Downtown West Whale Bay is quiet and storm-shuttered, streets empty and running with water into pools at the shoulders, signs wobbling on their posts in the wind. Sunshine tells me she grew up here, and I can see why she drives it like she owns it—taking turns without slowing, cutting through a neighborhood of low stucco houses with terracotta roofs and wrought-iron window grates, bright flowers and vines pressed flat against the walls by the wind. It’s pretty, even now. Modest but cared-for.
She pulls up to a small apartment building and parks half in the driveway, the rear of the Beetle nosing out into the empty road.
“Is this okay?” I yell over the rain as I follow her inside.
“Sure!”
I’m laughing to myself as we hurry up the steps, feeling my clothes cling to my skin. Maria, Raúl’s sister, opens the door before we even knock. Though I only saw Raúl in passing, I can see the resemblance—same thick dark hair, big brown eyes, same easy confidence in the way she holds herself. Where Raúl was thin and lanky, though, Maria’s got curves. We’re definitely the same size.
After a brief explanation, Maria is surprisingly undeterred by the strange story. She just nods, as if women showing up soaking wet at her door asking to borrow a dress is a perfectly normal Saturday, and waves us inside. Her apartment is small and warm, smelling of coffee and something savory, with a muted TV on in the corner. She takes me straight to her closet, talking a mile a minute, asking questions which Sunshine answers for me, holding dresses up to my form, one after another, tilting her head, discarding them as she and Sunshine decide together which is best.
Eventually, they land on a red dress. I protest the color—it’s too bold, way too much—but both women talk over me simultaneously.
“Just try it on. I will not hear no,” Maria says, fixing me with a look that makes it clear this is not a negotiation. I take the dress from her and glance around the room. She’s the same height as me, but somehow far more intimidating.
“Can you turn around?” I ask.
She and Sunshine exchange an amused look, but both turn obligingly. Then they start gossiping, something about Dash, and I tune them out. Peeling off the wet clothes is unpleasant, but the moment I pull the red dress up over my hips, I already know I’m going to wear it.
It fits me as well as my dress from last night. But where that one was elegant and pretty, this one is sexy and bold. It makes a statement.
It’s tight, but the material gives with every movement, and though it’s full length, there’s a slit up one leg that flashes when I shift my weight. I’m still adjusting the bust, turning slightly toward the mirror, when both women turn around and gasp.
“That’s the one—”
“It’s perfect!”
I smile, feeling much like I did when I tried on my other dress in that vintage shop. A little better in my skin, a little like everything is not as bad as it seems.
“Honey, this dress was made for you,” Maria says, pressing her hands together like she’s proud of herself, which, honestly, she should be.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I promise I’ll stay away from red wine, and I’ll make sure it gets right back to you.”
Maria’s brows scrunch. “Red wine?”
Sunshine waves her off as they both leave the room so I can change again.
“Okay, we gotta go,” she says when I’m done. She and Maria embrace quickly, and then Maria squeezes my hand at the door and winks, telling me it’s her lucky dress.
A few minutes later we’re back on the road, the rain still coming down hard, and Sunshine takes it slow on the way back. We’re the only two idiots on the road, so that helps.
“You’ve been so kind,” I tell her. “You barely know me.”
She shrugs one shoulder, eyes on the road. “You needed help.”
“Still. Thank you.”
She glances over. “No need to thank me. Pay it forward.”
“I will.”
Back in the lobby, dripping again, we pause before going our separate ways.
“So you and Dash,” I say. “It seems serious.”
She stops. Her mouth opens slightly, and for the first time she looks genuinely caught off guard—slightly off-kilter, unlike the confident, carefree woman I’ve come to know.
Then she smiles, almost sadly. “If it’s meant to be, we’ll be.” Before I can respond, she hurries off.
