16. Amanda
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AMANDA
The third dress is, in theory, perfect. Loose where it should be, and clinging just enough everywhere else.
It’s plum, so dark without being tragic.
It’s also dressy enough for a wedding without being so luxurious I can’t justify buying it.
Under the harsh dressing room lights, with quiet jazz leaking through the thin walls, I squint at my reflection.
The chiffon hits just at my knees, flutters when I shift, and pulls across my chest when I breathe too deeply.
There’s a belt I could tie at my waist, but that would draw attention to exactly what I’m trying to hide.
I’m stuck in that awful in-between where it could be one of two stories: the girl still spiraling over her cheating boyfriend and his pregnant mistress, or the girl who’s pregnant herself.
I hate that anyone might assume I’m pining over Daray, but I’m not ready for the world to know my business.
“Do I look pregnant in this?” I call out, even though I already know the answer.
Val’s voice cuts through the curtain. “You are pregnant.”
“I know,” I say, sharper. “But do I look it?”
There’s a pause, long enough to tell me she’s deciding whether to indulge me. “Come out,” she finally says.
The curtain clings to my arms as I push through.
Val’s sitting on the little round ottoman, one leg crossed precisely over the other, glasses low on her nose, reading over Psychotherapy Networker.
She’s dressed for clinical appointments later in the afternoon, not a fancy shopping outing—navy blazer, ankle boots, hair pinned in some architecturally impossible knot.
Her eyes scan me with all the warmth of an MRI machine.
“I said you should find something loose, not shapeless,” she says.
I tug the belt, resisting the urge to suck in, trying to get it as close to my boobs as possible. Maybe people won’t look at my belly if it’s eclipsed by my giant chest. “It’s strategic.”
She tilts her head. “That’s as strategic as mutually assured destruction. You look like a chubby prune.”
I sigh. “Don’t you need to find a dress yourself?”
She shakes her head. “I already have a dress. I just need to go to the store and make sure they took it in at the right places. So all my attention can be on you, my friend.”
“That’s just wonderful.” I grunt. “This fabric is forgiving!”
She tilts her head. “Forgiving to whom? Your belly or your feelings?”
I shoot her a look that would make someone less trained flinch. “Val…”
Val shrugs, not unkindly. “It’s a valid clinical question.”
I lean back against the mirror, arms crossed. I don’t look at myself. “Okay, then. What’s the diagnosis, doctor?”
“You’re trying to disappear and impress at the same time,” she says, almost gently. “A classic case.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not trying to impress Daray.”
Val doesn’t even blink. “Agreed.”
My ears go hot. I grip the curtain, deciding if I should strangle her or retreat into it forever. “You’re exhausting,” I mutter.
She smiles, smug and fond. “You’re the one who invited me.”
I go into the changing room, then whip around and point at Val. “And at this wedding you’ll leave Er—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She cuts me off, shrugging. “You made it clear. Eric’s your person, not my patient.”
I shift inside the changing room, the curtain swaying closed behind me.
The dress slips off easily and pools at my feet.
Fifteen weeks and five days. I’m still the only one paying attention to the barely noticeable bump.
Noticeable enough that I need something with room.
I’m not ashamed I’m bigger, but I am realizing that, in its own way, my relationship with Daray was similar to this dress: a shield from something more lethal.
“You won’t do that again to him,” I raise my voice, and I unhook the next dress from the hangers. “You hear me?”
“Won’t do what?”
“Interrogate him. Throw trick questions at him, like you did at dinner. That’s not your job.”
“What’s my job at this wedding, Mandy? Because I find it insulting that you think I am not on your side.”
“You need to be my friend.” I pull the zipper open.
“Got it. Friend hat on.”
“So, speaking of your roommate.” Val’s voice is loud enough that half the store can hear her. “Has he figured out you’re having X-rated dreams of him yet? Because you don’t need a psych degree to figure out what that means.”
“You…” I peek around the curtain and wish that my flaming cheeks would set her on fire. “Shut up!”
She isn’t wrong, though. Dusting, mopping, doing dishes…
I never knew chores could make a man look hot.
But then we went on that hike, and he climbed that tree.
His biceps rippled, veins stood out in his forearms, and when he swung over a branch, his shirt rode up just enough to show a trail of black, curly hair crawling up his stomach.
And when he asked if I was hungry, I licked my lips and almost told him I was ravenous for him and everything I can’t have.
I made the mistake of telling Val. She won’t let me live it down.
