3. Lace #2
The last time I felt this way, I was standing outside the romance section at a bookstore.
I was always curious about the section where the women gathered.
The bookshelves lined with colorful spines, names of authors I didn't recognize, the paperbacks women carried onto the bus with their thumb holding the page.
For years it didn't feel like a section I was allowed to walk into.
Like something about me didn't qualify. Then one day I decided that was ridiculous, walked over, and picked up a book from the bestseller table. The rest was history.
There was something about the dress that called to me the same way the romance section had that day, so I put the groceries in the car and walked into the boutique.
A couple of girls browsing the rack next to it looked up when I approached. I knew that look. The quick scan, the half-second assessment like she doesn't belong here. I'd learned a long time ago that the best thing to do was just go about my business.
"That dress is going to look amazing on you." A saleslady appeared beside me. She was put together in a way that made it clear exactly why the girls at the next rack had looked at me the way they did.
"Thank you."
She looked at me, then looked at the rack. She pulled a medium off the hanger and held it out. "You're going to want this one, honey. You're blessed in the front and the back."
Normally that wouldn't be an acceptable comment, but there was something about the way she said it that made me chuckle.
She brought it to the fitting room. I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt, slipped the dress over my head, and turned to the mirror.
The dress was shorter than anything I wore outside my house.
The neckline sat lower than I was comfortable with, and the fabric pulled on my chest and my butt in a way that made me feel like I was borrowing someone else's body.
The woman looking back at me wasn't the one I saw every morning in the bathroom. She looked like someone I didn't know.
I opened the curtain. The saleslady put her hand over her heart. "Oh, you have to get that. You look so pretty."
She was a saleslady. Of course she was going to say that. She wanted the sale. But I looked back at the mirror in the fitting room.
The dress looked good. I just couldn't decide if it was meant for me.
"It's a versatile piece too," the saleslady said. "You can wear it just like that, or throw an oversized jacket over it with your boots. Totally different look. You'd look hot in both."
I stepped back from the mirror to get the full view.
Did I want to get to know the girl in the mirror?
Maybe.
Did I like her?
I let my eyes travel down the mirror. Then back up.
Yeah. I did.
I bought the dress. I wasn't ready to wear it anywhere. At least, not tonight. Not yet. But what was the harm in having it in my closet for when I felt like it?
Elliot wasn't home yet when I got to his apartment, so I let myself in with my key. I set the table, cooked, put everything out. He came home to the table set and the food ready. He stood in the doorway for a second, looking at me, and then he smiled.
"What did I do to deserve this?"
"You've been working hard, Sergeant Handler."
Dinner was easy. He told me about a call. I told him about the elevator. He laughed when I described Wyatt's face through the gap in the doors. For an hour, it felt like the beginning again. Back when we first started dating, just two people talking about the job, enjoying each other's company.
After, he pulled me toward the bedroom.
Something was different. I could feel it in his hands. He was impatient, distracted, and his rhythm was off. He finished fast and rolled over. I lay beside him in the dark, my body still waiting for something that wasn't coming.
"I'm going to go shower." He grabbed the back of my head and kissed me hard before he got up and closed the bathroom door behind him.
Something about it felt wrong. He'd never kissed me like that before. I shoved it aside and got up to change.
Elliot kept a side of his closet clear for my things. I reached for a shirt to change into but my fingers caught on something underneath.
I pulled it out.
Lingerie. Black lace, delicate, expensive.
My first thought was that he'd bought it for me.
I wanted that to be true. That made sense with the dinner I'd just cooked, and the evening I thought we were having.
But I was holding it up and it was too small for me.
Elliot had an entire shelf of my clothes in this closet. He knew what size I wore.
"Oh, that's for my sister." He was standing in the bathroom doorway with a towel around his waist. The look on his face lasted less than a second. A half-blink, a reset, and then the easy smile he had worn all evening was back again.
Sister.
It was becoming painfully clear. The roughness in the bedroom and the way he kissed me was energy he picked up from somewhere else. From someone else. He'd been lying this whole time.
"Who buys their sister lingerie?"
Silence. The lie sat between us, already dead.
"How long?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"How long, Elliot?"
"A few months."
The apartment went quiet. He'd been lying to my face for months and I didn't see it. Every night he worked late, every cancelled dinner, every time Burns called him in on his day off. I believed every single one of his excuses.
"We're done." I dropped the lingerie on the floor and reached for my clothes.