch the ball drop, but sure enough a chorus of ten, nine, eight started and I took a deep breath. I didn’t fall or stumble into 2019, thank god. My bruises from the prior twelve months weren’t quite so literal, but I emerged with thicker skin. When the clock struck midnight I thought to myself, I made it. The proclamation I had typed on Facebook as a high school senior with words “class of 2019” was now becoming a reality. Victor emerged and gave me hug, only to disappear momentarily to get me a flute of champagne. I then situated myself on the leather bench next to the host stand, one hand holding my champagne and the other passing him menus to place in their embossed covers. From the restaurant we made our way to Arbela’s boyfriend’s company studio for some karaoke. When we got there, her boyfriend was singing “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” from the Mulan soundtrack. Arbela pulled me up to sing a sloppy rendition of “Somebody to Love” and I giggled every few words. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to ring in the new year, especially when Arbela told me we were singing one more song together and loudly whispered to her boyfriend “put on thank u, next!” Needless to say Victor was amused by our performances, although my sober singing in his car is more impressive.
Being single during the holidays is matched with such a cynical connotation. I suppose it makes sense from a Millennial perspective and wanting someone or something to show off. But when it all boils down to it, being kissed on New Year’s or having a Valentine become trivial after a while. It stops being personal. You stop making jokes about being a cat lady or curling up with ice cream and a movie because none of it really fucking matters. There’s no need to feed into the self-deprecation that comes with not being in a relationship. The past two years I’ve consoled myself on February 14th with sweets and the scripted, witty banter of romantic comedies but now I find that I don’t need that indulgence the way I used to.
I’m in the process of signing a lease for a new apartment, and on Sunday I threw a Galentine’s Day brunch of sorts, my last get together at my current humble abode. I planned it at the beginning of January and the date crept up on me fast. I initially thought to have the party as a distraction from Valentine’s Day, but all it did was remind me of the fact that I’m doing fine, I don’t have this terrible ache living inside of me. My day-to-day narrative isn’t any different with or without a partner. Single isn’t a diagnosis. I don’t need to be swept off my feet; I’m the leading lady of my own life, sending emails and making appointments, sitting in coffee shops writing blog posts or journaling.
On Friday I went to the grocery store on my way home from school and loaded my basket with berries, champagne, black & white cookies, madelines, and chocolate-covered espresso beans, and dug my newspaper-print Kate Spade placemats that my dad and stepmom bought me months ago out of my closet. I have a knack for presentation; I’ve curated years of watching my mother set up her dining room for parties or just creating extravagant spreads on the coffee table during the week for dinner because she felt like it. She has a way of carrying out even the simplest occasions in style, which she has passed down to me. Before my friends started showing up Sunday morning, I sent my mom a picture of my work, to which she responded “Looks so cute.”
“Grace, spill the tea,” one of my friends instructed me. The next couple of hours unfolded into mindless gossiping and thinking out loud about our futures, our Instagram feeds, and whatever else came to mind. The table became a universe of its own, full of encouragement and laughter, the bubble around it bursting when once of us got up to get a mimosa refill or starting a pot of coffee or changing the music on my laptop. When all the girls left, my heart felt so full. The female friendships I have allow me to grow, learn, and love in different ways. I’ve talked about this earlier on in college, but it really is difficult to make friends in your twenties, especially if you’re running around a lot. Thankfully I’ve managed to establish meaningful connections through various jobs, classes, and even through my writing.
2019 has been treating me well so far, but it’s because I’ve been putting in the work. Making better decisions, being more proactive with my responsibilities, and surrounding myself with the right people. I got coffee with my ex-boyfriend a few weeks ago for the ridiculousness of returning a sweatshirt and he asked me if I’d met anyone, to which I responded “Do you really think I’m thinking about that right now? This is the year I graduate.”
In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, do something that you love today. Put on an outfit that makes you feel beautiful, revisit a favorite book or song, spend time with those who make you feel on top of the world.
Signing off, with love,
Grace