No Romeo Story

Chapter Seventeen// The Blonde

Emily's Point of View

Molly fell in love at the age of six. It was adorable really, little Hugo Morris in his dashing blue blazer on the first day of second grade. Their huge brown eyes locked over arts and crafts third period and the rest was history.

Well at least that's how she recalls it.

So when I tell Molly about my night with Blake- in all honesty, it is more like me singing in almost mental hysteria- she had already done the deed about twenty times. Nonetheless, she beams as wide as her slim face will allow her.

"Ok, I don't think I have ever seen you this happy. What is his secret?"

"Only he knows that. I wish I knew to be honest, he just leaves me wanting more."

On my desk my phone lies, I text Blake how amazing I thought last night had been.

Molly goes up to my window and lifts the white frame. Fresh air dances into the room. "This is how he escaped?" She asks.

"No, he walked down the stairs, naked, said hi to my mom and took a cup of coffee before leaving through the front door. Yes, he went out of the window." My voice rings to all four corners of the room. Molly's face is priceless.

"Ok then. I like the person you have become but maybe tone down on the sarcasm missy."

"Hey! You can't call me that anymore." I strut from one side to the other. "I am a women now." I flip my hair simultaneously batting my mascara- yet black- lashes.

"Well then, my lady," Molly squeaks a laugh, or a snort, either way she is smiling. "I am just so glad you are happy."

"Me too."

Mom walks in two seconds later. In all of the excitment of retelling my night to Molly, I had carelessly left the door open a fraction too much. Luckily Blake's name had not been mentioned for the past few minutes ensuring she had not heard the name which would get me kicked out of my own room.

"You girls doing ok?"

"Mom, we're not kids anymore." I say.

"Yeah, Emily's a women now." Molly finds her comment hillarious. The corner of my lips rise in acknowledgment.

"Oh, ok then." The expression on my mother's face alters. She places my clothes she had ironed on my desk chair then repositions her hands to fit upon her hips. "If you are so grown up now, you would like to take on the responsability of arranging the flowers for your sister's memorial service."

"I would love to do it." I look over my shoulder to Molly who plays with the ends of her hair masking a grin.

"Great. My appointment with the florist is today at one. Could you both manage going across town to choose a suitable arrangement? I was considering a theme of blue and yellow, keep it as far away from typical funeral colours and bring a more vibrant, happy appeal."

"Emily knows how to do happy." Molly can't keep her mouth shut. This time I don't show her the satisfaction of a smile. But my mom does. She backs out of the room with a quiet nod.

"Do you want to shut up?"

"Do you want me to tell you more about Blake?"

"Ok I'll shut up."

Maybe I told her too much. How am I supposed to know how much information is acceptable to tell your best friend on the first time? When her time had come about I found out three weeks later and she remained sheepishly silent about it, that was until the fifth time and she wouldn't stop talking about it.