Page 83 of Here We Go Again

I smooth my hands down the front of the dress, then turn and look at how it fits across my butt.

It’s different from anything I’ve worn before. The deep V-neck is lower than I’m used to. But maybe different isn’t the right word. I think it’s actually just … better. It’s soft, stretchy enough to hug my curves but substantial enough not to cling to them. And the hints of gold woven into the fabric make my brown eyes look amazing and turn the whole dress into a shimmering spectacle every time I move.

I really, really love this dress.

“Becca!” Mom calls, more impatiently this time. “Before I turn fifty, please.”

I finally turn and open the door. “Your birthday isn’t for another three months,” I say, but any sarcastic reply my mother might have made gets lost in the sound of her gasp.

“Oh my gosh, you’re stunning!” Mom says. “Kim! Come see this!”

Kim hurries in, arms full of clothes she’s been collecting for the last half hour but has yet to try on. A sales clerk retrieves them from her and hangs them in a neighboring dressing room.

“Oh, that is lovely,” Kim says with a warm smile. “And it’s Theo’s favorite color too.”

“His favorite color is not brown,” I say. Because—is anyone’s favorite color brown?

But Kim doesn’t miss a beat. “Maybe not, but it will be after he sees you in that dress. You have to buy it. It looks like it was made for you.”

I look down at the price tag. “It was made for someone with a lot more zeros in her bank account. There’s no way I can afford this.”

“What if we split it?” Mom says, stepping close enough to pick up the tag. “Geez,” she says under her breath. “For one dress?”

“Exactly,” I say. “It was fun to try it on, but even splitting it, I’d never pay that much.”

The resignation in Mom’s eyes makes it clear she feels the same way. My dad makes good money as a pharmacist, but my parents are still climbing out from under the debt accumulated from my grandmother’s memory care. She had some retirement, and Medicare took care of a lot, but Mom and Dad had to cover some huge gaps. If they’re ever going to retire—my mom is an elementary school librarian—they need to be making smart choices with their money now.

“It’s a shame,” Mom says. “You look beautiful.”

“Let me see,” Kim says, reaching for the tag, then she pulls a tiny pair of scissors from her pocket and snips it clean off.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and she shrugs. “I’m taking this up front so I can pay for it. And now you can keep the dress on. It’s almost time for Theo to pick you up anyway.”

I lift my hands in protest. “I can’t let you do that. I can just wear the dress I’ve had on all day.” I look down at my feet. “I don’t even have shoes I could wear with this one.”

Wordlessly, a shop clerk walks into the dressing room area and sets a shoe box down at my feet.

“Size nine, right?” Kim says. “I peeked at your Birkenstocks while we were having lunch.”

“That’s why you wanted to try them on?”

“I also wanted to see how they fit because I think I’d like to buy a pair. But mostly, yes. I was planning ahead.” She steps forward and takes both my hands in hers. “Listen. I never got to have daughters. You would be doing me a favor by letting me have this little bit of fun. Also, in case you haven’t noticed, my sons do very well for themselves. They wouldn’t be where they are today if I hadn’t spent so many countless hours driving them to and from practice, paying for clinics, watching game after game after game. They take good care of me now.” She holds up the tag. “Which means I can absolutely afford this dress. And the shoes.”

I look over at Mom, still uncomfortable with this whole scheme, but she only shrugs and smiles. “You won’t win an argument with her,” Mom says. “You might as well embrace it.”

I look back at Kim, her blue eyes so similar to Theo’s. “Fine,” I relent, and she squeals, reaching forward and tugging me into a hug.

“I’ll go settle up. Try on the shoes to make sure they fit.”

The shoes are perfect. A wedge sandal that’s somehow incredibly comfortable and incredibly sexy at the same time. I keep them on my feet while the sales clerk carries the box out to the register. I didn’t look to see how much they were, and I’m glad. At this point, I don’t want to know.

I take my hair down, shaking it out around my shoulders, and turn to face Mom. “Good? I don’t even have my lip gloss with me.” It wasn’t the plan to shop quite as long as we did, but time got away from us, and now Theo is picking me up here instead of waiting for me back at the beach house.

“You don’t look like you need any,” Mom says, but she reaches for her bag anyway. “But let me see what I have.”

She manages to produce a tube of lip gloss and a smudgy brown eyeliner that looks great with the dress. “Oh! This too,” she says holding out an eyeshadow pencil in a shimmery shade of mauve.

“I might have to steal this,” I say as I lean toward the mirror and glide it over my eyelids. “It’s fabulous.”