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Dad: Wonderful! Your mother will be thrilled to hear that. Your sisters, too! We all miss you so much, Maxie.
Max: I miss you too, Dad. I should get back to work, but I’ll let you know how the collar works.
Dad: Don’t work too hard! Love you ??????
Max: Love you.
With that settled, I attempt to go back to work. Though now all I can think about is how I want to give Mona her presents. And how to give her one of her biggest fantasies this weekend. We’ve tiptoed around the more extreme aspects of our shared dreams, but I know we both want those things. So it’s time to make them reality.
22
Another game night rolls around and Devi’s sick with a bug she caught from Priya. Rachel also backs out because her sister is in town. Even this doesn’t mess with my good mood like it would’ve in the past.
I end up stopping by the grocery store on my lunch break and drop off a care package and some pre-made meals at Devi’s place. She breaks down a bit, tears running down her fever-flushed cheeks as she thanks me. It highlights my self-focused perspective on our friendship in a way that gnaws at my stomach on the drive home, and I vow to visit her more.
It’s easy to feel abandoned when your friends get married or have kids. To resent the loss of their time and energy. My depression only exacerbated that over the past few months. Seeing Devi today highlighted my need to decide what my friendships mean to me and what I’m willing to do to maintain them, along with what boundaries I should set to prevent resentment. For now, that includes helping a struggling mom, knowing she probably won’t have time for me for years. I love Devi and helping her means I get to see her, if only for a short time.
The lightness in my chest that’s spreading day-by-day grows stronger.
* * *
I endup asking Blair and Grace to come over to work on costuming tonight in lieu of game night. The burlesque showcase looms on the horizon, and Grace spends every recent conversation lamenting her lack of sewing skills.
“Okay, let me see what you’ve done so far,” I call through my bedroom door to Grace.
“No. It’s too embarrassing!”
“Blair’s not going to judge you. Just show me!” I try to yank the door open, but she holds it shut from the other side with a squeak of alarm.
“At least not out loud,” Blair adds in her husky monotone from her seat in the living room, continuing to add rhinestones to the neckline of a jet black gown.
“Come on, Grace. We can’t help make it better if you don’t show us what we’re working with.” I keep my tone soothing as I attempt to coax her out. It must be bad—she normally has no shame about her abysmal crafting attempts.
The door cracks open enough for Grace to peek her head out. “Fine. But you have to promise not to laugh.”
“Promise,” I say with a nod.
The door flies open and Grace steps out with a determined look on her face, bracing for my reaction. I taste copper as I bite my tongue to keep from showing her any hint of amusement. Because,wow. It’s terrible.
A light pink satin dress hangs off of her slender frame, bunched at the waist by a plain off-white waist cincher that she hot glued sequins to. Some are already falling off, much like the enormous dress falls off of her shoulders. It looks like she bought a second-hand gown that belonged to a woman five sizes bigger than her. There’s a long slit up one leg with unfinished, frayed edges, trimmed with uneven sequins.
“Why don’t we show Blair and get her opinion?” I squeak the question out, retreating to the living room so I’m not the only bearer of bad news about her atrocious costume.
Grace groans and follows me, and I admire the lack of reaction on Blair’s sharp features. “Ugh, just tell me I should throw it in the trash. I know it’s awful.”
Blair does a slow scan of the outfit and a rosy tinge colors Grace’s fawn skin. After a long pause, she speaks. “I’d suggest burning it.”
I can’t stop the snort that tears from me. Grace shoots me a dirty look and I hold my hands up in appeasement. “We could try to fix it, but it’d be easier to make something new.”
Grace flops down to the couch with a sigh and throws her arms across her face. I sit next to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure something out. Try not to freak out. I’ve got you.”
“Is the rest of it as bad as the dress?” Blair asks and Grace uncovers her face, blinking at her in confusion. “You take the dress off as part of the routine. Show us what you have underneath so we know if that needs to be destroyed, too.”
“O-oh. Right.” Grace’s flush deepens, and she stands, taking off the waist cincher unceremoniously. She hesitates at the zipper on the side of her dress. “This feels weird when it’s not part of a dance.”
“Then do a shimmy after you take it off.” I’m thrown off by her nerves. Since when does Grace give a shit about being seen in her underwear?
Grace rolls her eyes at me and takes the dress off, her body tensing. She casts a shy look over her shoulder at Blair, who drinks in the sight like she’s dying of thirst. Not that I blame her. Grace is stunning. And thankfully she didn’t add any embellishments to the costume’s undergarments yet to detract from the pretty picture. The bashful smile that Grace gives Blair in return reminds me of how she looked when she first met her ex-husband. I suddenly feel like I’m intruding on something private between them, even though it’s my apartment.
