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She smiles. “You deserve a treat.”
One date can’t hurt that much, right? And it’ll get Dianne off my back, too.
“Where and what time?”
“You’re going to meet him at eight, at Piccolo.”
“That’s fancy.”
Michelle nods. “I told him to decide when and where, so that’s all on him.”
“I’ll have to dress up, then. And call my babysitter so she’ll stay with Kylie for the evening.” I stifle a groan. “I don’t even know what I’m going to wear.”
“You can rummage through my closet if you like, find something that works for you.”
Michelle’s serious. She tries to hoist herself.
“You shouldn’t get up.”
“I need to pee,” she says. “And get in bed so I can stay there for the night instead of passing out on the couch again. I slept here last night.”
“You should have called me! I didn’t know you were that sick.”
Michelle waves a hand and gets up, walking on weak legs to the door.
“It’s not a big deal. Come on.”
I follow her as she shuffles down the hallway. When we reach her bedroom, she opens her closet doors and leaves me there to go to the bathroom. I step into the walk-in closet and stare.
She has racks and racks of clothes, neatly lined up on hangers all around me. A large wall with shoes stretches in front of me. Coats hang along the top, and a dressing table between two tall drawers has jewelry hands filled with rings and bracelets and necklaces.
“Did you rob every known fashion house?” I ask when Michelle comes into the closet and sinks onto a padded bench in the middle. She grins.
“Fashion is my passion.” She chuckles at her rhyme.
“No wonder you always look like you stepped from the pages of a magazine.”
“Stop it,” Michelle says nonchalantly. “Choose something from those racks over there.” She points. “Piccolo is a five-start place so you want to dress up a little. You can go long or short, but I suggest a dress over pants. And heels, that’s not negotiable.”
“Are you playing dress-up with me?” I ask, but I’m suddenly thrilled. This is an added bonus—I just love fussing with clothes and getting all dressed up.
I go through the dresses she has on hangers as if I’m at a store. She has an outfit in almost every color. I decide against black—the little black dress, so cliché.
“I think blue or green,” Michelle offers. “It’s so fresh.”
I nod. I was thinking the same.
I take three different dresses from the rack. Michelle orders me to try them on and show them. I walk to the bathroom and get undressed, trying the first dress on.
Maybe this will be fun after all. Even if the highlight of the night is getting dressed up in fancy clothes and doing my hair and makeup. I love this part of it so much.
One day, I want a closet like Michelle.
And I want to be in a position where I’m healed after David’s death enough that I have places to go and people to see to dress up for. I’m in a position where I make enough money to spoil myself, and I’m allowed to indulge in fashion as much as I like. In fact, it’s encouraged. So it’s about time I start acting the part.
I step out wearing the first dress, a midnight blue dress with a silver bodice. The inky material falls to my feet like a waterfall.
When I step out of the bathroom, Michelle is in her bed rather than in the closet where I left her. She’s buried under a thick duvet and she looks small against the pile of pillows behind her, but her eyes light up when she sees me.
