Stevie
twenty-four
I’M AT A DRESS FITTING WITH CELESTE.
I’m standing on this elevated platform in the middle of a very upscale boutique, and a woman is sticking pins in my gown as I keep very still.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Celeste says, sitting on a pristine white couch with a champagne flute in her perfectly manicured hand.
“Thank you.” The truth is I feel very awkward and uncomfortable and I’m trying my best to hide it.
To act like I belong here with Celeste’s bougie friends in this extremely bougie place.
I’m the youngest of the five women also here for their fittings.
And the way they carry themselves with such poise and confidence makes me feel like a little kid.
“You have a great body, Stevie,” Heidi, one of Celeste’s friends, says. But she doesn’t smile when she says it and her eyes are narrowed into slits, like she’s assessing me carefully for any tiny flaw. I feel like a bug under a microscope.
“Thank you.” It’s the phrase I’ve been saying almost nonstop since I got here.
“And gorgeous hair, too,” Heidi adds. “Extensions?”
“No, it’s all my own hair.”
She gives me a tight smile in response, then turns to Celeste. “Please don’t tell me we have to wear our hair up for the party.”
Celeste waves a hand, like Heidi is being ridiculous. “Of course not. I was thinking soft, flowing waves, you know? Elevated boho.”
“Good,” Heidi says, grabbing another glass of champagne. “I don’t want to look 50 years old.”
“As if. You still look 21.”
Heidi flips her hand dismissively. “I’d rather look 18.”
Celeste laughs. “Let’s not get carried away.”
“I’m serious, C. Ever since turning 31, I feel so old. I didn’t feel old last year when I turned 30, but this year…ugh.”
Celeste makes a sympathetic face. “It’s all in your head.”
“And I’m nowhere close to getting married. I feel like an old maid.”
“Oh my god, stop. Please. You’re not an old maid. Not even close.”
Heidi downs her champagne and takes a seat next to Celeste. She had been standing watching my fitting this whole time. I feel very awkward listening to this conversation between them, but Heidi clearly has no qualms about airing her insecurities within earshot.
She’s rather strange to me. She’s beautiful and looks young and trendy, but also has a perpetual scowl. Some might call it a resting bitch face. She doesn’t even try to be polite, which is fascinating to me as a people pleaser who would rather die than be rude to anyone.
The seamstress tells me to turn around, so I turn around.
“I might not be an old maid, but I feel like an old maid,” Heidi says.
“Like I said,” Celeste says, “it’s all in your head.”
“And how do I get it out of my head?”
Celeste chuckles. “Therapy?”
The seamstress tells me to turn back around, so I’m facing Heidi and Celeste again. They make a lovely picture on the couch, Celeste in cream sweats and Heidi in wide leg blue jeans and an ivory knit sweater.
“Okay,” Heidi says. “I just need someone to pay for my therapy, please.”
Victoria, Celeste’s cousin, walks up and sits down on Celeste’s other side on the couch. “Are you all done with your fittings?”
Celeste nods. “Yes, but I can’t gain even half a pound in the next two weeks. Please don’t let me eat, like, anything.”
Victoria rolls her eyes. “Can I put a slice of lemon in your water at least, or will that be too many calories?”
“Stop. I have to look perfect. Ben’s invited more than 500 people.”
“You will look perfect. You always do. Don’t even worry about that.”
Celeste chews on her lower lip. “I just—I need it all to go off without a hitch. This is a big deal, you know? A lot of important people will be there. It means a lot to Ben. And to me.”
Victoria pats Celeste on the knee. “It’s going to be wonderful, perfect beyond your wildest dreams. You have the top wedding planner in the state.”
Celeste takes a sip of her champagne. “That’s true. I know I’m in capable hands with Wendy, but I can’t control everything.”
“You’re not supposed to worry about things you can’t control. And it’s just a party to celebrate you getting married, not the moon landing. Just relax a little.”
“I try. I just want Ben’s son to like me. He barely talks to me. I have a stepson now, Vic. A stepson! Can you believe it? I need him to accept me. And that’s why—”
Victoria clears her throat and looks pointedly in my direction.
