A Perfect Momen(17)

Once we return, I lead him into the kitchen to refresh his water and feed him. I then pop into my en suite bathroom to get ready for the evening. Bruce eventually resumes his post at the bathroom doorway, watching me the entire time with those sad puppy-dog eyes that say, “You look like you’re going out for the night…I hope this means you’re taking me. And oh, can you scratch my back while you’re at it, pretty please?”

“Not this time, Mongrel,” I say, patting his head and applying one last layer of mascara. I give myself a final once-over in the mirror. I’ve always been the thinner, ganglier, awkward type—like a young girl who still hasn’t hit puberty. Leslie used to say I had a runway model’s body, but I’d much rather have a bit more meat and some curves than the spindly frame I inherited from my mother. It’s easy to develop a complex over thin legs when you have footballers with massive muscular thighs for brothers.

Still, this dress makes me feel like I actually have curves. It’s a diamond white, sweetheart strapless, fit-to-flare cut dress. I curl my platinum blonde locks into loose, soft waves and pin them off to one side so they trail down the front of my exposed shoulder. My minimal makeup allows my bright blue eyes to carry the show. Add a layer of peach gloss and I think I’ve actually achieved the perfect sun-kissed look I was going for.

Tonight, I feel different. Tonight, I feel ready for anything. Continue reading