She was trying not to follow the spread of her newfound fame, but how could she not? Even when each post, each televised clip, ratcheted the tension in her muscles until her shoulders ached?
“I see.” JoAnn probablyhadseen the entire story only moments before, displayed for the public’s viewing pleasure on television screens nationwide. “Are you okay, honey?”
Ah,concern and pity had made a simultaneous entrance into the conversation. Lovely.
“I’m good. Just figuring out what to wear for—” Shit. Rookie mistake. Normally, April never, ever introduced clothing choices into any discussion with her mother. “Just looking forward to tonight. Marcus plays Aeneas, one of my favorite characters.”
Her mother ignored that gambit.
“They showed us part of that conversation on Twitter.” JoAnn’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I’m not sure posting pictures there is a great idea.”
It was more or less the same advice April had received for more than thirty years:If people are cruel, make yourself smaller and smaller, until you’re so inconsequential no one can target you.
But April was done cringing and hiding. The opinion of fatphobic randos on Twitter didn’t matter, and she wouldn’t make herself small just to avoid their notice. “I like showing everyone the costumes I’ve put together.”
JoAnn responded carefully, worry and good intentions in every syllable. “That dress...” She hesitated. “It didn’t show your figure to its best advantage. Maybe you can make one that doesn’t cling to—”
It could be anything. April’s arms. Her back. Her stomach. Her ass. Her thighs.
“I’m good,” she repeated, her tone more curt than she’d intended.
Another long silence.
When JoAnn spoke again, her voice quavered slightly. “You said you were picking out what to wear tonight?”
April had hurt her mother’s feelings, and a flush of shame crawled up her neck.
“Yes.I brought a few options, and I’m trying to decide between them.” Her hands were clenched into fists, and she knew, she just knew—
“I imagine people will take pictures of you during your dinner tonight.” JoAnn’s faux-cheer lodged under April’s skin like splinters. “A black dress is always in style, you know. And the color disguises so many sins, especially if you find a design that doesn’t fit too tightly.”
Black to disappear. Extra fabric to disguise.
As always, fatness was a sin, most likely mortal rather than venial.
Bowing her head, April didn’t respond for fear of what she might say.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about the date,” JoAnn continued. “Other than your father, of course. But I’m sure he won’t spread the—”
Okay, they were done. “I’d better go. I need to take a shower now so I have enough time to get ready for dinner.”
“All right. Have fun tonight, honey,” JoAnn said, although she didn’t sound as if she expected fun to be had by anyone involved. “I love you.”
Her mother meant it. April had never questioned that.
“Thanks, Mom.” Her nails were biting into her palms so hard, she was surprised she hadn’t broken the skin. “I love you too.”
And that was the hell of it. She did.
FRESH FROM THEshower, clad in a loose nightgown, April stood in front of her tiny hotel room closet and dithered.
As she’d told her mother, she’d brought plenty of date-outfit options from her half-packed home in Sacramento. Good ones. And under normal circumstances, she wasn’t prone to indecision—butthese were far from normal circumstances. Whatever she chose to wear for her dinner with Marcus Caster-Rupp later that night, it had to make two simultaneous statements.
First:I’m confident and sexy, but not trying too hard. Because, yes, he might be vapid and vain, but he was also a famous actor and fuckinghot, and she had her pride. Like her mother, she also anticipated more than a few candid shots of the dinner ending up online before she finished her last bite of dessert. She intended to look good in those photos, as well as in the pics she and Marcus would post on their own social media accounts.
To make that kind of statement required a formfitting dress. Not one in black, either. It required heels, loath as she was to torture her feet. It required dangling earrings.
But that was all her standard big-date garb, despite her mother’s advice. Nothing too complicated.
