“Yes!” Audrey grabs the sides of the dress and twirls around.
The personal shopper steps in disapprovingly, her pale pink Chanel suit looking muted against the sea of vibrant designer gowns on the rack next to her. “She has several more to try on. And you might want to consider buying two—that’s what many girls are doing now, changing midway through the dance.” She hungrily eyes the Stella McCartney, Marc Jacobs, and Marchesa gowns next to her and I can almost see her mentally calculating her commission if she can get us to buy another.
“We’ll take this one,” I say as I stand and walk over to hug Audrey, who flinches slightly then releases into my arms.
“You can’t do that!” the personal shopper says indignantly. “It’s the first one. You never go with the first one!”
Destiny steps between the personal shopper and me, waving the American Express card in her face. “When you know, you know,” she says firmly. “Now wrap this up and show us some shoes.”
The personal shopper perks up at the sound of the possibility of a bigger commission and scurries off, no doubt planning to bring us several pairs of Christian Louboutins. I watch Audrey sitting on the velvet bench outside her dressing room, her long legs bent inward, her knobby knees touching, her thumbs flying across the keys of her phone as she texts her friends about her new dress, and I’m struck by how young and innocent she suddenly looks. I start to worry about what might happen when Chris McNies sees her in this dress. Is this what Rachel goes through? This roller coaster of emotions, one minute feeling like you’re on top of the world having just pleased your child, the next worrying that you’ve made a huge mistake? Obsessing that she’ll make the same mistakes you did?
“Thank you,” I say to Destiny, squeezing her hand. Something about the way she handled that prissy salesperson made me miss her more than ever. I wanted to scream, it’s me! Casey! I’m right here! But instead I just raise my hand and give her a high-five.
She smacks my hand with hers. “And that, Rachel, is how it’s done.”
I watch as Audrey slips on a pair of three-inch stilettos that elongate her long legs even more, and I hope that Destiny’s right.
CHAPTER 28
* * *
rachel
I wipe the bead of sweat trickling down my hairline with my left hand while frantically typing an email to Destiny with the thumb of my right. Rushing down the hallway, I try to ignore the pain of my throbbing toes wedged into a pair of heels that after twelve hours feel at least two sizes too small. I push open the auditorium door with my hip and when I see the red velvet curtain on the stage still closed, I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The performance hasn’t started; I’m not too late.
The house is packed and I search for Casey, John, and Audrey in a sea of familiar faces. Faces of my friends I haven’t seen in weeks, even though it feels like years. Standing in the back of the Adams Middle School Performing Arts Theatre—the pale gray carpeting still worn, the walls still painted a shade of orange just slightly too bright, the brand-new blue velvet seats (a recent purchase from years of fund-raising money—quite a coup!) still a stark contrast against the rest of the outdated auditorium—it all looks familiar. So why do I feel like a stranger?
What would I say to my friends now, after living in this other world? Would we fall into easy conversation about carpool schedules and travel soccer uniforms? Or would I stammer, trying to find something to talk about while I attempted to ignore the buzzing of my BlackBerry, feeling like a woman who’s not a mother awkwardly bobbing her head up and down like she understands (or cares about!) the frustration of being up all night with a baby who’s spiking a fever or the challenges of finding something (anything!) to talk to a teenager about that won’t result in a yes-or-no answer. As I look down at my size-two suit and the Gucci handbag hanging from my wrist that costs more than our mortgage payment, I realize how Casey must have felt in these situations before she became like me—an outsider.