Frankie
I wrench myself from Angie’s grip. “How is that good news?”
Angie stares at me. “Because—”
“Angie, Richard and I are divorced and we’re going to stay divorced. It doesn’t matter if he’s in West Harbor or the Azores
or Timbuktu. We are never getting back together.”
“I am aware of that, Frankie.” Angie has that same look on her face she used to get when she was a kid and heard the word
No. Her pointy chin is thrust out and her jaw is set. Angie is the most stubborn of my siblings—and also the most frequently
wrong. But I love her, just the same. “I’m not suggesting that you do. I’m suggesting that Richard’s return is a perfect opportunity
for you to show him how little you care about him, and, more importantly, how well you’re doing without him.”
I relax a little. I hadn’t realized how defensively I’d begun clutching my arms across my chest at the mere mention of Richard’s name.
“Oh,” I say. “Well, that makes a little more sense. I thought you’d turned into Mom all of a sudden.”
“Ha!” Angie snorts as she pulls a sequined Dyson hair dryer and curling brush from her bag, then places both on my dining
room table. “No, don’t worry. Mom seems to have gotten over your divorce. In fact, she’s going around saying it was the malocchio she put on Richard that made his boat crash. She’s super proud of it.”
“That sounds like Mom.”
“Yeah.” Angie has draped the beach towel over one of my dining room chairs, and now she pats the seat. “Anyway, come sit down
so I can finally cover up those nasty grays of yours before Richard gets to town.”
“What? No. Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding.” Angie has gone to my sink and is mixing something—most likely hair dye—in one of my best bowls. “He’s
going to be here in a day or two, or however long it takes him to get the boat off the rocks and into a repair shop so he
can fly home. I heard Debi is already here—no surprise that she bailed at the first sign of trouble. Apparently she tried
to get her old job back at the Yoga Sanctuary, but they told her no way since she left them with zero notice. Sit down so
I can fix your hair and then, when you bump into her in town, you’ll look amazing. You haven’t let me give you a trim since
Richard left. I want to get all those dead ends off before I—”
“Angie, no.” I love my sister. But she, like all my family, is insane. “I don’t want a haircut. And I don’t want to cover
my gray, either. I’m proud of my gray hairs. I earned them—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Angie stirs her dye mixture as vigorously as my mom always stirs her risotto. “Whatever. You said the exact same thing when Cat and I invited you to get Botox with us.”
“Botox can have side effects that are fatal if—”
“Jesus, shut up, would you? We’re giving you a makeover. Jessica sent over a dress for you to wear.” She points to the Enchantments
bag on the couch. “She says it’s perfect for you, and you know how Jessica is. She has an amazing gift for picking out the
clothes that will look best on—”
“Angie, have you lost your mind?” I can’t deal with this today, especially not after all that teenage witch cult business.
“I am not letting you touch my hair. And I’m definitely not letting you touch my hair so I can look good for Richard.”
“Not for Richard.” Angie scoffs. “For you, for your self-confidence when you run into him again. You can’t be a Negative Nancy for the rest of your life. You have
to get out there and show him that you don’t care.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then show him that. Show him how well you’re doing without him! It will be an amazing confidence booster.”
“Angie, I do not need new hair or a new dress to show Richard that I’m doing well without him. I don’t need to boost my confidence.
I have plenty of confidence.”
“Then why haven’t you been on a single date since Richard left?”
“Because I don’t feel like dating! And who would I even go out with around here if I did? West Harbor is a dating wasteland
for heterosexual women. Thanks to all the witches that have moved in, the ratio of single women to single men in this town
is ten to . . .”
My voice trails off because Angie has pulled a dress from the Enchantments bag and is holding it up for me to see.
I don’t have many occasions to wear dresses.
I’m a T-shirt and jeans kind of girl, except when I’m wearing yoga pants with a more professional-looking top for telehealth appointments with my patients.
The only time I dress up is to accompany my mother to church for Christmas and Easter mass, my nieces’ christenings and communion, and various other Catholic holy days of obligation.
The dress Angie is holding up would not only be inappropriate to wear to church, it would be inappropriate to wear just about
anywhere in West Harbor.
That’s because it’s red. And also because it has a silver zipper all the way down the back, a zipper so long, it has a ribbon
attached to it so the person wearing the dress can zip it up like a scuba suit. And like a scuba suit, it looks impossibly
small. It’s got ruching at the waist to make it even more formfitting.
“Is this suede?” I demand, stepping forward despite myself to take the dress from Angie’s hands.
“Yes.” Angie looks triumphant. “Isn’t it amazing? It’s vintage. Jessica said you’re the first person she thought of when she
saw it. She says you have to wear it tonight.”
“Tonight?” I can’t stop fingering the material. It’s even softer than Ash’s dining room chairs. “What’s tonight?”
“Jessica and Derrick’s engagement party!” she cries. “I know you already RSVP’d that you can’t come, but Jessica has said
all along that you’re going to change your mind, and when she showed me this dress, I knew why. This is the perfect dress
for you. Jessica says to pair it with your black knee-high boots.”
I don’t bother asking how Jessica Gold knows I own black knee-high boots. Jessica is an alleged “good” witch who has been styling everyone in town since she opened her boutique. Ash would call Jessica’s ability to find the perfect thing for her customers to wear a “superpower.”
I call it “exploitive”—especially when I see the dress’s price tag.
“Fifteen hundred dollars?” I exclaim, tossing the buttery soft fabric back onto the couch in horror. “No wonder she thinks it’s so perfect for me!
There are only like five people in town who can afford a fifteen-hundred-dollar suede dress.”
“Yes, and you’re one of them.” Angie snatches up the dress and stuffs it back into my hands. “Come on, Frankie. Treat yourself a little. At least try it on.”
