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“So, how do you know Owen?” I ask since I’m sure he’s dated her. She’s beautiful.
“I work for Kirby Litman. Kirby plays with Owen.”
“Ah, okay. I haven’t met much of the team outside of the mental health office.”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll come to the end-of-year team party.”
Owen hasn’t mentioned it, but I don’t tell her that. I glance down at my phone to see another text from Owen.
Owen: Is Jean there yet?
Me: I’m with her.
Owen: Awesome. Have a blast.
Me: Um. Okay. This isn’t weird.
Owen: I didn’t think so.
He’s insane. I look up just as we stop in front of some office building. A gorgeous woman with wild, curly black hair and ebony skin grins at the car.
“There’s Jaylin, Celeste’s mom.”
I have questions, but I don’t ask as Jean gets out and transfers Celeste to her mom. Jaylin waves at me, and I wave back kindly before Jean gets back in the car. “She is the coolest chick I know.”
“Celeste looks nothing like her.”
Jean laughs. “Not at all. She’s her adoptive mom, not that it matters. She’s the best.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impl—”
She waves me off. “Not at all. I’m just crazy protective of them. I love those three like they’re mine.”
I smile. “That’s amazing.”
She nods, and we head toward the mall. “Owen has told me a lot about you, and I’m excited. So, tell me your style.”
I raise a brow. “What did he tell you?”
“That you’re insanely gorgeous, which is right. I love your glasses and curves!”
I smile, and I’m surprised how her words make me feel. I feel good.
“That you’re a bit awkward and difficult.”
“Wow. Thanks, Owen.”
She laughs. “But no worries, we’re gonna have fun.”
I don’t expect to. I expect to be full of anxiety, and of course, I give her all the pushback. She tries to get me in something that shows legs, ass, boobs, and arms, and I freak, so she scales back. She’s actually really motivational and hilarious. But soon, I’m having fun.
“Girl, you’ve got the body. Flaunt it.”
I make a face. “I have a gut—and cellulite.”
“And? So do I, and I wear what I want. Let it all hang out. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I stare at her. “Someone could say something.”
“So? Fuck them. I love myself. They can’t make me not want to wear what I want. Clothes are an expression of who you are and what you like.”
I make a face. “I don’t even know what I like anymore.”
“Anymore?”
“I’ve gained a lot of weight.”
“I thought you lost weight?”
“I lost some of the weight I gained, but I used to be a size four. Now I’m a solid sixteen.”
She thinks that over. “Okay, what did you like before?”
“Clothes that showed my thighs and boobs.”
“Okay, so let’s do that again.”
“I can’t. I’m too big.”
“You are not. You’re way skinnier than me.”
“That’s not true!”
“You are,” she says, looking me over. “If I had your body, I’d walk around naked.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m serious. Listen to me. You need to trust me. I’ve got you.”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”
Jean takes my hand. “Angie, the only way you can embarrass yourself is by allowing yourself to feel that. Don’t. Feel what you are. Stunning.”
I gape at her. “How do you do this?”
“Do what?”
It’s crazy, because as soon as I ask, I look at her and see a dazzling, curvy, confident woman. She doesn’t have any reason to be embarrassed. She’s gorgeous. So why can’t I see that for myself?
I shake my head and walk into the dressing room with all the clothes she’s picked out for me. I lick my lips as I take off my scrubs, but I refuse to look at myself in my bra and panties. Quickly, I put on the jeans and shirt she picked out for me. It’s a cute little flowy top, and when I look at myself, I’m not disgusted. I actually love it. I’m still overweight, but I don’t look bad. I look great. I come out, and Jean is so over the top.
Talk about a hype chick.
With each outfit, she is so animated and in it to win it. If she doesn’t like something, she tells me. But mostly, she loves everything.
And I do too.
When I come out of the dressing room, I look up at her, and I can’t believe what I’m about to say. “I’m gonna get everything.”
She cheers, and I actually do a little wiggle of excitement. “Yes! Come on. We’ve got dresses to pick out.”
I nod and head to the front to check out. Once I’m there, I send my mom a text.
Me: Hey, I’ve gone shopping for clothes. Is it okay if I use my credit card?
She writes back automatically.
Mom: Of course. Can’t wait to see what you got!
I wait for the horror of showing her what I got to overcome me, but it doesn’t.
