Page 179 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“Dani, you should wear that blue dress Colette bought you for your birthday,” Mom tells me.
“The one that makes her look like one of those overfed peacocks at the zoo?” Vivienne laughs. “Well, that’s so nice of you, Dani, not to upstage the bride. You’re such a good friend.”
“I cannot have Graham at this couples shower,” I hiss at Piper as Mom buzzes around the apartment. “I feel sick.”
“You’re probably dehydrated and hungry.”
“Do not let her eat, Piper,” Mom warns. “Vivienne hired Sloane Mercer to do the photos, and I know she’s going to try as hard as she can to take unattractive pictures of Dani.”
“Maybe I can just wear the slip dress?”
“No, it makes you look like a sack of potatoes.”
The blue dress is tossed on the couch next to Gran’s boy toy. He makes a face at the garment.
“You’re not even old enough to drink, so you don’t get to have an opinion. Now, come help with this shapewear.”
“I can send you right back to the McDonald’s I scrounged you from,” Gran warns him.
I grunt as the shapewear squeezes all my organs into places I didn’t even know they could fit.
“If you did your waist training, this would be easier,” Piper grunts, hiking up the spandex.
“I sit at my desk fifteen hours a day. I can’t wear a corset on top of that,” I wheeze as they try to stuff me in the bright-blue dress.
“Why can’t she wear the dress she wore at the charity ball, Aunt Linda?”
“It’s too bridal. No big, full skirts. We cannot have Vivienne thinking that you are trying to upstage her daughter.”
“She’s going to drive off Graham, what with wearing this dress, Linda,” Gran complains. “She looks like a used sex toy.”
Piper’s mouth drops at the blank look on my face.
“Nonsense. She looks cute.”
“Take it from a man—yes, you will.” The boy toy sniffs.
The doorbell gongs throughout the apartment.
“Coming!” my dad yells while I start to wonder if maybe I shouldn’t take Graham up on his offer to be whisked away from my family forever.
“Someone sent this for you, Beans.” Dad comes into the living room with flowers and a long white box with a big black bow on it.
“Flowers!” Mom trills, taking the big bouquet of pink roses. I know Mom’s already making a mental note to send Colette flowers on behalf of my brother. She’d probably have me fake his handwriting on the note.
“What’s in it?” Piper and I inspect the box.
“I hope it’s chocolate. I’m starving.”
“Let her have some cheese, Linda,” Dad begs her.
“No food! It’s hard enough as it is to get this dress on her.” Mom tugs at the shapewear, which is cutting off my circulation.
I open the card tucked into the bouquet. It just says:
Wear this.
I’m picking you up at 6.15.
