Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Mia
I couldn’t believe Brax had been an undergrad and a med student in Wisconsin and had never brought a cheese curd to his lips. I made it my mission to change that immediately. While he waited on a bench inside the little indoor shopping area, I walked up to one of the food trucks parked in a nearby lot and got us some.
Waiting in line, and yes, there was a line, even at eleven in the morning, gave me a minute to calm down. I had stars in my eyes. I couldn’t help myself.
Brax had bought my parents a charcuterie board, and I was pretty sure there was something else in that bag that he wasn’t talking about.
Maybe for me. The thought that he might have bought me a surprise gift made me ridiculously giddy. Plus, he kept holding my hand.
Even more nerve-racking, it looked like I’d decided to go to Charlie and Erin’s party tonight. But I didn’t have an issue with people seeing me as anything other than perfect, did I? I mean, I’d spent most of my life minimizing my scrapes and failures to not worry my parents, but had that made me think I had to show a perfect face to the world as well?
As I thought about that, I realized that sooner or later, unless I never came home again, I’d have to face Charlie and everyone I knew. And maybe that was the best reason of all to go.
Despite Brax’s uncanny ability call me out on my flaws, I had good reason to believe that if I survived this event, there was a great chance I might be doing more with Brax than just holding hands.
I felt this huge, warm wave of anticipation expanding in my chest that I was afraid to name. I forced myself to breathe and prayed that it wasn’t all going to go away. This must be what really falling in love was like. Not like with Charlie, when I was just a kid and didn’t understand what real love was.
I brought the goods back to the bench and sat down next to Brax. “Okay, now close your eyes. It’s time for a taste test.”
He shut his eyes but quickly cracked one open. “A cheese curd taste test?”
“Totally.” I waited until he complied. “Open up.”
He did, and I placed a cheese curd in his mouth. It was firm, whitish, and irregularly shaped, and he took it willingly. Could someone look sexy when they’re chewing? Brax certainly could. “What do you think?”
“It’s very…cheesy.” He opened his eyes. “It’s good.”
“How squeaky was it?” I sounded like I was doing a survey. But I had to educate the man on Wisconsin lore, didn’t I?
He looked incredulous. “Squeaky?”
“A good curd squeaks when the protein strands rub against tooth enamel.”
“Cool. Give me another one, and I’ll check.”
I did and popped one in my own mouth too. “Yep. Definitely squeaky. Ready for Number Two?”
This time, I took a freshly fried curd with a garlicky breadcrumb coating—my personal, all-time favorite—and placed it carefully on his tongue. Then I kissed him, because I couldn’t help it.
“Mmm, now you’re talking,” he said. “More kisses, please.”
“Focus on the curd,” I said. “For now.”
He chewed, his skeptical frown dissolving into a look of pure pleasure. “This is incredible. What is a cheese curd anyway?”
A magical thing. But I wanted him to discover that for himself, so I started from the beginning. “Did you ever learn the nursery rhyme, Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet …”
“…eating her curds and whey?”
“Exactly,” I confirmed. “The curds separate from the whey, which is the watery part.”
His mouth curved upward. “Interesting, but can I have another one?”
I frowned. “A curd or a kiss?”
Before I could answer, he reached over and kissed me breathless, right there on the bench, in the middle of the Christmas shopping crowd. He even remembered to take the little cardboard carton of curds from my hand and set it down. When we finally came up for air, I had no idea how long we’d been kissing or what we’d been talking about beforehand. I did vaguely remember, in retrospect, a couple of whistles, claps, and cheers from passersby.
“Wisconsin has the only master cheesemaker program outside Switzerland,” I said as I recovered.
He shot me a giant grin. “Good to remember if being a doctor doesn’t work out.” He popped another fried curd into his mouth. “These are almost as addictive as you.”
We devoured the rest of the cheese and, energy restored, were window shopping our way back to Brax’s car, when he suddenly halted in front of the most chichi shop on the street, a women’s clothing boutique that I’d never even step foot in. La Petite Poussine, The Baby Chick, was like a James Beard-rated restaurant that made you salivate over its entrées even as your wallet forced you to head down the street to settle for a drive-through burger. But burgers were good too, right? And they didn’t break the bank. Until recently, anyway.
Brax was staring at the mannequin in the window, who wore a red sequined dress with a plunging neckline that fit her unrealistic form like a second skin.
He turned to me, all earnestness. “You need this.”
Was he joking? “I am not going to wear Revenge Red to my ex’s party.”
