My reflection said otherwise.
The black cocktail dress was too "trying hard." The nice jeans and silk blouse said, "I gave up halfway through getting ready." The floral skirt I'd bought last summer made me look like I was auditioning for a role in a romantic comedy about a quirky bookshop owner, which wasn't entirely off-brand but felt wrong for tonight.
Everything felt like a costume. Everything felt like a lie I was trying to sell to people who'd known me when I was seventeen and thought I had my whole life figured out.
"It's just a reunion," I muttered, shoving hangers aside with increasing desperation. "Just a room full of people you haven't seen in fifteen years, judging your life choices while drinking bad wine. No big deal."
My phone buzzed from somewhere beneath the pile of rejected clothing. I dug it out.
Beth
You're spiraling again, aren't you?
Charlotte
I'm not. I'm getting dressed.
Beth
You've been "getting dressed" for two hours. You’re hesitating.
Charlotte
How do you know how long I've been getting dressed?
Beth
Because I know you. Also, you texted me a picture of the black dress at 5:15 and it's now 7:02. Math.
I groaned and tossed the phone onto the bed, then reached into the very back of the closet where the clothes I never wore lived in exile. My fingers brushed against something soft, familiar. I pulled it out.
A forest green wrap dress, the color of pine needles in winter. I'd bought it on a whim two years ago, worn it exactly once toa friend's wedding, and then forgotten about it. It wasn't flashy or sophisticated or trying to prove anything. It was just... nice. Simple. The kind of dress that felt like me, or at least like a version of me I still recognized. It was the dress Beth mentioned.
I slipped it on, tied the sash at my waist, and looked in the mirror.
"Not terrible," I admitted. The cut was flattering without being tight, the color brought out something in my eyes, and the sleeves hit at just the right place on my arms. I let my hair down, its honey-brown waves with their threads of silver I'd stopped bothering to dye contrasted nicely with the green. I added a swipe of mascara and some lip balm.
I looked like myself. That would have to be enough.
My phone buzzed again.
Beth
I'm outside. The chariot awaits. If you're not out in three minutes I'm coming in there and physically dragging you to this thing.
Charlotte
That’s aggressive.
Beth
I prefer "motivated." Move it, Huston.
Beth was leaning against her sensible sedan when I walked out, already shaking her head in what I hoped was approval. She was wearing a deep red blouse and black pants, her dark hair twisted up in an effortless knot that had probably taken her thirty seconds to achieve. Some people were just unfairly good at being put together.
"You look great," she said, giving me a once-over. "Green's your color. Very 'mysterious forest nymph with secrets.'"
"That's the vibe I was going for. Mysterious. Secretive. Possibly lives in a tree."
