“I know, at seven, right?”
“Yes.” He pulls his shirt cuff out of the sleeve and then goes to the next one. “The last time you dressed a little, how should I say this without hurting your feelings? It was a little slutty,” he declares and my eyebrows pinch together. “So how about tonight you dress better?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask him, remembering I wore a one-piece beige dress with little cap sleeves. The front had a pleated skirt and, sure, it was above my knees but slutty is a stretch. It went up to my neck. I didn’t even give off a hint of cleavage. “Joyce said she loved the outfit and went out the next day to buy one for herself.”
He laughs at the statement. “She said that to your face, but in the end, she probably was talking about you to her friends.” I shake my head, looking down at my coffee that looks light brown because I didn’t put much almond milk in there so that I could limit the calories added in it. “How about we go into your closet now and choose an outfit?”
He turns and makes his way into my bedroom and into my closet. He opens one of the closet doors and then the other. He takes out one of my tight beige skirts with a slit on the side and then tosses it to the side. “When did you buy that?” he mentions of the skirt.
“My aunt bought that for me,” I tell him, my aunt Zara owns Zara’s Closet and to this day she sends me clothes once a month that she thinks I would look amazing in. She does it for everyone, but I always look forward to it.
“Figures,” he mumbles, and for the first time ever, tears well up in my eyes. I blink them away as fast as they came before he pulls out a light-pink skirt that is very loose and then walks over to the hanging shirts and pulls out a white silk button-down top. “There, this is perfect, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I agree softly, “it’s very pretty.” He hangs it on the stand in the corner. “What shoes do you want me to wear with it?”
“Nude pumps would work and use the new Hermes bag I bought you.”
“Okay,” I say softly.
He comes over and wraps his arm around my waist. “You’re the best,” he says softly and I look up at him, “and you know we have to put our best foot forward.” I nod. “One of these days I’m going to be the head of the hospital, and I don’t want anyone to have a bad thing to say about my wife.”
“Of course.” I brush away the little piece of lint from his jacket. “I’ll try not to wear any foundation tonight”—I look up at him, eyes searching his—“to make sure I don’t get it on your shirt. You probably didn’t notice it on your shirt last week. You were probably busy and running out.”
“Yeah,” he says and I see his eyes change and then he smiles. “I should get going, I’m going to be late.”
“Have a nice day.” I look up at him and he kisses my lips.
“You know, maybe we should go away,” he suggests. “After you finish with the fundraiser, we should go away to St. Barts or something.”
“That would be nice,” I admit to him and he lets me go and walks out of my closet. I hear his shoes on the tile floor before the garage door shuts.
I exhale deeply and turn to walk out of the bedroom and back to grab my phone to dial my father. He answers after one ring. “Hi, baby girl,” he says softly, “how you doing today?”
“I’m good.” I push down everything and act like I’m fine. “Sorry I missed your call. I was in the shower.”
“No worries, I was just calling to check up on you. The family vacation is not the same without you here.” I close my eyes, trying not to think that I’m missing another family vacation.
“It just didn’t fit into Trent’s schedule, and I’m knee-deep in this fundraiser that’s happening next week. I just couldn’t leave,” I explain. “Is everyone there?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Your sister is here with the twins and one of them is sick, so we’re trying to help her out.”
I smile and the lone tear escapes my eye. “I am going to check and see when I’ll be able to go and visit her.”
“Yeah, she said it’s been a while since she spoke with you.” I know he wants to say more but he’s stopping himself.
“It’s hard with the time zones and stuff, but I’ll make more of an effort,” I assure him. “I have to go get ready so that I can be at the hospital by ten.”
“Okay, sweetheart, I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. Give a kiss to Mom for me.”
“I will,” he says and I quickly hang up the phone. I wish I still had social media so I could see some of the pictures from vacation, but after we got married, Trent thought it was good for us to be off social media.
I walk over to the fridge and take out an egg. I think about making myself a bagel with the poached egg, but then I think of the fundraiser next week and instead grab the bag of spinach.
I pick up the phone as I sit down to eat, bringing up the auction group chat I have going.
Me:
