“How long have you known him?” Riley asked. Maybe Wilhelm held the key to the Sesame-Beth mystery.
“Four days. Isn’t he just the best?”
Riley blinked. “You’ve known him less than a week, and you trust him? After everything you’ve been through?”
“When purposes are aligned, what’s not to trust?” Sesame asked. “Wilhelm and I both understand that how we look on the outside is the first impression we make on the world. You’re telling your audience who you are before you even open your mouth. So when you show up to yoga class with your boyfriend’s mother in a gigantic T-shirt and holey leggings, what do you think you’re saying?”
Riley winced. “Uh. That I’m low maintenance and need to do laundry?”
Sesame held up her hands. “If that’s how you want to be defined by the world, then by all means, be proud of it.”
“It’s not that simple,” Riley argued.
“Why isn’t it that simple?” Jasmine asked. She held up her empty flute, and the stylish sales associate scampered into the back room.
Riley took another look at her reflection. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that there are extenuating circumstances to looking good.”
“Like what?” Sesame prodded.
“Like circumstances that a woman who travels in a limo and one whose leather briefcase cost more than my mortgage payment will never understand,” she said.
“I think she might be talking about us,” Sesame whispered.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “You think? Seriously, Riley. Talk to us. What’s this about?”
Riley flopped down into a wicker chair outside the dressing room. “I was broke. Okay? When Griffin and I got divorced, I had to pay him money for breaking his stupid nose. I lost my job, my home, my car. All because I bet on the wrong guy. So maybe buying a fifty-dollar sweater is nothing to an attorney with a hella-sweet condo and an entrepreneur with great shoes. But it’s all still fresh to me.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Jasmine said, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”
Riley blinked. “Excuse me?”
In a show of impressive muscle, Jasmine spun her and the chair around so Riley was facing the mirror. “You forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?” Sesame asked, popping up over Riley’s other shoulder.
“That you are Riley Fucking Thorn—sidebar: if that’s your real middle name, I’m going to be so happy—and Riley Fucking Thorn takes care of herself. You did what you had to do to get yourself out of a bad marriage and start over. You supported yourself proofreading toilets and ate Cup O’ Noodles like a plucky orphan Annie, and you rose above.”
“So inspiring,” Sesame whispered.
“I proofed bathroom divider schematics, not toilets,” Riley insisted.
“Whatever. My point is you are Riley Fucking Thorn, and you are never going back there again. You’re smart, you’re brave, you’re hard-working, you’re loyal, and that shirt makes your boobs and your ass look amazing. Start recognizing that you’re a badass and treat yourself.”
“And even if this psychic thing doesn’t work out for you, you’ll find something else,” Sesame said.
“It’s not really a gig,” Riley said.
“Well, I’m sure it could be if you worked at it,” she said supportively.
“So what do you say, slugger?” Jasmine asked, throwing her arm around Riley’s shoulders. “Are you ready to recognize that you’re more than a broke, depressed divorcée who’s afraid of how awesome she really is?”
“I hope she says yes,” Sesame whispered.
Not seeing a way out of it, Riley pasted a smile on her face. “Yes.” Whether they were aware of it or not, Jasmine and Sesame had just shined a light on a problem she’d yet to recognize. One she needed to deal with sooner rather than later.
“Good girl. Now bring it in,” Jasmine said.
Sesame squealed. “Are we group hugging? I haven’t group hugged in so long!”
