December 2018
Leominster, MA, USA
When Ariana invited me to spend Christmas with them, I couldn't say no. She's like a sister to me and the only family I have left. Now that I'm finally debt-free again, I can visit my best friend without guilt.
Besides, Ian and I have decided to meet. After daily online dating, it's time to see if our spark, carefully tended to for the past few weeks, can turn into a wholesome fire.
More than anything, though, I'm glad to return home.
Ariana and Brady's giant bedroom looks like a tornado has whipped through it at high speed, strewing dresses everywhere. I hate all this fuss. If it were up to me, I'd wear stretchy polyester hiking pants and a semi-formal cotton shirt like I do every other day of the week.
It's not like I'm trying to impress a stranger—Ian and I knew each other for three years in college. Yet here I am, worried about impressing him like some kind of major-league donut.
After an hour, I choose a dress where Ariana gasps and her eyes light up like the family Christmas tree. "Holy fuck! That's the one!"
"Ya think?" I ask, twisting at different angles in the mirror.
"That dress will kill him." Her voice is muffled by her hands, both of which are covering her mouth in glee. "It will slay him. Bury him six feet under. And reincarnate him as a zombie."
Through the mirror, I pull a full-face grimace. "Is that a good thing?"
"No, it's a fucking amazing thing."
"Are you sure it isn't too much?" I hike up the bodice half an inch. "Is it too revealing?"
"Only if you're Amish."
"I'm serious. I don't want to look like a floozy."
"Whaddya think this is?" She scoffs. "We aren't dressing for your grandma's Christmas party, may she rest in peace. This is Ian we're trying to impress."
"He's pretty conservative." When I swallow, it feels like razor blades. "It might scare him away."
"Vee, shut the fuck up!" She sighs in frustration. "First, conservative guys are wound up so tight that they're the most horniest fucks on the planet. Second, you ain't going anywhere unless that dress is on your fabulous curves. End of statement."
A faint blush crosses my cheeks. It's been a long time since I've considered myself pretty or cute, much less fabulous.
It wasn't that Marcus made me feel inadequate per se. But I could infer from random bits and pieces that he preferred tall, blonde equestrian types who dressed with style and moved with grace.
Women like Helena.
Women like his ex.
Not that I could fault him for clinging to the past. Glass houses and all that. Still! If Marcus had wanted a classically beautiful wife, why the hell did he marry me?
In contrast, I'm short and stocky with a long torso, broad shoulders and stubby thighs. Most designers do not make clothes to cater to women like me.
To add insult to injury, I've got a round face that looks a little bit chubby even when I'm the right weight. Because my dark hair is thin yet plentiful with a healthy dose of waviness, it frizzes at the first sign of humidity and at the first drops of rain.
Basically, no one like me stands on the front cover of a fashion magazine.
But I do have one saving grace. My boobs.
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Don't Look Back
RomanceONC 2024: In college, it was a case of wrong place/wrong time. Eight years later, they have a second chance. But will they take the leap? ___ Prompt 14: "My muse, believe me, waiting for you has been a form of freedom." ___ Excerpt: "Don't look bac...
