STEVIE
Get your saucy ass back to the club
ME
Hi to you too
STEVIE
I don’t have time for that shit. Sam is gone, and the girls want you back
ME
What? Gone?
STEVIE
She moved back home. We miss you. Please say you’ll come back
I set my phone down. Sam wasn’t the only reason I avoided going back to FrenchSHEs. I was ashamed of my weight. When I worked behind the bar or hosted drag queen brunches on Sundays or sang karaoke, I wore tiny outfits that complemented my tight figure.
Apprehension swirls in my stomach, but there’s a hint of excitement there too. I pick my phone up again and tap out a response.
ME
I’ll think about it
STEVIE
I put you on the schedule for this weekend. See you then, bitch
All night, I toss and turn, unable to put thoughts of my body and how different I look out of my mind. Eventually my thoughtswander to Ezra and how incredible he makes me feel. Logically I believe beauty comes from within, but when a person suffers from body dysmorphia, that cliché is a load of horseshit. One day I’m disgusted with my body, and the next I feel like a total bombshell. Sometimes the roller-coaster ride of confidence and impostor syndrome is too much to bear. But when I’m with Ezra, the ride is less roller coaster and more like riding It’s a Small World at Disney—slightly annoying, but steady and smooth, so I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up. He worships my body in ways I never imagined anyone could. And when I don’t love my body, he loves it enough for me.
The day before I return to FrenchSHEs, Claire joins me for a shopping spree. When she arrives, she’s flustered, and her wet hair is pulled into a topknot. We met through Joey and became fast friends, but between her schedule and mine, we rarely see one another.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a last-minute patient thrown in my schedule,” she huffs when she hugs me.
“That reminds me,” I say after she’s updated me on what’s going on at work. “Did you ever talk to my brother?”
“I did.” She pulls a bobby pin from the pocket of her overalls and uses it to secure the bangs that keep falling over the gold frames of her glasses.
“And? Are you considering the position?”
She lifts one shoulder. “The offer was very kind. But I haven’t been working for Dr. Edwards very long. I can’t quit on him.”
We fall into a rhythm where I hold up an outfit and Claire either nods in approval or scrunches up her nose.
“Oh my god,” she shrieks one aisle over. “This one.This one.” She pulls a silver sequined catsuit from the rack and drags me by the arm to the dressing room.
“It’s never going to fit,” I whine when I catch sight of the size.
With a lip stuck out, she pouts, much like my niece does when she’s trying to get her way.
“Fine.” I close the curtain, being sure to throw extra angst into the move.
While I stand in the middle of the small fitting room, hands on my hips, the spectacular jumpsuit taunts me from the hanger.You know you want me.
I do. I really, really do. But I cannot get stuck in my clothing in a dressing room again.
