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My adventurous, jet-setting counterpart, up close and in-person. She’s wearing chic linen pants and a little crop top, her hair in a casual bun on the top of her head. She has two boutique bags hooked over her arm, and she crosses the street, while I remain frozen, disbelieving.
Of course she’d be somewhere as cool as VibeFest.
“Damn,” Millie says, exhaling loudly. “Guess she took her spiritual journey to the desert. Wait. Why are you so quiet?”
“It’s so weird that she’s real,” I whisper. Other Jennifer strolls closer, and I scuttle around the display so she doesn’t see. She walks past, oblivious, and I quickly yank off the hat and start after her. “Her hair is so shiny. It must be that special rinse she posted about. And I love her shoes…”
“Tell me you aren’t following her,” Millie demands. “Oh my God, it’s like you’re on a bad decision-making tour of the American West.”
“Gotta go,” I say quickly. “Call you later.”
“Oh my God,” she repeats, as I hang up.
I shove my phone into my bag and casually trail Other Jennifer down the block. She pauses by a store window, then steps inside.
After a moment’s hesitation, I follow.
Am I crossing into crazy stalker territory here? Maybe! But I just can’t resist taking an up-close look at the woman. After all, I feel like I’ve known her for years. The credit card bills, and hotel confirmation emails. The love notes from her admiring menfolk, and steamy Kindle download receipts. Other Jennifer Walker has loomed large over my life.
Hell, she’s even the reason I’m in Palm Springs right now!
Inside the store, I grab a couple of dresses and casually loiter near Other Jennifer. She’s on a call, sounding flirty. “… Are you really asking me that?” she teases with a breathy laugh. “I’m in public… OK, let’s just say, black lace.”
She glances up, and sees me watching, and gives me a conspiratorial wink.
I lurch away.
This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t know what Other Jennifer’s laugh sounds like—or the color of her underwear.
I bolt to the dressing room, determined to mind my own business. I still need an outfit for the party, so I may as well try on the dresses I grabbed. Two are an automatic pass, but the third has potential.
I emerge to check it out in the big, full-length mirror, just as the other dressing room curtain opens, and Other Jennifer steps out, dressed in a flirty red dress.
“Is this shade of too orange-y for my coloring?” she asks, twisting this way and that in front of the mirror.
I blink, startled. Other Jennifer is actually speaking to me?!
“Be honest,” she adds. “You’re bound by the girls’ dressing room honor code.”
I gulp a breath. Stay cool. “I think you look great,” I tell her, truthfully. It’s an eye-catching dress, with tie straps and a short, fluttery skirt.
Jennifer considers herself in the mirror, hands tracing down her hips. “Hmm. I think the color is better suited for someone with darker hair. Like you!”
“Like me?” I repeat dumbly.
“Try it,” she says, friendly. “You look like a warm spring. Your color story,” she adds, when it’s clear I have zero idea what she’s talking about. “I’m more of a cool winter. At least, that’s what the quiz said.” She grins at me again, “And we all know, internet quizzes never lie.”
“Ha!” I manage to blurt, laughing too loudly. “Right!”
Then Other Jennifer glances at her phone. “Shit, I’m late for my astrology sesh. Thanks for the fit-check!”
She ducks back into her dressing room, and I go hide in my own, mind racing.
My first encounter in the wild with Other Me! I almost can’t believe it. She was surprisingly nice, and warm, and funny. But still, that was weird, right? Definitely weird. I know way too much about the woman to just be making casual conversation, and the longer I think about it, the more my uneasy feeling grows…
… Reminding me that Austin technically still thinks Iamthe woman in the neighboring dressing room.
I cringe, guilty. I still haven’t straightened up the whole identity switcheroo mix-up, and now that we’ve turned romantic, I know, I’m definitely overstepping whatever safe little explanation I was originally planning to make.
I hear voices, and then when I peek back out, Other Jennifer is gone. But she’s left the poppy red dress hanging outside my dressing room door.
I pause. After borrowing the woman’s identity, am I really going to take the dress, too?
I waver. But itisreally cute. And she did suggest it… It’s clearly a sign. And I’ll take it.
A couple of sizes up, obviously.