I’m still standing like an idiot on the platform, terrified to move lest I get a pin stuck in my ass.
It’s pretty obvious Celeste forgot I was there.
And I’m pretty sure she was about to say that she only invited me to be in her entourage to appease Hunter.
She gets up abruptly, putting her champagne down, and walks over to me, pretending to admire my dress.
It’s a sparkly gold gown that molds over my curves and pools around my feet, dozens of beads sewn into the soft fabric.
I wonder if it’s silk. It feels delicious against my skin.
I don’t dare to wonder at the price tag.
“This is your color,” Celeste says. “You’re really glowing, Stevie.”
“Thank you, Celeste. I really appreciate being a part of your big day.” It seems like the right thing to say anyway. I would never tell her how I really feel.
Celeste beams. “I can’t believe it’s in only two weeks.”
“It’s so exciting,” I say.
“Yes, it is,” Celeste agrees, turning away and reaching for her champagne again, but not before I see the doubt in her eyes.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I leave the fitting and drive back to my apartment, grateful to be away from the weird energy in the boutique.
Celeste and her friends invited me to dinner afterward, but I declined as politely as I could, and I think they were secretly relieved about that. Why would a bunch of 30-year-old women want to hang out with a college sophomore anyway?
Not to mention, Celeste probably wants to talk about private things that I should not be privy to, like being a new stepmom to a man only nine years younger than her.
That’s gotta be a crazy reality for her, one that’ll take a lot of getting used to, and knowing Hunter, he won’t make it easy on her.
Becca is home when I walk in, watching another reality TV show. I’m so glad to see her and be in her very normal aura that I rush to the couch, grabbing her and hugging her tight.
“What’s up with you?” she asks, returning my hug with one arm. “Should I be worried?”
“I just got back from a dress fitting with Celeste.”
Becca leans away from me. “Uh oh. Was it awful?”
“It was…weird.”
“Weird in what way?”
“Just…weird. I felt like I was some kind of experiment for them. Celeste is really sweet, but her friends are a little snobby.”
“Screw them. What did your dress look like? Did you like it?”
I settle myself comfortably on the couch. Becca hits pause on the TV. “It’s a long gold dress, fully beaded,” I tell her. “Kind of heavy. But it fit me pretty well. The seamstress is just going to adjust the bust to make it more secure.”
Becca’s fashion-obsessed eyes are all dreamy. “I wish you had a photo to show me.”
“I have another fitting next week, so I’ll take pictures then.”
“I’m so excited for you. You’re gonna be the prettiest girl there.”
I shake my head. “Stop.”
“I’m serious. Shut up. I know better than you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, really? And how would you know that? Have you seen the guest list?”
“I just know, okay? Don’t question me.”
“Fine,” I concede. “Anyway, do you wanna order takeout? I’m hungry. I was thinking Thai or maybe Indian.”
“Thai, please. Drunken noodles with tofu.”
“You got it, babe.”
I place the order, getting pad see ew with chicken for me.
Then I go to my bedroom to change into some comfy sweats.
The last two days have sort of overwhelmed me.
I feel nervous about the party and my role in it.
It’s such a big deal for Celeste, but the truth is that I don’t feel like I belong.
Especially since Hunter and I are not in any way official.
I’m going to feel like a fraud standing next to him in my fancy gown.
I wish I could have a conversation with him about our relationship, but that seems extremely presumptuous.
He’s made it clear I’m just a fuck buddy to him, a fuck buddy he pays.
My role in his life couldn’t be more defined, except that he keeps blurring the lines by inviting me to his uncle’s art gallery opening, his family home for dinner, and now we’re going to his father and stepmom’s celebration. It doesn’t make any sense.
I should have been more firm about him not paying me anymore.
I don’t understand how he does it, but he always makes me want to do his bidding. Whatever. Every time I think about it, it just gives me a headache. I need to detach somehow. I’m not going to stop seeing Hunter, and he’s not going to stop paying me. I guess I’ll have to suck it up and accept it.