“But your English teacher said.” He literally held up his face so close to the window that his nose touched the glass. “How about that one?” I did the same, to find him pointing to another dress that hung jauntily on a headless mannequin above a round dress rack. It was formfitting, made of a shimmery maroon material, with a scooped neckline and little straps. I gave a little gasp. It was love at first sight.
The dress was…stunning. Satiny, clingy, but classy. It was something you’d wear to a fancy office Christmas party or a wedding or a dinner and feel amazing in. Plus, it happened to be my favorite color, deep, intense, but not wildly bright.
I guess I hesitated, but Brax took that for a yes, and next thing I knew, he was towing me through the door, straight up to the dress. I dared to touch the butter-soft material. “Pretty.” I immediately searched for the price tag, but this time, Brax steered me off to the side. Before he could make a case for the dress, I dropped my voice. “This place is out of my price range.”
What he said next shocked me. With a look of total assurance, he said, “This is an out-of-your-comfort-zone event. You need a one-of-a-kind dress.”
The man was not a spendthrift. I happened to know that he bought his dress shirts at TJ Maxx. He made his lunch at home every single day and brought it to work in a vintage Spiderman lunch box from the nineties. And of course, there was his eight-year-old CR-V. So, this was completely out of character.
“May I help you?” A woman who looked to be in her thirties with jet-black hair, red lipstick, and a French accent walked over to us, smiling.
A woman in a bright orange jumpsuit waved to her and left out the door. Either she was an escaped con or at the height of fashion, I wasn’t sure which.
I was wearing soft old jeans and a Fair Isle sweater. A fashionista I was not. What was I even doing here?
“No, thanks,” I said, “we were just…”
I didn’t even get out the “looking” before Brax asked, “Would you happen to have this dress in my girlfriend’s size?”
“Ah, but this is the only one.” She reached up to touch the hem so that the silky material caught all the rays of light from a nearby Christmas tree. “A beauty, isn’t it?”
I tugged on Brax’s arm. I happened to get a feel of his biceps in the process, which was actually not unpleasant. “There, you see?” I said with an oh-well smile. “Wasn’t meant to be. Time to go.”
Claudia, our salesperson, according to her name tag, proceeded to take the dress off the headless mannequin and then hold it up next to me. “You have a coat on, of course, but I believe this might be your size. When do you need it for?”
“Tonight,” Brax said.
“Would you like to try it on?” she asked pleasantly.
Absolutely not. “No, thank you,” I managed. “I?—”
“Give us just a minute.” Brax steered me over to an aisle of faux-fur-lined evening jackets and crossed his arms.
I knew that stance. That was his Bianca-you-need-to-take-this-pill-right - now stance. His take-no-prisoners posture. “You’re being stubborn.”
“ You’re being stubborn,” I replied. “I could easily find something in my closet.”
He lifted a skeptical brow. “This is not the event to wear a circa 2007 prom dress to.”
One for him. Unless I wanted to show up a bubble-gum-pink dress with sequins and red five-inch heels with bows that I had no idea why my practical mother ever let me buy, he was right.
“That dress costs as much as a paycheck,” I said. “Plus, you need special undies to wear with it.” Not to mention proper shoes. “And it’s three o’clock.” Meaning we had T minus four hours.
“It’s not that much. And I’m sure Claudia could help with all that—er—other stuff.” I started to leave, but he held me back. “How about this? You try it on, and if it doesn’t fit, we’re done here.”
“Okay, fine.” I was pretty sure I’d seen that old prom dress hanging in my closet. Along with a few short, inappropriate-for-a-wedding-celebration black dresses from my sorority days. And not much else.
Claudia walked over to a fitting room door, the dress shimmering over her arm.
I went in and, despite my practical cotton bra and undies, tried it on.
Drat. It fit. To perfection. I pushed back the curtain.
Brax was sitting on a pink velvet settee, checking his phone. He glanced up when I walked onto the trying-on dais in front of a three-way mirror.
And then he dropped his phone. He blinked a few times. Cleared his throat.
Oh wow. Maybe this dress was worth the credit card debt after all.
“Mia, I…it’s…” I’d never seen him lose his words. “You’re a fricking knockout. ”
I probably turned the same color as the dress. I shook my head in denial at his words, but they ran over me as smoothly as hot fudge sauce. And from the look in his eyes, I could tell he meant them.
Claudia came rushing over. “C’est belle! Magnifique!”
“It’s very beautiful,” I agreed cautiously. “But I have to think about it.”
