Goodness.
I set my items down on the chaise lounge in the dressing room, undo my belt buckle and start undoing my overalls as I take in the dress.
It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anything like it. The color will complement my fair skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. The midsection of the dress seems to be very form-fitting, but the bottom half of the dress is made of silk chiffon and flows beautifully. It looks like something a modern-day Cinderella would wear.
Feeling a little anxious, I pull out my phone and text Carter.
Daisy: I’m trying on a bridesmaid dress for Amanda’s wedding. It’s so pretty. I’ve never worn anything like it before.
Once I press send, I take a deep breath, and undress myself, completely aware of everyone on the other side of the curtain. I take my time putting on the dress, not wanting to rip it in any way. From the other side of the curtain, I can hear Amanda and Hollyn talking about a dress she just tried on and not liking the way the bodice has too much sparkle on the front.
My phone beeps with a message. Before I put on the dress, I read the text.
Carter: A new experience, soak it in, Snowflake.
I’m doing just that.
Daisy: I will. Want a selfie?
Gosh, does that sound vain? I don’t want Carter thinking I’m full of myself. Would he?
Carter: Sure.
From his short response, I’m going to guess, no.
Carefully, I step into the dress, the skirt pooling on the floor. Slowly, I shimmy the dress up my legs, loving the way the fabric dances around my legs. The sleeves are very delicate and hang off my shoulders, the chiffon barely kissing my skin. The built-in cups lend the support I need. I adjust my breasts, reach behind me and zip the dress up as much as I can.
Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the mirror as a small gasp escapes me. Is that really me?
“Are you dressed yet?” Amanda asks, peeking in the dressing room.
My mouth agape, I stare at my reflection. For the first time in my entire life, the girl I’m used to seeing in the mirror is no longer there and in her place is a beautiful woman.
A woman.
Tears prick my eyes and an overwhelming sense of self takes over.
I’m beautiful.
“Oh my God,” Amanda says, taking me in and then quickly turns and shouts out of the dressing room. “Hollyn! You have to come see Daisy.”
Walking up behind me, Amanda zips up the rest of my dress and then puts her hands on my hips, leaning over my shoulder, she smiles at me in the mirror. “You are stunning, Daisy. Absolutely stunning.”
“Let me see.” Hollyn pushes the dressing room curtain to the side. Wearing an icy-blue dress as well, hers sans sleeves, she brings her hands to her chest. “Ah, Daisy. Look at you. You look amazing.” Scanning me up and down, she comes closer and pokes my boob. “What? Those are real?”
“Oh, I know,” Amanda adds. “The girl has an amazing rack but never shows it off.”
“They’re so perky.” Hollyn pokes my boob again.
“And big.” Amanda pokes the top of my breast. Is this what happens when girls go shopping together? Is it a rite of passage to have your boobs poked by a friend?
“What are those? Cs?”
“Can’t be any less than a C.”
Both of them continue to talk about my breasts, poking them back and forth as I stare at myself in the mirror realizing this is a pivotal moment in my life. Right now, I look like a woman, the adult I want to be. Piled on the chaise lounge, folded neatly, is the little girl who I’ve been striving to get away from. I have two choices: I can take this moment and build off it, or I can remove this dress, forget about the woman in the mirror, and revert back to the little girl in overalls.
For the first time, I want to be the woman in the mirror.
Right now I’m supposed to be thinking about my future goals, who I want to be, where I want to be after the Dear Life program is over. I’m supposed to be dreaming big and that’s what I’m doing right now.
“I need help.” My words interrupt both Amanda and Hollyn who have now taken to lifting their boobs in the mirror and comparing them.
“What do you need help with?” Amanda asks. “Is everything okay with the dress?”
“Everything is fine.” Looking at both of them, I say, “I need help giving myself a makeover.”
Both Hollyn and Amanda exchange glances and then smile brightly at me. “Oh, this day just got so much better.” Amanda weaves her arm through mine, linking us together. “Goodbye overalls, hello hot-sex pants.”
“No hot-sex pants,” I shoot back, a blush rising up my cheeks.
“Oh, we are so getting you hot-sex pants,” Hollyn adds, linking her arm as well.
“I don’t even know what hot sex-pants are.”
“You will.” Amanda pats my hand. “Just you wait and see.”
Oh goodness. Hot-sex pants, what did I get myself into?
JACE
“Thanks for coming over.” I step to the side and let Carter into my apartment.
“Not a problem.”
I watch closely as he takes in my place. It’s very modest for a professional baseball player but it’s me. I don’t need a bunch of flashy, unimportant things clogging up my living space.
“Want a beer?”
“Sure?” Carter answers, hands in his pockets, still looking around.
We both walk into the open-concept living space, and when I go to the kitchen for two beers, he stays in the living room and checks out the view of the mountain range. I don’t know much about Carter, but I can imagine my living space might rival his.
“Here.” I hand him a beer, cap already popped off.
He examines the bottle and nods in approval. “Laughing Lab. Good Scottish ale.”
“Bristol Brewery down in the Springs is one of my favorite places. I love their micro-brews.”
“I haven’t been but I’ve tried their Red Rocket and Beehive beers. Laughing Lab in my opinion is their best.”
“Can’t agree more.” Motioning to the couch, I say, “Take a seat.”
Even though I invited Carter over, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. I don’t really know the guy but I want to get to know him because I think we could help lean on each other through a common ground; having no family to rely on.
“What’s up?” Carter gets straight to the point. “Did you call me over here to try to convince me that that godforsaken program is actually beneficial if taken seriously? Because if you did, don’t waste your breath.”
I don’t think I’ve ever met somebody with a bigger chip on their shoulder.
Sitting back on the couch, I take a sip of my beer and say, “What happened?” If he’s going to be honest, then I’m going to be honest. “I want to know why you don’t mind acting like a giant dick most of the time.”
A small smirk peeks past the beer bottle raised to his mouth, his fingers barely gripping the neck of the glass. He leans back as well, props an ankle up on his knee and says, “Is that what this is? You want to get to know me.”