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She tilts her head a little.
“No, that one’s too ballroom,” she says. “But it looks fantastic on you. God, you have a great body.”
I blush. “It’s not what it used to be before I had Kylie.”
“Then you must have been a knock-out back then because you’re hot, hot, hot, now.”
I laugh and blush harder before I turn back into the bathroom to try on the second dress.
When I step out again, Michelle nods.
“That’s the one,” she says. “It makes you look like the goddess you are.”
I giggle. “What’s with all the compliments?”
“I’m telling you exactly what I see,” she said matter-of-factly. “And you should know it in case he’s an idiot and can’t find the words with his football player brain to tell you exactly how incredible you look. Men can be stupid, sometimes.”
“Thanks for that,” I laugh. “Now that you’ve convinced me to go, you can tell me the truth about him, huh?”
Michelle grins at me. “I’m not saying he isn’t decent. But most men are idiots no matter how well-mannered they are.”
I smile and nod. She’s not wrong. Even David had his moments where his brain stopped working and he switched into primal mode.
I turn to Michelle’s full-length mirror on the closet door and take it all in.
Here, in Michelle’s closet, putting on her clothes to go on her date, I can pretend that I’m someone else. I’m not the widow who wallows in sorrow over the death of her husband.
“You’ll need shoes,” Michelle says, breaking the spell. “And a handbag. You should wear your hair up, and I think smokey makeup will work.”
I push my hand into my hair. “I never wear it up.”
“Which is a sin because your jawline is beautiful and your neck and back deserve to be displayed. Especially in that dress.”
I blush again. “Since when do you know what my neck and back look like?”
Michelle shrugs. “I can guess. You have a good posture and a good figure. There’s no way you’re ugly under your clothes. I’m in fashion, honey; I know these things.”
I laugh and shake my head. Michelle might be sick but it hasn’t taken away from her spunk at all.
My stomach twists, and for a moment, dread comes over me. I’m not Michelle. I’m not always on my toes with all the right answers. I don’t make easy conversation and handle every social situation in stride the way she does. She should be the one going, not me.
“You’re overthinking,” Michelle says.
“I’m not.” But she’s right.
“You’re going to be fine. Really.”
“I’m not you. He’s expecting the great Michelle.”
“No, you’re you. And you’re wonderful, Nat. Seriously. Any guy who doesn’t think so is wrong. End of story.”
I turn to the mirror again and try to picture what Michelle suggests.
“What if he’s disappointed?” I ask.
“What if he’s blown away?” she counters.
I tilt my head. Wouldn’t that be nice?
