Pretty Melissa

Melissa stared at her reflection in the dark television screen. The woman looking back at her was beautiful.

Objectively beautiful.

Blond hair tied up showing off her long neck. Large brown eyes. Full lips. Perfect skin. Every angle carefully curated through years of effort and discipline. Thousands of hours. Thousands of dollars. Dieticians. Trainers. Stylists. Surgeons.

The Transformation.

That was what she always called it in her head. Not a makeover. Not self-improvement.

The Transformation.

Capital letters required. Because it had changed everything. Or at least it was supposed to have.

A sigh escaped her as she curled deeper into the corner of the couch. Saturday night. Alone.

Again.

The takeout container sitting on the coffee table had long since gone cold. A romantic comedy had played quietly on the television, abandoned halfway through because Melissa had stopped paying attention nearly an hour ago.

Tom had cancelled at six-thirty. A text message.

TOM: Movie night with the guys. Sorry babe. Rain check?

Three sentences. Nine words of explanation. The entire evening erased.

Melissa picked up her phone. No new messages. Not that she expected any. Tom was busy. Tom always seemed to be busy when it came to her.

A familiar ache settled into her chest. The worst part wasn't even the cancellation. It was how predictable it had become. Dinner plans cancelled. Weekends shortened. Date nights postponed. Promises forgotten. Every single time, Melissa found herself saying the same thing.

"No worries."

"It's okay."

"Have fun."

Because what else was she supposed to say? Complaining never worked. Being upset only made Tom irritated. And irritated Tom was worse than absent Tom. The thought made her wince. That probably wasn't healthy.

A smarter woman would've recognized that immediately.

Melissa certainly did.

Unfortunately, recognizing a problem and solving it were two entirely different things. The irony wasn't lost on her. A small laugh escaped.

If her coworkers could see her now, they'd probably be shocked. Sweet Melissa. Scatterbrained Melissa. The woman who always needed help with the office printer. The woman who asked people to explain spreadsheet functions she already knew. The woman who pretended not to understand things so other people could feel useful.

The act had become second nature years ago. Nobody liked the real Melissa. Not the girl who graduated high school at sixteen. Not the teenager who finished university before she had entered her twenties. Not the young woman who could dismantle a legal argument in five minutes and explain exactly why it failed.

People liked Pretty Melissa. Pretty Melissa smiled. Pretty Melissa laughed. Pretty Melissa needed help reaching things on high shelves. Pretty Melissa made people feel smart.

And people liked feeling smart.

The old Melissa had learned that lesson early. The old Melissa had eaten lunch alone. The old Melissa had been mocked.

Ignored.

Excluded.

Forgotten.

The old Melissa had been brilliant.

The old Melissa had been lonely.

Her gaze drifted toward a framed photograph sitting on a bookshelf. Mom and Dad. The picture had been taken during a camping trip years ago. Both of them smiling. Both of them happy. Both gone.

The inheritance they'd left behind could've funded a very different life. A mansion. Luxury cars. Private clubs. Vacations.

Instead Melissa lived in a modest apartment and worked a perfectly ordinary job. Most people assumed she needed the paycheque. The truth was that she hadn't needed a paycheque in years. Work wasn't about money.Work was about normalcy.

Normal people worked. Normal people worried about rent. Normal people had ordinary lives. Normal people weren't lonely geniuses sitting alone in giant empty houses. At least that was what she'd told herself.

Her phone lit up suddenly. Melissa's heart jumped.

Tom.

Immediately she grabbed it. The message was short.

TOM: Movie sucks.

One corner of her mouth lifted. Then another message arrived.

TOM: Might head to O'Malley's after.

The smile faded. No invitation. No "want to come?" No "wish you were here." Just information. A status update.

Melissa stared at the screen. Part of her wanted to be hurt. Another part immediately rushed to Tom's defence.

Maybe he assumed she was tired. Maybe he didn't want her out late. Maybe he thought she'd already settled in for the night.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

The excuses arrived so quickly she barely noticed herself making them. A familiar knot formed in her stomach. Last weekend, he'd flirted with a waitress for nearly twenty minutes. Melissa had hated it. Every second. The way he'd smiled. The way he'd leaned across the table. The way he'd laughed at jokes that weren't funny. When she'd finally mentioned it afterward, Tom had rolled his eyes.

"Relax. It's harmless."

And maybe it was. Maybe she really was too sensitive. Maybe she should stop making such a big deal out of things. Maybe she should be easier.

Prettier.

More fun.

Less needy.

Less emotional.

A better girlfriend.

The thought settled over her like a blanket. Because if Tom didn't love her the way she loved him, then surely that meant she wasn't enough. Right? Otherwise why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't someone as wonderful as Tom love her back the same way?

Melissa tucked her feet beneath her and stared at the dark television screen again. The reflection looking back appeared confident. Beautiful. Successful. The kind of woman other women envied. The kind of woman men noticed when she entered a room. The kind of woman who seemed to have everything figured out.

Nobody looking at her would guess the truth. Nobody would guess that beneath the expensive hair colour and perfect makeup and carefully crafted smile lived a frightened little girl who still expected rejection every time somebody got close. Nobody would guess that one cancelled date night could make her wonder whether she deserved to be loved at all.

Outside, headlights drifted across the ceiling as a car passed. Melissa watched the light fade.

Then she reached for her phone again. Not to text Tom. Just to see if he'd texted her first.

He hadn't.

Still, she kept checking.

Just in case.