Chapter Two: Contemplation

.

.

a.p.o.v

Insistent knocking tore through my subconscious, rousing me from what had possibly been the worst sleep I'd ever had. I peeled my eyes open, immediately regretting it because of the painful ache that throbbed against my skull. The dreadful sound continued, and as if that wasn't bad enough, my phone began to ring.

Def Leppard belted out from the direction of the front hallway and I groaned.

Def Leppard.

It was Rose.

I pushed some crinkled and creased papers off my lap as I got up from the couch, still wearing what I had been the night before. I put my hand to my forehead, taking my time to get to the door to avoid the nauseating feeling that was sure to appear. My stomach was fairly settled right now; it was my head that was on fire.

When I pulled open the door, Rose snapped her phone shut, giving me a bright smile. I loved her like a sister, but in that moment, I could have slapped her. She looked so…cheery. And I hated it.

I just stared at her, completely unenthused.

"Well didn't we wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" she jested.

"Couch," I corrected, "I woke up on the wrong side of the couch."

I turned around in irritation, padding down the hallway. I propelled myself back onto the sofa, listening as Rose let herself in and started rambling about how it was already past noon and the 'day was wasting'.

The day could waste all it wanted. I didn't really care.

"Why were you sleeping on the couch?" she asked, "And what the hell happened? Did your mail explode or something? Why is it everywhere?"

"Why are you talking so much?" I retorted. "My brain is going to pound out of my skull, Rose, just – shut up…please."

I felt the couch dip near my belly as Rose sat, affectionately rubbing her hand over my back. "Honey, did something happen?" she asked, her voice softer, "between you and Felix?" I shook my head in the negative and she sighed, "Then what's wrong? You're extremely…hostile." I lifted my head to glare at her and she added with a smirk, "Well…more so than when you usually drink."

I swallowed thickly as a wave of unease swept through my chest and I laid my head back down. I reached around, fumbling for the papers that had been crumpled between me and the couch the entire night. When I found the offending piece of mail, I handed it to Rose.

It took her all of about five seconds to realize why I was so upset.

"Oh…Alice," she said sympathetically, "your high school reunion?" I nodded exhaustedly and she breathed, "Wow."

"I know," I mumbled into the couch.

The silence was delightful for a few minutes until Rose cleared her throat, "M-maybe…he won't be there?" I frowned at the mere mention of him and burrowed my face into the couch. "What are you going to do, Alice, just not go? What about all the other people you were friends with?" I shrugged without looking up and she chastised my actions, lightly tapping me on the ass.

"It's your twentieth high school reunion," she said plainly, "you have to go."

I tipped my head back, taking in a deep breath before I nodded, "I know, Rose. I just…God, what will I even say? Things ended badly enough; I haven't spoken to him in almost twenty years." I laughed humourlessly at how long it had been and sighed, "Shit, I'm old."

Rose let out an affronted shriek and slapped me hard on the ass.

"Ow!" I yelped.

"Listen, missy, I'm just a year younger than you, and I am not old, so shut it," Rose ordered. I slowly turned myself over to face her and she continued, "And for this reunion thing, you are going to go in there, and you are going to be confident. You are going to be wearing your new Jimmy's and a rockin' outfit, and you are going to own that party. I don't care how many of your ex-boyfriends are stuffed into that room, you will be invincible."

I smirked up at her and said, "God, you give a good pep talk."

She rolled her eyes at my quip, but for some strange reason, I felt a little better.

.

.

After a much needed shower, a change of clothes, and some painkillers, Rose and I went to lunch. We sat out on the patio of a nearby restaurant, nursing our hangovers with greasy food and a diet coke. I paced myself, eating slowly to calm the unwelcome sickness that had formed in the pit of my stomach. I pushed my food around my plate, staring absently at the table as Rose attempted to rope me into a conversation.

I responded with a few small nods and the occasional word when it was necessary. But the more she went on and on about everything, the more aggravated I became. I couldn't pinpoint why I was so incredibly irritated, but I just...was.

I was not in the mood to deal with anything.

"Uh...Alice?" Rose said hesitantly.

"What?" I snapped back.

She furrowed her brow in confusion and retorted, "What's your problem?"

I let out a resigned sigh and muttered, "I...I don't know. Just...everything, I guess." Rose's face was impartial as I spoke, her eyes questioning. "I'm sick and tired of...this," I gestured around to nothing in particular and clarified, "life. Every day is so monotonous, Rose...the same. Nothing ever changes for me."

