I glance back at Reb to see her laughing.
“Let’s get into the private room in the back,” Felicia says. “And get you a glass of wine.”
Coward that I am, I follow her without a second look back.
chaptereleven
Felicia leadsus into a room that’s laid out like the ones you see in those bridal shows with one area curtained off and several cushy chairs. There’s a rack on one side already laden with clothes. It’s overflowing with silks, satins, and chiffons.
“What’ll you have?” She asks, heading toward a tray.
“Oh, I don’t need w-w-wine,” I say.
“Loretta and I have already picked some things out for you to try,” she says, gesturing to what must be two dozen outfits, dresses, and gowns, hand still hovering near the bar cart along the far wall.
Thea claps her hands when she sees them. “What fun! You’ll be like her fairy godmother!”
Loretta gives her a conspiratorial wink. “I know, right?”
“I don’t know that I’d say ‘fairy godmother’,” I say, putting air quotes around the word. “Fairy godmother implies a lack of agency on my part. Do I really need a—”
“Yes,” all three women say before I can finish the sentence.
I make a noise that sounds more suspicious than I mean it to.
Felicia tips her head, looking at me cautiously. “Why do you keep pushing back on this? Most women would be thrilled to have a few smart, savvy friends give her a makeover.”
I look at each of them. I don’t point out the most obvious problem with Felicia’s statement. Why am I pushing back?
Skepticism, yes, but maybe a little resentment as well.
Eventually, I shrug, thinking of the way Keegan came to my defense the other day at lunch, of how nice it was to hear him tell me that I don’t need to change anything. That I look good the way I am. “I guess I just didn’t think the way I looked was so bad before.”
Loretta and Felicia both make vague noises clearly meant to placate my ego; only Thea gives serious thought to my comment. She clucks her tongue sympathetically, before saying, “My dear, there was nothing wrong with the way you looked—”
“You called my clothes potato sacks. M-m-multiple times.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “But there’s nothing wrong with wearing a potato sack if that’s what you want to wear. If you are at peace with every aspect of your life, by all means, wear whatever you want. But if you are not happy with the track you’re on, you must change something. Clothes and hair are easy to change, so why not start there?”
“Because I like the way I looked before.”
“No, my dear,” Thea says. “You were comfortable the way you looked before. You never thought about your appearance or your clothes long enough to like or dislike them.”
I open my mouth to protest, but snap it shut again when I realize she’s right.
“There is nothing wrong with the way you dressed before, but it’s not the way Sasha would dress.”
“Sasha?” Loretta asks.
I give myself a mental slap on the forehead for forgetting that they don’t know all the details of this weird plan. Thea quickly explains about my stutter, the presentation, and the reason I’m creating this persona. I stand there in silence, cringing the whole time, because, let’s face it, the fact that I need to go to these ends to make a presentation sounds pathetic.
When Thea finishes the explanation, Felicia makes cooing, sympathetic sounds, but Loretta just studies me, her expression thoughtful.
“I guess that explains why you’ve always been so quiet around me and Johnny.”
It takes me a moment to realize Johnny is Jonathon McQuade, Keegan’s father. Aka, the single most intimidating man I’ve ever met.
Despite all my Ms. Piggy-inspired karate-chopping of pillows the other night, Jonathon McQuade scares the pee out of me.
