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Jazzy rushed forward to hug Stanton and Everly before falling into a deep discussion about the day’s logistics with Sady. Everly used the moment of quiet to slip away and browse the racks. She needed a second to wrap her head around the fact that she’d be squeezed into one of these things any second now.
The garments were organized by color, so she beelined for the darkest hues. There was no way Jazzy was going to let her wear something black, but starting with a color she could stomach seemed like the best way to ease into this.
The first corset Everly picked up felt like butter in her hands. The material was soft and pliable, and the detail was subtle: velvet florals in a deep midnight shade overlaying the charcoal fabric. She held it up to her body, expecting it to be far too small, but it looked like the perfect size.
Her hands trembled a little as she returned it to the hanger. Shecouldn’t remember the last time she went shopping in an actual store and the item on top was her size. Usually, she had to dig all the way to the bottom of the pile or the end of the rack. Sometimes, she’d have to ask a salesperson to get her size from the stock they kept in the back. More often than not, the stores didn’t carry her size at all.
She’d lost count of how many times she’d tagged along with her friends to the mall with dread clawing at her chest as they meandered through store after store without plus sizes. Every time an employee looked her way, Everly would cringe, certain they were laughing at her. A few would offer to show her the jewelry and shoes, as if accessories weren’t their own minefield to navigate. They’re no more one-size-fits-all than anything else. Shoes were often too narrow for her feet, necklaces too short, bracelets too tight. Rings were only for tiny fingers. Nothing in the fashion world was created with larger bodies in mind.
But as Everly continued to find wearable pieces on each new display at Edmund’s, as she watched Sady, Meryl, Jazzy, and Stanton, every one of them plus-size, talk animatedly a few feet away, something warm spread through her limbs. This was what it was like for your body to be perceived as normal. To be able to turn any which way, go anywhere, and know you’ll fit.
This was what she’d stolen from herself when she let her fear, her sadness, her mother, get in her head.
As she moved deeper into the shop, a mannequin on a center display caught her eye. It showcased a long-sleeved gown in dark gray with a black brocade and silver stitching. Everly reached for it, running her fingers over the fabric.
Behind her, someone clucked their tongue. Jazzy. That sound was as unique to her as her various pearls of wisdom. “You want to spend the day as a widow in mourning?”
Everly let the fabric fall with a satisfying swish. “It’s pretty.”
“So is color,” Jazzy said. “So areyou.”
Tension crept into Everly’s shoulders. Her first instinct these days was always to contradict a compliment. But this time, she didn’t let herself. She only smiled. If she wanted the show to change her, she had to be willing to change herself, too.
Jazzy folded her arms over her chest. “You believe that, right?”
“I don’t think I’m ugly. I just hate the word ‘pretty.’” Everly shrugged.
“Why?”
“I don’t know if I can explain it in a way that makes sense.” She forced her feet toward one of the brighter-colored sections, using the extra time to gather her thoughts. “Pretty… I don’t know… feels like one of those things I’m supposed to strive for, something straight-sized people are. Dainty, small, petite. It’s a beauty standard I don’t want to have to subscribe to.” Even when she was at her most confident, “pretty” and “fat” felt like polar opposites. She could look killer, fierce, hot, cute, whatever. Anything but pretty.
Jazzy followed, idly flipping through garments, her dark eyes bright and attentive. Beyond her, Logan’s camera captured the two of them like Big Brother.
His expression was impossible to decipher. Everly hated how much she wanted to know what he was thinking as he observed their conversations, recorded them to be shared with the world. It shouldn’t matter to her, the same way she shouldn’t be thinking about him as much as she was, but it did matter, and she was thinking about him. A lot.
Much more than James, lately.
Fuck.
There had better be a witch at this Ren faire that had a counterspell for catching feelings. She didn’t want to fall for someone else. Not now,when she was supposed to be working on herself. Not when he would be gone in a few weeks anyway. He wasn’t worth crushing on any more than James.
Turning away from Jazzy, she pulled out a silk corset dress covered in stitched flowers in hues of rose and blush. It was elegant and soft and absolutely beautiful, something she could never imagine on herself. So of course, the minute Everly released it, Jazzy snatched it off the rack.
She was still quiet. Waiting for Everly to go on.
Clearing her throat, Everly fussed with a pile of folded cloaks. “I’m tired of all the words for femininity emphasizing being small and frail. I want to be attractive and strong. Powerful. Like the way you co-opted ‘fabulous’ and transformed it into something that spoke to bodies like ours.”
Jazzy chewed on her lip for a second. She now had three dresses in her hands. Each one a brighter color than the next.
“You’re so right,” she said. “What is it we always hear? ‘You’d be so beautiful if you just lost a little weight.’ It’s bullshit.” She added a pirate-esque striped shift to her pile. “So what do you want your word to be? What’syour‘fabulous’?”
It was a question Everly had never thought to ask herself.
She mulled it over as she made her first dress selection. Apple red with gold stitching. The farthest thing from black. Jazzy beamed, a proud mother hen, as she watched Everly drape it over her arm.
Everly hadn’t realized how much she wanted to see that expression on the host’s face. Usually, it wasn’t something that happened for guests until the end of their arc.
But she’d already made Jazzy proud.
