She snorts. “You say that now. Wait until I make you try on tulle.”
The shop is all glass and the kind of lighting that makes every pore visible. There’s no music, just the soft drag of fabric on rails and the hiss of the steamer in the back. The saleswoman clocks us as soon as we step inside, her smile tense and perfectly white.
“Welcome to Carmichael’s,” the woman says. “Are we looking for something special, or just browsing?”
Mina jumps in. “My friend needs a dress for a work thing. Corporate. Formal, but not boring. No sequins, no body-con, no sad beige.” She jerks a thumb at me.
I shoot her a look, but the woman only smiles wider. “We have a few pieces that might work. Are you comfortable with color, or would you prefer neutral?”
I open my mouth, but Mina cuts me off. “She’s open to color. She’s an autumn, so let’s skip the cream and blush.”
The woman nods, already leading us toward the back. “We have a few selections from Soirée. Very structured, modern lines, some beautiful jewel tones.”
“Perfect,” says Mina, sliding her arm through mine.
As we drift past the racks, the saleswoman keeps up a soothing murmur about designers, materials, structure. Mina plucks at a hanger and holds it up: a long emerald dress with awkward sleeves and an odd neckline.
“Thoughts?”
I try to imagine myself in it. “Pass,” I say. “It’s a little…extreme.”
Mina tosses it back on the rack and keeps going, occasionally making a face at something overly beaded or ruffled.
She stops in front of a dress so red it makes my teeth ache. It’s floor-length, with a high slit, and a neckline engineered for scandal. Mina holds it out.
“This is the one,” she declares.
I nearly drop my coffee. “Absolutely not. I would rather die than walk into a work event dressed like Jessica Rabbit.”
“That’s exactly how you should be walking into a work event,” Mina says, handing the dress to the saleswoman, who looks like she’s trying not to clap. “Let’s grab a few more just to try.”
I end up in a dressing room that smells faintly of citrus cleaner. The walls are mirrored on all sides, so every angle of my body is on display. I try the emerald Mina picked back up first, and it’s still a pass. Next is a violet slip dress that hangs off me, unflattering to the few curves I do have. Mina shoves her way past the curtain and wrinkles her nose.
“That’s a no. You look like a 1990s prom date.”
I almost laugh, but then remember the red dress waiting in the corner.
“Fine,” I say.
I peel off the violet and slide into the red. It’s heavier than I expect. The lining is cool and slick, the fabric sculpting itself to me like a second skin. The slit hits mid-thigh, and the neckline is just this side of indecent. In the mirror, I see a stranger. But Mina’s right. It is striking.
Mina’s voice comes from outside. “Stop admiring yourself, and let me see.”
I open the curtain. Mina is already grinning, arms crossed.
“Holy shit,” she says. “You look like a Bond villain’s mistress.”
“It’s too much,” I say, turning to see if the back is as aggressive as the front.
It is.
“It’s perfect,” she says. “Honestly, if you don’t buy this, I will.”
The saleswoman materializes behind us, her voice gentle. “That color is fantastic on you. It’s classic, but with some modern details.”
Mina waves her off. “We’ll take it,” she says, then pulls me back into the dressing room.
I stand in the mirror a while longer, turning left and right, seeing what the world will see. For a moment, I forget everything else. Just me and the red dress.