“A little?” I cry as she shoves me toward my bedroom door. “My wedding dress cost less than fifteen hundred dollars!”
“And it showed,” Angie says with the kind of savagery only shown by close friends and siblings. “Please go try the dress on.
For me.”
“No way,” I say.
But even as I’m insisting I won’t, I’m overcome with the urge to do exactly that. There’s something about the way the fabric
feels against my fingers that’s making me want to feel it against other parts of my body.
“Go try it on,” Angie says. “If you hate it, don’t buy it. You know Jessica won’t care either way.”
I hesitate because I know what’s going to happen if I try it on and don’t hate it. I’m going to buy it, and then I’m going
to stress out because I’ve overspent on a red suede dress I’m never going to wear because it’s so impractical.
But the material feels as airy as dandelion fluff on my fingers.
That’s it. I have to try it on.
“It’s not going to fit,” I say over my shoulder to Angie as I go into my bedroom. “It’s too small.”
“It’ll fit,” Angie says. She’s gone back to puttering around with her dye. “Jessica is never wrong about clothes. That’s why you’re going to wear it to her party tonight. And you’re going to let me cover your gray.”
“No, I’m not,” I declare as I go into my bedroom. “And don’t let the cat out while I’m in here, no matter how much she begs.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
I can’t see Angie anymore because I’ve stepped behind my bedroom door and am peeling off my clothes.
But I can hear her.
“And you’re going to the party if I have to drag you there. Dina says that Jessica and Derrick specifically chose the Brewport
as opposed to Mama Giovanni’s so the party wouldn’t feel stuffy. Not that I think Mama’s ever feels stuffy, but I guess they’re
not interested in giving their guests a white tablecloth experience . . . more like nachos and beer, which is another reason
why you have to come. I know how much you love nachos.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, as I wiggle into the dress. Even with the extra-long zipper ribbon, it’s not the easiest thing to get on.
The sleeves are very long and very tight.
But I was right. The suede feels amazing against my skin, like rolling in a big pile of powdered sugar.
“But I guess Jessica and Derrick had their first date there,” Angie is prattling on. “If you can call going to trivia night
at the local brewery a date. But you know the parents of that girl that Jessica mentors? They own it, so I’m assuming they’re
also giving her a pretty good deal on it.”
“Uh-huh.” I’ve gotten the dress zipped up and am looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet
door.
Jessica was right. I look amazing in this dress. More than amazing . . . it might be the best I’ve ever looked, including on my wedding day.
“What’s her name? Oh, right. Esther,” Angie is saying from the living room. “She’s going to be there. Everyone is going to be there—Mark, Dina, me, Troy, Mom. Even Cat RSVP’d yes, but I doubt she’ll show up. I don’t know what’s going
on with her these days. Do you think she’s really writing a book? God, it better not be about me.”
I’m staring at myself in the mirror. I know it’s vain but I can’t help it. I’ve never seen myself look this good. The dress
hugs me in all the right places.
And the color—the color sets off the olive tone in my skin like nothing I’ve ever worn before.
But my hair. I see what Angie was talking about now. My split ends are ruining the whole look. And there are definitely a
few strands of silver in there—not that silver can’t look beautiful.
But mine definitely doesn’t.
“Even Jessica’s parents have flown in for the party.” Angie is babbling away like she thinks I’m listening. And in a way,
I am. “And Derrick’s dad is coming all the way from Montana.”
But mostly I’m just staring at my own reflection. I love this dress.
And I love the way I look in it.
It’s time, I decide. It’s time to show the dress to Angie.
“There might even be some eligible men coming,” she’s saying in the other room. “Derrick seems to have a ton of cousins. I
think Jessica said that one of them has major bucks. Like, a place in the city and here in town—but maybe I’m getting that wrong. Who in their right mind would want to live in—holy shit.” She breaks off as I step into the doorway, her dark eyes going wide. “Holy shit, Frankie.”
I don’t have to ask what she thinks. It’s written all over her face.
“Oh my God, Frankie,” she gushes, her fingers flying to her mouth. “You look amazing. More than amazing. You look beautiful. Jessica was right, you have to buy this dress and wear it tonight.”
I rub my fingers against the feather-soft material. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so. Jessica is magic when it comes to dressing people. I know several of her customers who would pay fifteen thousand for a dress if it made them look as good as you look now. And Jessica’s only charging you fifteen hundred—and offering you free beer and nachos at her party tonight.”
“I don’t know about that.” I don’t believe in magic but there’s no denying there’s something magical about the way this dress
looks—and feels—on me. “But I definitely like this.”
With the razor-sharp instincts of a true middle child, Angie senses my resistance to attending the party has weakened, and
leaps in for the coup de grace.
“I’ll do your hair for free,” she says. “Ordinarily I’d charge three hundred bucks for a touchup, highlights, and trim with
a blowout. But today, I’ll do it all for you free of charge, if you just promise to buy that dress. You need it, Frankie. More than that, you deserve it. You deserve to look this great after what Richard did to you.”
I look at my younger sister’s face, at the love shining through those dark eyes, and feel something inside of me soften.
Angie’s always been the most difficult of my siblings to get along with, not least because of what she did to my Barbies after I passed them down to her.
I didn’t give them to her so she could chop most of their hair off and then color what remained with Magic Marker.
But beauty is Angie’s raison d’être. Her ikigai is hair. She truly believes in the transformative power of a good haircut and style, just like Jessica believes in the transformative
power of the perfect dress.
And so far, neither one of them has ever been wrong.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll take the dress. And you can do my hair.”
“And you’ll come to the party?” Angie cries, jumping up and down with excitement the way she used to back when she was little,
before she became a wife, mother, and successful small business owner.
“And I’ll come to the party,” I promise.
Never could I imagine how much I would come to regret this decision later.