TOO BIG, TOO FLASHY
TALLULAH
Walking into the mall, I texted my parents in our group chat. They were so excited to visit, we had plans to see Niagara Falls. They were thrilled to don ponchos and take pictures together, and while they messaged me about our vacation itineraries, I was mentally planning something else.
Nick and I needed to have a real conversation. I’d always be his friend and I loved him, but if he continued to shut down, it wouldn’t work out between us. I knew my anxiety better than that. It’d wear away at me, changing me into someone I didn’t want to be.
The best day to confront him would be the day before the Niagara Falls trip. Because if Nick didn’t want to try something more, I’d have my parents to comfort me.
It’d be such a damper on their trip, possibly ruining their vacation. At the beginning of the summer, I couldn’t imagine doing something like that to my parents. Now? It didn’t bother me. This was the kind of heartache I wouldn’t be able to deal with alone.
It was scary to think of, this pre-planned, not-quite breakup in the midst. It was scarier to think what would happen if I ignored this. I wanted to do what I should’ve done in my last relationship. If it wasn’t healthy for me, I needed to take out the knife and begin the healing process.
I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I was determined to go through with it.
After I bought a dress for the charity gala.
The stupid charity gala tonight. I’d tried to get out of it already—Andrew had squashed that request into the dirt.
Apparently, Tomasini wanted to meet me face to face.
What a joy that would be. I’d have to grind my teeth into dust and resist the urge to say something that ultimately wouldn’t mean anything.
“Shit,” I sighed. “Fuck.”
I hesitated outside the boutique. It was the same one I’d bought the dress at months ago for the house party. I’d never been good at clothes shopping. My routine was simple, get overwhelmed by the choices and abandon the endeavor when I found the first thing that fit.
Today was different. I didn’t want to rush through dress shopping.
I wanted to feel good at the gala. I’d need all of the emotional stabilizing factors in my toolbox. If I was in a dress I didn’t like, my anxiety would skyrocket to unsafe levels.
So what did that mean? What did I want?
I had no idea.
“Ma’am?” an attendant called out. “Do you need help?”
I froze, phone clutched in hand. She had a kind smile, her question genuine. I didn’t want to bother her, or take up her time, or fumble through the decision-making process I hadn’t even started yet. “Um…I’m looking for a dress?”
“Any particular color? Style? Occasion?”
“Oh, um—” ducked between the aisles. “I’ll figure it out. I’m fine.”
What a lie, I wasn’t fine. I wish I had someone to do this with. Nick was supposed to be here with me, but I could only take his awkward, uncomfortable silence for so long.
I wish I had someone to talk to about any of this.
My feelings for Nick, the intensity of them, and the terrors of dress shopping caught up to me all at once. I faltered beside another long row of gorgeous dresses. All of them were way too over the top for me.
“What am I doing?” I mumbled.
I needed help. And Nick couldn’t help me with this.
Chewing my bottom lip, I glanced down at my phone. I wasn’t helpless. Or I didn’t want to be. I opened the group chat with the girls from Marrs, gazing down at their pictures across the top of the screen. The chat was lively already. Messages flew across, discussing a spring break trip next year.
When was the last time I even messaged these girls?
Mm…someone’s birthday last month? Maybe?
My eyes darted to the lines of dresses. I needed a good dress. Whatever happened tonight, Nick would be there, and I’d never abandon him with Tomasini. I refused to leave him behind.
I wanted to find something I looked and felt good in. I just didn’t know how to do that.
With a gulp, I typed my message before I could stop myself.
me
Can anyone help me? I need to buy a dress and I’m in over my head.
Oh my god. How pathetic was that? I had to delete the message.
Before I could, another one popped up.
zariah
like do you need a link to a dress?
me
No, I’m at a dress shop and I don’t know how to do any of this.
This is stupid.
I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.
Forget I said anything, it’s okay.
My phone buzzed with the video call and I stared down at my screen, terrified.
Zariah was calling me?
I considered ignoring it, stuffing my phone in my purse, and going about my day. Probably apologizing later and lying that I’d mistyped my message or maybe my kitten stepped on my phone.
My conversation with Nick came back to me, in the quiet peacefulness of the woods. His reminder that I couldn’t get better at things if I didn’t try.
“Fuck it,” I blurted out and answered the call.
Zariah appeared, sunbathing at a pool in Atlanta, drink in hand. “Girl, you’re not inconveniencing anybody.” She took a drink. “If I didn’t want to talk I wouldn’t have answered.”
“Hi—hi—” I stammered.
Another girl appeared, halving Zariah’s screen.
Willow, a popular music major on campus, the football coach’s stepdaughter.
She was at one of the outdoor tables at Gianna’s, sitting on her boyfriend’s lap.
“You’re shopping for a dress? I did this marketing and branding online class, we spent so long on color wheel matches—you have red undertones.
