Free Restoring Jordan by Elizabeth Finn

endure.
    Jordan will no doubt be at this dinner, and I’m torn between wanting to see him and fear of seeing him, but it’s been made clear I am expected to go, so whether I’m prepared to deal with the fallout of this afternoon or not I’m just going to have to suck it up. Vera’s given me no real time to prepare, which leaves me to my own devices as far as what to wear, but at least it’s just a dress—any old dress as Vera clarified.
    I choose a fitted dress that falls a few inches above my knee. It’s a midnight blue and strapless. I pair it with silver strappy sandals and hope the weather stays warm enough to get me through the evening. When I hop the ‘L,’ my appearance gets more than a few attentive stares, and as I’m finally let off near enough to my destination, I’m relieved to be away from the crowd. I’m too dressed for the ‘L’ crowd or to be walking the street alone at seven thirty in the evening, but as I enter Architectural Artifacts I realize however overdressed I was for the ‘L,’ I’m in no way dressed for Foster’s. That bitch! Evening gowns and black-tie tuxedos as far as the eye can see greet me upon my entrance, as do the curious eyes of most of Foster’s employees. They look me over, judging and dismissing me as I stand by mortified. Not one woman is dressed in anything that doesn’t sweep the floor, and here I am in a short dress. Fuck!
    It takes no time at all for me to run into Jordan, and when I do he looks me over from twenty or so feet away. He stares uncomfortably. He’s noticed how poorly dressed I am for the occasion, and as his brow furrows when he finishes looking me over, he swallows over a lump in his throat. Moments later, Vera stumbles up to him and places a hand on his arm. She is smiling adoringly, and she is very obviously drunk. She looks nothing like her normal cruel and cold self. She’s flirting, and she’s doing it well. She is dressed in a long, flowing, rusty-brown satin gown. Her hair is back in a chignon at the nape of her neck, and her bangs are swept perfectly to the side. She’s nearly as tall as Jordan, and as I watch them, wanting to look away, I can’t help but think they look perfect together. She’s just as harshly beautiful as he is. I managed nothing more than curling my long, boring locks into loose spirals, and while I pinned the hair around my face back with multiple jeweled pins, it’s hardly dressy and sophisticated—very much like my dress. I may look cute, but I sure as hell don’t look beautiful like the pristine couple in front of me.
    Jordan looks to Vera, and I take the opportunity to disappear in quick retreat. I spend the majority of the evening hiding in a side hallway, coming out only for wine. When Bridget finds me, she drags me from my hiding spot and pulls me to the bar. While it’s a lie, she gushes about my dress and does her best to make me feel like something other than a fish out of water. When people dance as the music begins to play, I count the minutes until I can safely make a run for it without being rude. I don’t want to be here. I’m embarrassed and still recovering from the mortification of my meeting with Mark earlier in the day, and every time a new person eyes my poor choice of a dress, ridiculing me with their gaze, my resolve fades.
    When at last I’ve put in enough of a presence to leave, I’m caught off guard when a hand touches my elbow. I’m standing at the bar sipping my third glass of wine. Bridget left me to dance with a nerdy-looking man named Charles from the accounting department, leaving me awkward and uncomfortable once again, and as warm fingers enclose my elbow in a gentle grip, I turn to find Jordan looking at me. He is beautiful, and I’m once again drawn to his mouth. His lips are parted as his tongue grazes over his bottom lip while he stares at me.
    When I drag my gaze back to his, he demands, “Dance.” He watches me coolly as a warm shudder runs through me.
    “I