I brushed my bangs from my eyes and said, "I'm almost forty years old...and what do I have to show for it?"

Rose cocked her head in thought, looking away. She pushed her plate to the side, leaning forward with her elbows on the table as her eyes lifted to mine. "Where is this all coming from, Alice?" she asked softly.

I shrugged, "I'm not sure...I've just been thinking about it, though. I mean, you...you have your life, Rose. You have a great job, a husband – you're trying to start a family." I paused as I bit my lip and muttered, "I can't even keep a boyfriend long enough to consider an anniversary present."

I looked over at Rose, my eyes stinging with stupid tears. "I just feel like I'm stuck in a rut," I said in a shaky breath, "I need...change; something different."

Rose gave me a comforting smile and reached over to put her hand on mine. "Honey...you're not stuck in a rut," she assured, "and you know why you won't keep a man in your life...it's so he won't hurt you. But I agree that you do need change, Alice..." she trailed off and squeezed my hand, whispering, "You have to go to the reunion. Get out of New York for a few days, go back to Seattle...visit with your old friends."

I swallowed uneasily at the thought of returning to Seattle after so many years, but Rose continued, "And more than anything, Alice, I want you to talk to him. Go have fun...but please, for your sake, confront him. If you're ever going to let anyone in, you have to let go of what he did to you."

"But-"

"No," Rose cut me off insistently, "no way. You know this is what you have to do...so do it."

I gave her a small nod because I knew she was right. It was the pain in my chest that was holding me back.

.

.

To cheer me up and 'boost my confidence', Rose took me out to buy new shoes. She paid for an obscenely expensive pair of Jimmy Choo's that I absolutely fell in love with, claiming that they were my birthday and Christmas presents for the next few years. I laughed at how she made the purchase such a big deal but I knew she was just teasing me. As both she and Emmett had a more than substantial income between the two of them, I knew she could afford it.

After a few hours of therapeutic shopping, I felt lousy and lethargic. The hangover was still plaguing me, making me more tired than usual on a Saturday evening. I parted ways with Rose around dinner time and made plans to meet with her for lunch one day next week.

Returning home to my empty apartment held a certain despondency to it. While it was peaceful to enjoy the blissful silence, to give my head a break, it was incredibly depressing that I wasn't coming home to more; it truly hit me that I had been missing out on so much.

I was too guarded to really let anyone in my life.

I locked the door behind me and set my shopping bags down on the floor in the front hall, flicking on lights as I went. I headed into the kitchen to cook something for dinner, opting for a chicken salad; something quick and easy.

While the chicken was cooking, I ventured out into the living room. Papers were strewn out across the coffee table and carpet, and I realized belatedly that I hadn't even cleaned up the mail. Gathering all the useless junk mail, I tossed it into the garbage. I set the important bills in their proper place next to the telephone in the kitchen, leaving only one letter unspoken for.

I sat down at the dining room table with the invitation, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to read the details.

The reunion was scheduled two months from now in Seattle, at a high-end hotel called the Fairmont. The event was three days in total; first a night of cocktails, followed by an evening dinner, then a Sunday brunch. The invitation came complete with a three-page questionnaire, asking fairly straightforward questions about my life since high school.

After a moment of consideration, I began to fill it out. I made dinner in between answering questions, carefully wording my responses for reasons I couldn't understand. I replayed the last twenty years in my head, going over my accomplishments and the things I had experienced since leaving high school.

By the time I got to the end, I felt significantly better. Recalling the things I had done in my life made me feel stronger...empowered.

"Okay," I mumbled to myself, "last question." My eyes scanned the page and I began reading aloud, "What is your..."

...marital status.

I pursed my lips, tapping the pen against the table. Of course it would ask me whether or not I had a husband and kids. As if the fact that I had neither wasn't painfully apparent enough. I sat up straighter, grinding the pen hard against the page as I wrote the word 'SINGLE' in capital letters, filling up the entire space.

I folded the questionnaire, tucking it back into the envelope it came in. I set it off to the side and took a deep breath, still having mixed feelings about the whole idea of my high school reunion. I knew I just had to go in there with a strong spirit and face my past, no matter how much it made my heart race in anxiety.

If for nothing else, I had to do it for me.