You’ll want emerald greens, and blues—blues are going to be perfect for you. ”
June’s video cut in too, putting all three girls on the screen. She was studying at her desk in Boston, a tired smile on her face. “What’s the makeup situation?”
“Makeup?” I repeated, nervous. “Um…I want to buy lipstick, but what if I pick the wrong color? I don’t know…”
“I don’t wear makeup anymore, but if you snap me photos of the shades, I’ll help you out.” June smiled.
I frowned, confused. “You don’t wear makeup anymore?”
“I have some…body issues stuff going on. I realized I was putting so much stock into makeup, I couldn’t recognize myself,” she answered honestly. “I don’t judge anyone for wearing it. I just know it’s not good for me. After graduation, I dropped makeup altogether.”
I was so shocked. I never thought June Basil of all people could have self- esteem issues.
“What’s the event?” Zariah asked, taking another drink. “What are we playing dress-up for?”
“It’s this fancy gala for the Olympics,” I admitted, walking among the aisles. “Well, it’s for this—erm—boy…”
Willow perked up. “Boy?”
“Boy,” I confirmed, glum.
“What kind of boy?” Zariah pushed. “What’re the details?”
“He’s sweet, and so funny, and I care about him so much,” I whispered.
“He gives me butterflies like nobody else. I love talking to him, and spending time with him…I feel like I can be myself around him. Not even just myself, he pushes me to be comfortable with who I am, and who I could be.” I sighed.
“I used to not feel anxious around him. Now there’s this weird tension between us.
I want to tell him that I…I want something more.
” I chewed my bottom lip. “I want a nice dress because I want him to see me and…”
“Be amazed?” June suggested.
“Awestruck?” Zariah tried. “Gobsmacked? I always liked gobsmacked, such a great word—”
“I want him to see me, and know that I’m valuable, and if he loses me—” I sucked in a breath. “—he fucked up!”
Willow stared at me. “Tallulah.”
“Got it, you want him to cum in his pants,” Zariah said, nonplussed. “Show the dresses.”
Blushing, I showed them the ones behind me, and stopped myself. “Oh my god, not these.”
“What’s wrong with them?” June asked.
“Well, they’re gowns. I can’t wear—”
“Why not?” Willow wondered.
“Because they’re—they’re big and flashy. I like my body, I do, but I don’t want people to think I’m looking for attention, I don’t want them to judge me—”
Zariah scoffed. “Girl, who gives a fuck?”
“I do,” I said desperately.
“Tell yourself you don’t,” she insisted. “When you feel good, in a bangin’ dress, people can feel that shit, and yeah, you are going to get attention from it. Because you’re gorgeous. Flaunt it!”
I swallowed. “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ll try.”
“This boy better deserve the effort,” Willow remarked.
The truth slipped out of me. “He said he loves me and then said he didn’t mean it.”
The girls erupted into indignant shouts. I cowered from the phone, flaming with embarrassment.
“What?!” Willow said. “Don’t buy the dress, block him!”
“Slash three out of four of his tires,” Zariah suggested. “I heard insurance won’t cover it if it’s only three.”
“That’s a myth, Zariah,” June chided.
“Oh. Then throw a brick at his window. Or at his head.”
“I—I think he’s nervous,” I admitted. “I think he hasn’t…done this before…I don’t know. It’s different—it’s weird. It’s like…it’s like…”
What was it like? It was such an extreme, but his cagey behavior wasn’t incredibly out of the ordinary. Which was weird from him. That wasn’t who I thought Nick was. It was almost like…
My mouth fell open, my eyes snapped to the dresses. “That fucker is hiding something from me.”
“Wooooah, Tallulah.” Zariah whistled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fucker’ before.”
“I know it,” I exclaimed, unsure of how exactly I knew.
How did I know? I couldn’t explain it. There were so many questions Nick had dragged out, so many half-answers, everything said so carefully, because Nick was hiding something else from me.
I paced across the floor. “He’s like a kid who broke a plate and buried the evidence in the garden outside.
It’s stupid, he’s going overboard, because he’s doing a terrible job at keeping a secret—he’s so bad at this! ”
“What kind of secret?” June asked, mystified.
“I…I have no idea.” I blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Like he has a wife?” Zariah suggested. “Baby on the way?”
“Zariah,” June sighed.
“What? We’re all thinking it.”
“Tallulah, even if that’s true, you don’t deserve someone who takes back something like ‘I love you,’” Willow said gently. “That’s just…I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, absent-mindedly. Whatever dress I picked, I planned to take to the Olympic Village to get ready. I needed space to think about this. Willow had a point. I was falling in love with Nick, but if this is how he acted under pressure, this wouldn’t be healthy for either of us.
We needed to have a calm, rational conversation, to talk as adults. Either he’d tell me what was obviously bothering him, or I was done. I wouldn’t be pushed around anymore. I wanted to be loved, respected, and cared for, because that’s what I would do for someone.
I wouldn’t accept anything less.