Truly(36)

He unlocked the deadbolt and held the door open for her.

When she brushed past him, he looked down, an automatic response to the soft pressure of her arm against his. She couldn’t possibly know what her ass looked like under the smooth, shiny material of the track pants, bouncing down the steps.

“I’m just going to take you to Macy’s, okay?” he asked. “It’s huge. I’m sure they’ve got something you’ll want.”

Preferably something big and shapeless. Which, once you start wearing it, I’ll begin to find inexplicably hot.

“Macy’s it is.” She hit the landing and disappeared around the bend to the next flight.

“And buy some decent shoes.” His voice and his footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. “Yours suck.”

Her loud laughter filled the stairwell, and he hurried to catch up.





CHAPTER TWELVE


This was why the Internet was invented, May thought as she trudged toward the escalator that would take her to womenswear and the inevitable flogging. So nobody would ever have to try on jeans in a public dressing room again.

But she would make the best of it. She wouldn’t be one of those girls who let a few minutes in bad dressing-room lighting destroy her day. She could be in and out of the store in fifteen minutes, and she could manage not to think any hateful thoughts.

It’s like going to the gynecologist for a Pap, she promised herself. Quick, necessary, and afterward you can buy a cookie.

She found the store directory and took the escalator to the right floor, where she discovered that the reign of the skinny jean continued unabated. There were cheetah prints and brightly colored solids and one pair with giant blue and white flowers that reminded her of old women and teacups.

With a deep sigh, she craned her head toward the back wall, looking for the ghetto where they kept the fat-girl jeans.

SHOP PETITE STYLES! one sign shouted.

“Shove it where the sun don’t shine,” she muttered.

She was once again reminding herself not to be negative when someone plowed into her.

“I’m so sorry,” an older woman said. “That was entirely my fault. I was trying to peek over there to see if—But you know, it was completely inexcusable, so I won’t offer you an excuse.” She straightened her shirt, which bore a Macy’s tag with her name, Celestine. Her steel-gray hair was cut in one of those short, slightly mussed cuts that only elegant older women ever pulled off. “Can I help you find something?”

May would have said no, but Ben was waiting. “I need jeans,” she said. “And maybe a few plain shirts. I’m going to be walking around the city a lot, so it doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just, you know …” She looked down at Ben’s Packers track pants. “Not this.” She gestured at a rack of brightly colored skinny jeans. “And not that. Jeans. Ordinary jeans.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

Celestine led May through the racks, and ten minutes later she had her in the fitting room trying on six different pairs. Two of them were too big, two too small, and one gave her muffin top. The last one was a size bigger than she usually wore, but they fit. Not too short, and they didn’t pooch out at the waist and show the whole world her butt crack.

“How’s everything working?”

“These are okay.” May emerged from the dressing room, still wearing Ben’s T-shirt on top.

“Those look fabulous.”

“Thanks.” For two hundred bucks, they should make her look fabulous.

But could she really buy two-hundred-dollar jeans with Ben’s money? She’d never been comfortable spending Dan’s, and the prospect of signing a credit card slip with Ben’s name on it didn’t appeal.

On the other hand, she’d already taken the five hundred dollars he’d withdrawn from a bank on the way here. May’s emergency fund, he’d called it. You can give it back right before you board the plane in a few days.

Once she got access to her bank account again, she had the money to repay him for jeans and whatever else she wanted to buy.

And she was on vacation.

“Come look in the mirror,” Celestine told her. May dutifully obeyed. She squinted at her hips in the three-panel mirror.

Not too huge. Acceptable.

The jeans really did fit okay. When she turned sideways, she saw that the embroidered back pockets were placed in a way that magically made her butt appear smaller and tighter than it was.

“We need to get you in some heels,” Celestine said. “Your legs will look miles long in these jeans and the right pair of heels.”

“I don’t wear heels.”