“I look forward to it.”
“Me too!” And then I slam the door.
Chapter Twelve
I adjust the webcam, then immediately regret it. What is it about this angle that makes my chin look monstrous? I lean back, tilting the screen down.
Better.
“Will you stop moving the camera!” Viv’s voice fills my bedroom.
Harper is sprawled beside me on the bed, holding two hangers like a judge on Project Runway. On-screen, Viv and Marin wait, respective beverages in hand, judging the lighting and my posture as if this were a high-stakes fashion consult.
“Okay.” Viv waves her fingers, twirling her kombucha in her wine glass. “Spin around. Full twirl, Birdie.”
“I’m not twirling.” I shuffle, pulling at the taut material of Harper’s “flowy” blouse, which is anything but flowing on me. My chest is bulging out. “This isn’t prom. It’s a block party with questionable lukewarm potato salad and HOA drama.”
“Exactly why you need to look incredible.” Marin takes a sip of her herbal tea. “Distract them with a blouse so bold they forget to ask invasive grief questions.”
“Can’t I wear this?” I move toward my signature blackconservative knit sweater. It’s the one I’ve worn for most outings since Owen passed.
“Mom.” Harper lets out an exasperated exhale. “I’d never seen you wear that a day in your life before dad died. It can’t be all you wear now. Time to go back to some color, some life.”
She holds up my silky blue, cropped-sleeve top. “This one’s good. Less ‘recent widow,’ more ‘cool mom who might flirt with the mailman.’”
“Yes.” Viv nods in approval. “That one is so much better than that sad little black thing. We should burn that top.”
I shoot my daughter and Viv a glare but take the blouse anyway. Ducking out of frame, I shimmy into the top and a pair of just-tight-enough jeans. They were Owen’s favorite, and he said they gave me ‘an ass that just won’t quit.’”
“I feel ridiculous.” I waltz through my closet door. “Like I’m playing dress-up for something that’s supposed to be casual.”
Viv leans toward her screen. “It’s not about the clothes. It’s about showing up. That’s the dare. But I am a firm believer that clothes help you show up with more confidence.”
“We’re proud of you!” Marin cheers.
Harper tosses me a pair of silver earrings. “Besides, if you’re reentering society, you might as well look good doing it.”
I laugh despite myself and fasten the earrings, the silver catching the glow of the lamp. I glance back at the screen, where Viv is doing a slow clap and Marin has lifted her pottery mug like she’s toasting royalty.
“Alright, ladies.” I smooth the front of my blouse. “What do you think?”
Viv grins. “Grief’s got nothing on you, girl!”
Marin leans in, squinting like she’s assessing me through a lens. “You’re ready forThriving and Thirtymagazine.”
I snort. “Is that a thing?”
Harper, now curled sideways with a throw pillow under her arm, doesn’t miss a beat. “And will they mind that you’re well past your thirties?”
I toss a pillow at her, which she deflects without blinking, already scrolling through her phone. On screen, Viv and Marin dissolve into laughter.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” I mutter to Harper.
She grins. “What can I say? You gave me good genetics.”
______________
The sun dips behind the trees when I step outside. A warm breeze tugs playfully at my messy bun as Noah’s truck rumbles into my driveway. He climbs out slowly, his blue jeans hugging his ass in a way that might be criminal. Then he leans one elbow on the passenger door, smiling like someone who stepped out of a Dodge commercial.