My mom and I talk a few times a week on the phone, and I’ve told her that I’m seeing Hunter casually.
She sounded so excited about the wedding celebration last time I spoke.
I know she worries about me on my own in college, but also wants to let me spread my wings.
I just wish I could tell her everything.
Shaking off my thoughts, I pick up our food from where the delivery guy left it by the front door and take it into the kitchen, removing Styrofoam containers from a plastic bag.
“Do you want me to bring real plates or will you just eat out of the container?” I ask Becca.
“Plates, please.”
I grab plates and utensils from the drawers and carry them over to the coffee table in the living room.
Then I grab cans of soda and a pair of glasses.
Becca has already moved our noodles from the containers onto the plates.
She’s placed forks and knives all properly beside the plates. I smile when I see it.
“You’re so proper,” I tell her.
“Blame my Armenian mother.”
“It’s cute.”
We each grab our plates and place them onto our laps. Becca turns the TV back on.
“What crazy reality show are we watching today?”
She smirks. “A bunch of celebrities have to discover the traitors in their midst to win a big prize.”
I take a bite of chicken. “Sounds dumb.”
“It’s actually quite entertaining. Don’t judge before you’ve even seen it.”
I sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry for having a low opinion of a reality TV show.”
“Snob.”
I smack her lightly on the arm. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
We watch about half of the episode in silence while we eat. My pad see ew is perfect. And judging by how Becca’s inhaling her drunken noodles, I’m guessing hers are perfect too.
“So, what’s new?” I ask, putting my plate back on the coffee table.
She shrugs, eyes on the TV. “Not much besides the usual.”
“You didn’t come home last night.”
“Um.”
“What?”
“I was…at a friend’s. We were up late watching a movie and I didn’t feel like driving back.”
I frown. That certainly sounds plausible, but Becca’s tone is shifty, like she’s not telling the whole truth.
“Was this friend…a guy?” I ask.
She shifts in her seat. “Maybe.”
“And is he maybe more than a friend?”
Becca stuffs a big piece of tofu into her mouth and chews for, like, an hour.
“Bec, I’m not gonna judge you for sleeping with some guy.”
“I know,” she mumbles.
But when she doesn’t elaborate, I decide to quit prying.
She’ll tell me when she’s ready. The urge to blurt out everything about my and Hunter’s situation is always there when I’m hanging out with Becca, but so far, I’ve bitten my tongue again and again.
So, I understand her wanting to keep her own secrets.
However, I have this feeling we’re both going to blurt it all out to each other at some point. The tension is palpable.
“I wish you could be my plus one at Celeste’s party,” I say instead.
“Hunter is your plus one.”
“I think technically I’m his plus one.”
Becca looks thoughtful. “It would be awesome to come to a society wedding. The fashion alone would keep me fed for weeks.”
“Do you want me to ask Celeste if you can come?”
Becca stares at me in horror. “Absolutely not, you crazy person. Just make sure you take lots of pictures, please.”
“Yes, boss.”
Later, as I’m getting ready for bed, I finally let myself feel the emotional weight of everything that’s been going on.
The nebulous relationship I have with Hunter, all the feelings that he evokes in me, the fact that I’m fully addicted to him, and also the fact that I feel more and more uncomfortable about our contract.
And now, all the expectations of me as a member of Celeste’s entourage and the nerves of attending the party full of a bunch of rich and important people.
I feel like everyone is going to take one look at me and know immediately that I don’t belong.
Somehow, I’ll have to hold my own.
I crawl into bed, not even bothering to read a few pages of my book.
My essay on The English Patient was turned in weeks ago and I got an A-.
I’m halfway done with my other essay on The Taming of the Shrew for Philosophy.
At least I’ve been on top of my schoolwork.
Not worrying about money has made me pay more attention in all my classes and have the time to do the work and all the required reading.
I’ve also been busy making new jewelry designs and shipping off orders.
I’m in this perfect bubble right now, and bubbles always pop.
As I close my eyes, I say a little prayer to the universe that everything will be all right.