Sucking up to our clients. I’ll tell you about it later. How’s Nan?
The next message from Kara is a selfie of the two of them at Nan’s kitchen table, both their faces scrunched in big grins. Myheart aches with how far away they are. Not that Noah hasn’t been an excellent distraction, but I miss them.
Kara
She’s great. We’ve been watching Golden Girls. She half has me convinced to move in with her and Henrietta.
Lottie
Good god, that’s a combination no one needs.
Kara
She misses you though. FT later?
Lottie
Can’t—big dinner tonight. Maybe tomorrow?
Kara
Sounds good. Send me the final look I have to know if he makes you into a “very cute moose.”
After five hours of Darrin’s silent prompts to move my head or close my eyes and Cheryl’s chatter while I’m primped and preened, I’m standing in her massive closet and staring at the hundreds of dresses lining the walls.
“It’s obnoxious, isn’t it?” she says, breezing past me and running her fingers along one line of them. “I should donate them, or at least hand them off to Trinity, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. Each one holds a special memory, and the thought of passing them along makes me sad.”
“That doesn’t seemsoobnoxious,” I say, remembering the conversation I had with Noah the other night. Her exuberanceand collection of nice things doesn’t irk me so much now that I know equal efforts go into sharing her wealth.
“You’re too kind. Now, let’s find you some shoes.”
I follow her to the back wall and she turns a corner to reveal floor to ceiling shelves full of shoes. From flats to platforms, Cheryl seems to have collected every conceivable pair in every color known to man.
“Holy shit,” I say, forgetting my company.
Cheryl doesn’t seem to mind the curse and runs a finger along the edge, scanning them for a pair that will match the emerald dress hanging in the other room. Her fingers stop on a cube displaying a pair of sleek black pumps with spindly stilettos at least four inches long. I’m shaking my head before she turns to me.
“I don’t think I can?—“
“Nonsense, they are perfect for your dress. Here, try them on.” She pulls them down and presses them into my hands.
I don’t wear heels. Not only do they intimidate the hell out of me, I know I am too clumsy to wear them. Last time Nan convinced me to wear a heel that was only half the height of these, I fell flat on my face. Twice. Her bingo buddies haven’t let me forget it. For months it’s all they could talk about any time I would make an appearance at her card table. Faceplant Vanna White they called me.
Hoping they won’t fit, I sink onto the bench in the closet and make to try them on. Unfortunately, my foot slips along the sole of the shoe with ease, the soft leather hugging the ball of my foot perfectly. God dammit.
“Do they fit?” The hope in Cheryl’s voice is palpable, and I paste on a smile.
“They sure do.”
She claps her hands and twirls back into the main part of the closet. “Perfect,” she sings. “They are too perfect.”
Fucking perfect indeed. I slip the shoe off and hold the pair by their backs, following my much too gracious host back out into her bedroom.
“We should change,” she says, noting her watch. “The boys will be waiting on us, and heaven knows Tom doesn’t need to break out the scotch before we get to dinner. You can use the bathroom. Go on.” She shoves my garment bag into my arm and waves me towards the door on the other side of her massive bedroom.
I stand for a few moments, clutching the dress and staring at my reflection in the mirror. Darrin worked wonders, but for a business dinner, I’m overdone. My hair is smoothed into a low chignon, with a few loose curls left to frame my face and my makeup is simple and clean, save for the bold red lip.
Knowing Cheryl will be prompting me out sooner than later, I dress quickly. To my surprise, the dress fits better than I remember, and to my dismay, the shoes do in fact match it perfectly.
