“Hmm, I kind of see what you mean, yes. You know what would be perfect with it?”
“Obviously not, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” I mumble cynically.
“Remember that black dress you had at Harvard? The one with the lace?” It doesn’t take long for my brain to picture exactly what she means. Oh, she’s good. She’sreallygood.
Leaving the phone where it is, I sprint to a closet on the other end of the dressing room. There, I hoard the clothes I probably won’t ever wear again but refuse to give away. It takes a full minute for me to find the black lace dress—settled on a hanger inside protective plastic wrap. I’m pulling the zipper down as I return to the phone. Thanks to a freshening sheet in there, the dress smells flowery and clean when I take it out.
“Oh my, it’ll be so perfect,” Hana excitedly says from the other end of our call.
“I hope it still fits.”
“Bitch please, you look as good as when I met you eight years ago.”
I grimace, thinking of how my mother would disagree with that one. My hands are slightly trembling with anticipation as I hold the first part of the dress down and step into it. It comes up easily, and the zipper barely resists.
“God, you look so sexy,” Hana supportively approves.
The silk under-dress is way too bold and, yes, definitely sexy. The strapless bodycon barely covers anything, with a sweetheart neckline that hugs my breasts together tightly and a skirt that ends high on my thighs. It’s tighter than I remember, but it isn’t too constricting.
I pick up the lacy second half of the dress and slip it on from the top, then slide my arms into the sheer long sleeves as it comes down.
This time, the zipper that goes from my lower back to my nape resists a little more. I adjust everything and step to the side to observe myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. I was right to think my best friend would solve everything.
The lacy part of the dress is more reasonable, with a round collar tight around my neck, sleeves that reach my wrists, and a skirt that goes just below my knees. The design of the lace is beautifully intricate, delicate, and very, very sheer, exposing the skimpy under-dress in an elegant manner. The whole thing is skintight, and I know without a doubt that Jake will love it. His tongue might even roll out like that Tex Avery wolf.
“Try it with the jacket!” Hana demands. I don’t need to be told twice.
I grab the beautiful leather garment and put it on, making sure none of the rivets or zippers get hooked into the lace. Once it’s settled on my shoulders, I admire the perfect result.
“Forget Jake, I’m the one taking you out on a date,” Hana jokes.
I smile at the phone, adjusting my wavy hair to perfect the look. Whatever Jake has planned for us tonight might end up being shorter than intended.
Lucas begins to stir at Hana’s side, so while she’s busy soothing him, I walk up to my wall of shoes and grab a pair of shiny black Louboutins. “I hope he’s not picking you up on his bike,” she points out.
“I’m meeting him at his place. He offered to pick me up, but since he planned something in Brooklyn, I thought it would be simpler to go to him.”
“Smart. Then you guys can take an Uber to wherever.”
“Exactly.”
The dainty gold watch on my wrist informs me that I have less than ten minutes left before the ride I scheduled arrives. “Can you think of anything I can improve?” I ask Hana, twisting around to inspect my back in the mirror.
“No, I really like it. You can’t wear a necklace with this dress, and those studs are perfect.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile, reaching up for the earrings my brother got me last week.
She must notice how my hands slightly tremble because she asks, “Are you stressed, hun?”
“A little. I really,reallywant this to work out. But I’m also aware that I’m putting a lot on the line. My parents will never approve of him, and it’ll make everything with them so much more complicated.”
She sighs, momentarily looking away as she tries to figure out what to say. “My parents really didn’t like Tyrone at first, remember?”
I nod, aware of that. It was hard on Hana, and she was a mess for months. Her parents wanted a nice Korean man for her, with a well-paying job and prospects. Seeing their daughter end up with a struggling artist wasn’t in their plans. They began warming up to him when he had his breakthrough, thanks to Constance, who recognized his immense talent and exhibited his photographs in her gallery. Now, they know that their daughter is the happiest she’s ever been, with the love of her life by her side and their baby boy.
“He grew on them eventually,” she reminds me. “And he isn’t as charming and social as Jake. No, my awkward introvert of a man still won my parents over. I’m not worried that Jake won’t do the same.”
With all my heart, I want to believe her. My parents, while strict and prejudiced, can be reasoned with, I think. And the ease with which Jake made his way into my heart proves how good he is at winning people over.
