“Well, open it,” she prompts. “Turn on the camera so I can see.”
I do as she requests, switching to a video call and propping the phone up on the table so that she can see the box. Carefully, I undo the tape that’s holding the pieces together and lift the top away. Inside, there’s a lot of crepe paper. I push it aside to reveal a folded gown.
Holding it gently, I ease it from its resting place. It’s beautiful. A dark shade of blue, it sparkles with a kind of pearl-like shimmer, as if the entire thing is made of precious minerals. At the bottom of the box, I find a pair of matching shoes and an even smaller box.
Rebecca is shouting something, but I can’t hear her over the rush of blood in my head. I know exactly who this is from. I don’t need to read the card. Francisco has just spent a fortune on a dress for me, even though I was hoping not to attend the party at all. I’m trying to calculate the exact dollar amount he dropped on the sumptuous dress, but I can’t. It’s probably more than my rent.
“Try it on!” Rebecca screams.
Finally, I hear her, replacing the dress in the box. “I can’t.”
“You have to,” she demands.
“I can’t,” I repeat. “This is too much. I was going to try to get out of this party altogether.”
“Well, you can’t now,” Rebecca replies with a laugh.
“You have to help me,” I plead, turning my back on the dress and the mysterious little box that I’m sure holds something far more expensive. “I don’t want to go. You have to help me get out of it.”
“Oh no,” Rebecca says. “When a man buys you something like that, you have to at least show up.”
I moan, sitting down beside the gift. “What am I going to do?”
“Hang on,” Rebecca says, taking pity on me. “I’m coming over.”
In the short half hour it takes my best friend to drive to my place, I haven’t moved. I just keep looking at the dress, wondering how I’m going to return it. I don’t have the heart to try it on, and I don’t have the courage to look at the contents of the smaller box.
Thankfully, Rebecca isn’t as shy. She barges into my apartment, swinging her purse onto the kitchen counter.
“Where’s that dress?” she proclaims, spying it on the couch. With expert hands, she smooths the crepe paper away and dangles the dress in front of me. “Go try it on,” she insists.
I don’t want to, but I feel like refusing would be petulant. So I grab the thing and march into my bedroom. It fits like a glove, as if it was made specifically for me. I wonder how the hell Francisco got my measurements so perfectly. He must be paying way more attention to me than I previously thought. And I’m not sure what to do with that information. Part of me is honored, while another part is terrified.
I walk out into the living room to show off the look. Rebecca gasps, clapping her hands together with unabashed joy. “It’s perfect!” she exclaims.
“I know,” I say sadly.
“Oh, you have to go to the party now,” she declares.
“Are you sure?” I whine.
“Try the shoes,” she suggests, holding them out.
I know the shoes are going to fit perfectly. I sit down to slip them on, and I’m not disappointed. Not only are they attractive, but Francisco managed to find a pair of heels that are actually comfortable. Who knew such a thing actually existed?
“Yeah?” Rebecca asks.
“They’re perfect,” I say unhappily.
“What’s this?” she asks, zeroing in on the smaller box.
“I don’t know,” I admit hesitantly. “I haven’t opened it.”
She does the honors and finds a diamond necklace with matching earrings. I’m sure that for the same price, I could buy a luxury car or perhaps a small house. My lip quivers. This is too much.
“Well,” Rebecca says on an exhale. “This guy is really serious.”
“It’s not Frankie,” I whisper.
