"It's not so bad," Marley said.
"Your hair is still beautiful," Stevie added.
"It'll all work out, honey," Mom followed.
"I'm proud of you, Billie," Dillon said.
"Proud of me?"
"Yeah, you finally decided to come out of the closet."
"Dillon!" Marley chided, punching his arm. "That's not helping."
"What do you want me to say?"
"That she looks hot," Stevie said, as if I wasn't in the room.
"Fine. You look hot."
"Thanks," I replied sharply.
"For a lesbian living in the eighties," he muttered under his breath. I threw the cap at him. He laughed and put it right back on my head again
"I want to kill that Christoff and your boss," Stevie said, her hands in fists, shaking wildly at the air.
"I thought about it, but it's my fault too. I told him to do what he wanted. I just had no idea he wanted to make me look like a female version of Joe Dirt. And as for my job, Corinne was right. It wasn't a good fit. I can deal with this. I can salvage it … I think. You know I'm an optimist. A picker-upper kind of girl."
"You're describing yourself like a paper towel," Stevie said.
I laughed, bumping her knee with mine. "Extra-absorbent and completely unobservant. At least I can admit my shortcomings."
"What can we do?" Marley asked.
"I can't go to dinner with Preston like this. I'm a mess."
Dillon smiled, shaking his head. I grimaced, waiting for the ‘I told you so' moment, but instead he ruffled my damp head. "Relax kid, you have us. This can be fixed."
"I have to meet him in less than an hour. He can't see me like this. Hell, I don't even want you guys seeing me like this."
"Well then, I think I have the perfect short-term solution to your problem."
And he did. Dillon and Mom came back in less than a half hour with a large white box for me.
"A wig?"
"Just for tonight," Mom explained. "You can get a proper haircut later."
The wig they'd purchased matched my hair, pre-mullet. It made me sad to put it on. Plus, it was itchy as hell.
I did though, along with my vintage-looking black cocktail dress. If there was one thing I needed, it was for this day to end on a good note.
To my family's credit, they didn't bring up their misgivings about Preston.
"Here," Stevie said, handing me a box.
I did a double take, staring in awe at what I was holding-shiny black stilettos with signature red soles. "Are these your Louboutins?"
"Yeah, they're magic shoes, at least for the girls in our family."
"We have magic shoes? Why didn't I know this?"
Stevie shrugged. "Adam bought them for me. That's when I knew that I loved him."
"Because he bought you an expensive gift?" Marley asked.
She tilted her head. "It sounds vain when I say it like that, but that's not how it was."
"Then how was it?" I asked.
"When I was sixteen, I saw these shoes in the store window of a designer shop downtown. Adam and I were shopping for Christmas presents together. We were just friends back then. He grumbled when I insisted we go into the store. He lost it when I actually wanted to try them on. Of course, they were way too expensive to even contemplate, but I had to know what they felt like on my feet. Adam may have griped about it, but I noticed he got jealous when the man put them on my feet. But that was nothing compared to the way he stared at me when I walked around the store in them. He even held my hand because I was afraid of falling. We never spoke of it again. And then when he asked me to marry him, he asked for my foot not my hand. I was confused until he slipped the shoes on. Even seven years later, he remembered and he'd searched for them high and low. He said that the look on my face that day was special. He wanted me to look that way every day. He wanted to be responsible for that look."
We all sighed in unison. Adam was a joker, but he had this soft, tender side when it came to my sister.
"That's so sweet," Mom said. "I didn't know that story."
"Yeah, yeah," Stevie said, waving away our sentiment. "Don't cry, Billie. You'll ruin your makeup. Anyway, Marley wore these the first time she met Rick. Mom wore them when she met Damien. Special things happen to the girls in our family when we wear them."
"Thank you, sis," I said, running my fingers down the supple, well-crafted leather. There was a time we'd all grumbled about being the same shoe size-it had meant lots of hand-me-downs-but now we all rejoiced in it. It meant lots of choices.
"Too bad they don't come in my size," Dillon said as he adjusted my wig.
* * * *
Preston had texted me, asking me to meet him at the restaurant since he had a business meeting. Stevie gave me a ride. I strolled in, silently cursing the itching wig and the horrible style that lay beneath it.
He waved me over, standing up. The soft lighting and candles played lovely shadows against the muted beige walls of the restaurant. The shoes gave me a false sense of bravery as I stepped toward him. He wore a navy blue suit and every strand of his slicked back, honey-colored hair lay perfectly. A pang of envy swept over me. He had better hair than me now.
Preston didn't make my heart flutter, but then again, I'd always thought there was too much emphasis on those things. I mean, I loved romances. I wrote them-or at least attempted to, but I was pragmatic too. In the end, a girl had to distinguish fiction from fact. Preston was everything I'd ever sought in a man. He was successful, charismatic and charming. He donated to charities and worked hard. He was perfect. So why wasn't I floating on the air instead of grinding out each step?
"You look amazing. Did you do something with your hair?" he asked me, kissing my cheek.
"Yes," I said, feeling like a fraudulent truth-teller.
"That's right, you had that appointment today." He took the seat across from me and snapped his fingers toward a waiter.
"I haven't looked at the menu yet."
"I'm calling him over to pour the wine. He's a sommelier, not a waiter."
"Oh."
Preston shook his head at me, playing off my lack of understanding as something adorable. It irked me a bit. He came from money, which was reflected in everything he did. Personally, I didn't understand why we couldn't pour our own wine, since it was already sitting at the table.
"So how was your day?" he asked.
"Why don't you tell me about yours?" I didn't want to lie to him, but at the same time, I had no intention of muddling this evening by whining it away with my problems. Luckily, Preston filled all the gaps in conversation efficiently.
After three glasses of good wine, he sat up in his chair, placing his hands in the center of the table.
"I need to talk to you about something."
I took a deep breath, waiting for it. We'd been together for six months and it seemed like the right time to move in together.
"I don't know how to say this."
"Just say it," I whispered in encouragement. I'd never seen Preston nervous.
"We've been together for a while, but I believe it's time for the next step. I think I'm the right candidate for marriage material."
The fork fell right from my hand. "Oh." I picked up my wine glass and swallowed down the contents, slugging it like a shot. "I wasn't expecting that."
"I've been thinking about it for a while."
He bent down on one knee before me. I backed my chair away from him.
"Preston, wait! Can we just talk?"
He looked up at me. "Why are you yelling?"
"I think this is too soon."
"I assure you, I've thought about it for a long time," he said, holding out a shiny silver object toward me. "You dropped this."
I blinked, registering what I was staring at. "Thanks," I mumbled, taking the fork from him.
He sat back in his seat. "I hope you understand."
"I don't think I'm ready for this."
He took my hands in his. "I'm so sorry. I never intended to hurt you. You're an amazing woman."
Wait … what? "What do you mean? Aren't you proposing to me?"
"Proposing?" he said slowly as if it was a foreign word. "What would give you that idea?" Thankfully, his features flickered with understanding before I had to respond. "Oh shit, I went about this all wrong."
"What did you mean when you said you were marriage material?"
"You've never heard of Marriage Material? It's the television show where they take an eligible bachelor and bring in a hundred girls for him to date until he finds his perfect match."