“I recommend you think fast,” she said. “That woman in the orange jumpsuit who just left is thinking about it too.” She dropped her voice. “But it looks better on you.”
Okay, she was good. But still. I went back inside the fitting room and sent a quick selfie to Gabe, my fashion consultant.
He responded before I had my shoes back on. “ Damn, girl, buy that immediately! ”
Okay, so no help there either.
I liked the dress. I really liked Brax’s win-the-lottery reaction. But it was only a silly party.
“I’ll think about the dress, okay?” I said to Brax as we walked out a few minutes later. “Maybe I’ll have time to run into Madison this afternoon.”
“I thought we were helping Dina and Liam wrap Emma’s gifts and watching you and your sibs put up your ornaments from when you were kids.”
I groaned. “My mother makes everything a tradition.” She was especially fond of those little crafty ornaments from grade school that she kept in special labeled boxes for each one of us.
“Ice cream,” he said, pointing to our local creamery a few doors down. “That makes everyone think better.”
I glanced up to the La Petite Poussine window, where Claudia was putting sparkly earrings into a display.
Ugh, I hadn’t even brought jewelry. I guess I did a poor job stifling my groan, because Brax glanced over. “There’s no way short of a fairy godmother I could put myself together before tonight.” I counted off on my fingers: “Dress, underwear, shoes, jewelry.” I thought of something else. “Plus, that dress is for something more important than an ex’s wedding reception.”
Brax waved his hands in the air. “You’re overthinking,” he said.
“You’re a man,” I retorted. “You have no idea.”
“You can wear a dress like that anywhere.”
He might’ve had a point. Still, it was a big splurge. We joined the ice cream line, which by now was twenty-five people long, and all my nerves had replaced my appetite.
Brax’s phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the number. “Hey, I’ve got to take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
As he answered it, I grabbed his elbow. “Don’t you dare go back and buy that dress,” I warned.
He pressed his lips together, stifling a smile. “I respect your autonomy far too much to do that.” After one step away, he turned. “Hey, get me a chocolate cone, okay?”
And that was how he left me. With a stomach too full of heartburn to even want ice cream.
He returned just in time to accept his cone.
“Where’s yours?” he asked.
“Not hungry. I decided that I’m going back to get that dress.”
“Great,” he said, taking the cone.
“I mean, YOLO and everything,” I said, rambling. “Plus, closure is important. Might as well feel good about myself when the eyes of the entire town are on me, right?”
In my confusion, I finally realized he was wearing a huge grin. And he was standing kind of funny. Sort of like how you do when you’re hiding something.
I peeked around him to see a shopping bag with strongly scented pink tissue paper sticking out of it. And it smelled just like La Petite Poussine.
“Ah-choo!” I sneezed into my arm.
“Gesundheit,” he said. He grinned and stepped aside. “Good thing you want it, because it’s unreturnable.”
“Thanks, fairy godfather. I’ll Venmo you.”
“No, you won’t. Merry Christmas.”
I tugged him by the sleeve of his jacket over to the side of the wall. Three little kids were sitting at a table nearby. There was more ice cream on their faces and clothes than in their little bodies.
“Brax…Brax.” I took a deep breath. “No. Just…no. I can’t accept this as a gift. I just can’t.”
He set the bags down, and then he put his hands on my shoulders. “Mia,” he said softly, and his quiet, calm tone made me teary. I already sensed what he was about to say.
“Forget about the money for now. You can wear whatever you want to tonight. But I wanted you to have the choice of feeling like you could walk in there and do anything and feel confident and beautiful doing it. Even though you’re beautiful with the dress or without it.” He gave a lopsided grin that was absolutely charming. I knew that he truly wanted me to have that dress. Period. “Please don’t be angry with me. The lady with the orange jumpsuit was circling like a piranha. I had to act fast.”
Of course, I laughed. He did too. Then I clutched my stomach. I was now in full fight-or-flight mode.
“Have some ice cream. It always makes things better.”
I was more worried about panty lines and my boobs showing. “Do you mind if I run into the lingerie store?”
“Who do you think I am?” He looked fake appalled. “I didn’t get to be chief because I’m a slacker.” He pointed to the bag. “Claudia worked her magic. It’s all in there.”
I shook my head, incredulous. “Thanks,” I said, giving him a quick squeeze. “Not just for the dress, which I am totally paying you back for. For helping me think this through.”
“Anything for you,” he said, giving me a look that made me feel like melted chocolate inside.
This had been the most fun afternoon. It almost took away the pain of everything I had yet to face.