Page 41 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“Some of my best stuff,” she said. “What’s it for?”
I sighed. “Colin’s taking me to the ballet.”
“Seriously?” She whistled. “Classy.”
“You see the problem.”
She laughed. “What—is he trying to impress you?”
“Not exactly. His sister is in the ballet. A dancer. We’re going to opening night, and then we’re going to meet her and Colin’s brother after.”
She whistled. “He doesn’t do anything half-assed, does he? Well, I brought three different options. Come on.”
We crept up the creaking stairs, past Bailey’s half-open door, and into the bedroom.
I immediately rejected the elegant, black, form-fitting dress, knowing it wouldn’t flatter my lack of curves. Shelly and I were the same size, but if her body type was Tinkerbell, mine was Peter Pan.
Next was a gown with a sequined silver bodice and gray, gauzy skirts. I’d been pregnant during my prom and felt no need to re-create the experience now. Pass.
The last one I had never seen before. Pink and silky with a modest neckline, the fabric gathered below the bust and then flared out into asymmetrical curves ending below my knees, almost like petals.
“Oh,” I said, awestruck.
“You like it?” Shelly asked.
“I do, but—” I glanced at her, a bit surprised. It was so bright, so flirty, and she hated to be the cliché of her profession.
She looked pleased. “It’s for you.”
I opened my mouth, but she cut my protests short. “No complaining. And no calculating how many bags of diapers this dress could pay for. You don’t need to worry about that anymore, remember?”
“Well, she still needs to poop,” I muttered, but it did nothing to mask my delight. How long had it been since I’d had new clothes? Plastic flip-flops from Target didn’t quite count.
I put it on—perfection. It was pretty and feminine and everything I’d always wanted to be but wasn’t. Of course Shelly had known. I wanted to hug her, but she wasn’t really a fan of touching.
“Thank you.” I gave my skirts a flick, enjoying the way they swished against my bare legs. “You’re like my fairy godmother. Now I can go to the
ball.”
“But you already bagged the prince,” she said lightly.
Dismayed, I said, “You are mad.”
“I’m not.” She put her hand on my forearm and looked me in the eyes. “I’m not.”
A slam of the door alerted us to Colin’s arrival. By the time steady footsteps trekked up the stairs and to the doorway, I’d already fled to the bathroom.
“Just a minute,” I called out. I wanted to brush away my pizza breath and freshen up my makeup before Colin saw me. Tonight had to be perfect.
Through the door, I heard the murmurs of Shelly and Colin, and I stepped up the pace. They’d gotten along well so far, but no need to press my luck.
When I opened the bathroom door, Shelly and the other dresses had vanished. She was probably already curled up in the armchair in Bailey’s room with a book.
Colin stood at the window, looking out at the street. He still wore his jeans and T-shirt from work at the restaurant. His suit was laid out on the bed where I’d left it.
He turned, saw me, and froze. Framed by the soft evening glow, I couldn’t see his face. I swayed, swishing softly. “Do you like it?” I asked.
A slight nod.