I focus on the next dress. Green isn’t my usual color, but it has a high waist and enough fabric that I could pass for a person and not a chubby prune.
When I step out again, Val looks up from her phone and gives a single nod of approval. “Better.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Better like, wearable or better like, you might just make it through the day in it?”
She stands, walking around me with the slow scrutiny of someone who’s seen too many people unravel. “Both.” Her fingers tug on the back and adjust the shoulder seam. “It still isn’t right.”
Val walks away, and before I can complain, she brings back a faux wrap indigo-blue gown. It is on the longer side and has a pronounced V-neck. “Here. Try this.”
I slide back into the dressing room, and she speaks through the curtain. “You’ll be the second most-watched woman there, you know.”
I snort. “Cece, the girl Keith is marrying, is gorgeous.”
She stares at me, expressionless, before humming. “Keith’s the half brother, yes? Eric’s father will be there too?”
“Yes,” I respond. “But you know my stance on it. It’s Eric’s story. I won’t tell.”
“You think they’ll talk to him?”
“Daddy dearest might.” I still just slightly. “Keith will for sure. Keith… He’s not good to Eric.” I sigh.
“This sounds so dysfunctional. I honestly can’t wait.”
I step out again and stand barefoot in front of the mirror just in time to catch the excitement in Val’s eyes.
She taps my shoulder. “This one’s the right dress. You’ll do great slaying ex-boyfriends, jackass half brothers, and evil biological fathers alongside your parenting partner.”
I lift my chin, studying myself again. The indigo slims my torso.
The faux wrap holds instead of clinging, skimming every place I don’t want attention drawn to.
I like the way I look. It brings out my hair and my eyes.
This feels right. If they come for Eric, my baby, or anybody else, I will be slaying some fuckers for sure.
“You really think so?” I ask.
Val doesn’t hesitate. “It’s the first one where you stopped holding your breath.”
I nod. “Let me get changed, and we can pick yours up.”
By the time I step back out and find her, Val is paying for my dress. It’s over a hundred dollars. It’s not a bad deal for a fancy gown, but it’s still a lot for her to pay for. “Val, what are you doing?”
She shrugs.
“You didn’t have to buy me a dress.”
“I didn’t,” Val says, matter-of-fact. “Eric did.”
“What?”
“Eric gave me his card. Said you shouldn’t have to stress about a fucking dress.
” She shrugs. “He says fucking a lot. Did you notice? Anyway, I agree.” She hands me the card.
I take it without thinking. It’s still warm from her hand.
For a second, all I can do is stare at Eric’s name protruding in silver letters from the gold background.
“You can give it back to him. Now, let’s go. ”
“Are you warming up to Eric?”
She turns to me, lips pressed, cheeks faintly pink. “I still think this”—she gestures between me and the card I’m holding—“is unhealthy. You need to talk to him and at least… Just talk to him.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Val?”
My friend smiles, a trace of shyness breaking through.
She adjusts the strap of her bag. “He’s really trying, Amanda.
He wants this. Yes, he made a mistake. But maybe, just maybe, a mistake from three years ago doesn’t have to define him, especially against the lifetime you both share.
We’re therapists. We know people can grow, evolve, get better. ”
It turns out Val’s errand is incredibly fast. Within twenty minutes of parking at the store, she is pulling back out of the parking lot with a red bombshell dress custom-altered in the back seat. Now, she’s driving well over the speed limit and cursing at every driver who forces her to slow down.
“What did you think of the dress?” she asks.
“I told you. It’s a great dress. I do think you’re trying to punish Diego by making him sweat through your hotness, though.”
“Amanda, there is no joy in just trying things,” Val says too quickly.
That shuts me up. I think of her earlier words. Eric’s really trying. I pull out my phone, fingers hovering over his number.
Amanda
Thanks for the dress. You didn’t need to.
There’s barely any time between the message being sent and the three little dots showing on my screen.
Eric
I wanted to.
I do have a request.
Amanda
Do you?
Eric
I need the color or a picture so my tie can match you.
Amanda
Oh? We’re matching now?
Eric
Of course we are.
I’m your date, aren’t I?
Val clears her throat, glancing sideways at me before smoothing her fingers over the steering wheel. “Do you think—never mind.”
My phone keeps buzzing, but her voice carries an uneven tenor that catches me off guard. “Come on, Val. You can ask.”
She sighs, deep and long. “Do you think that dress makes me look more passionate?”
I have to work to stifle a laugh. “Passionate?”