They’re ALL there.
Wine.
Bags.
Clothes hangers.
The energy of unmedicated chaos.
“AIR RAID!” Trey shouts, barging in. “RUBY EMERGENCY.”
“This is not an emergency,” I say weakly.
Sienna hands me a glass of wine. “Yes it is.”
Ava kicks the door shut behind her. “Time to dress you for your professional seduction.”
“It’s NOT a seduction,” I snap.
Three identical slow blinks.
Then they all say in eerie unison:
“Sure, babe.”
My bedroom becomes a battlefield.
Sienna flings tops onto the bed. Ava holds up skirts like trophies. Trey judges every shoe I own.
“Too nun,” he says of one. “Too thirsty,” he says of another. “Too ‘I have a mortgage,’” he says of a third.
“I DO have a..."
“Don’t say it,” Ava warns. “Men like him can smell real-world responsibilities.”
“Okay,” Sienna announces, holding up three outfits. “These are the vibes:Competent but kissable, Boss bitch but bangable, and I am not touching you, but you’ll want me to.”
I choke. “THAT THIRD ONE IS NOT A CATEGORY.”
Trey smiles the smile of Satan. “It is now.”
After two hours, fourteen near-arguments, and one existential crisis about my neckline…
They land on:
A fitted blouse in a soft cream shade
Tailored dark trousers that hug everything politely
A delicate necklace that says “I am subtle elegance.”
Hair down, soft waves
Light makeup, glossy lips, nothing too bold
Simple heels (Ava said no boots, Sienna said no stilettos, Trey said no ballet flats)
I stare at myself in the mirror.
