“Romano’s,” Tasha interjected. “He’s right. Their cannolis are insanely delicious.”
“—and see the beach,” Stella finished.
“Date. Date, date, date. That’s totally a date. You and Sam are going on a date.” Tasha laid the clothes in her arms over the back of a chair and walked into Stella’s open dressing room. Even though she was out of view, she kept talking. “You look amazing in that skirt, but you look like a lawyer. We need something with a similar fit but more…fun. Something relaxed.”
“Uncle Sam is a very relaxed guy,” Melanie added.
Tasha came out with every item Stella had taken into the dressing room in her hands, her nose wrinkled in disapproval. “Do you mind if we help you? I don’t want to overstep, and we’ll leave as soon as you say the word, but there is literally nothing I’d rather do than help you find the perfect outfit.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to interrupt your day.”
Both girls shook their heads immediately. “We didn’t have any plans.”
“Our sister-day schedule is very flexible. We can give you a makeover and still become vigilante crime fighters before dinner.” Tasha glanced at the clock on the wall and nodded. “Yeah, we’ll cancel breaking into Good Stuff Cupcakes to eat frosting by the spoonful. It’s probably for the best anyway. Sugar goes straight to my hips.”
The girl was beautiful, with no idea of what would actually happen to her hips as she aged, but Stella loved her energy. Their excitement was infectious. Stella had been dreading every second of the day, agonizing over what to wear and say and do, but now—even if only temporarily—she felt lighter.
All it took is one small nod of approval before Tasha darted out of the dressing room and back into the main shop. Melanie curled a protective arm through Stella’s, remaining the more calming presence of their dynamic duo, and leaned in, voice low and encouraging. “Tasha is a lot, but her fashion sense is unmatched. At least in Willow Beach.”
It was easy to see Tasha was trendy. She had on a pair of high-waisted jeans with a high-heeled bootie and a cropped tank that just skimmed the top of her pants. She looked like she’d just walked out of the pages of a fashion magazine, but Stella couldn’t dress like that. She was a grown woman. Old.
“Stop saying old like it’s derogatory,” Tasha said when she returned after Stella voiced her concerns. “First, if anything, you’re wise and distinguished. Second, you aren’t even old.”
“Since when did middle-aged become old?” Melanie asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Why do men get to age and become silver foxes, but women age and become defunct?”
Tasha flailed her arms in the air to answer. “I’ll tell you why: the patriarchy.”
“The patriarchy?” Stella arched an eyebrow.
“The patriarchy,” both girls echoed at once.
“You’re a single mom, right?” Stella nodded, and Tasha continued. “Then you know the downside of this male-dominated world better than anyone. The surprised looks people give when you tell them you raised your son alone by choice, the doubts friends and family express at your abilities, and the stigma attached to having a child while single—all of that is the patriarchy. All of it is people doubting your power and influence and capabilities.”
“Unfortunately, the patriarchy doesn’t stop there. It also likes to make women feel bad about getting old, as if there isn’t enough to worry about.” Melanie pulled a pair of white linen pants from a rack and tossed them at Tasha to add to a growing pile of clothes. “We had to have this same conversation with Mom a few months ago, so we have all of our talking points ready.”
“No, that’s okay,” Stella said.
“You sure?”
Stella’s entire life had been spent proving that she could handle things on her own. It was part of the reason she liked to take care of other people and be in control of every little detail. She knew people throughout her life had doubted her, and she didn’t just want to prove them wrong by doing okay; she wanted to thrive.
Overall, Stella felt like she’d done that. She’d raised a wonderful, thoughtful kid by herself and sent him off to college. That was a demanding task that had cost her many sleepless nights and earned her a fair number of wrinkles, but should she now be ashamed of those wrinkles? Should she be self-conscious of the years she’d lost in the dating world because she was too busy existing in the “I have to provide for my progeny” world?
No. Definitely not.
She was proud of what she’d done and overcome, and her life wasn’t over just because Jace was gone. In some respects, it was just beginning.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Make me fabulous.”
The girls’ eyes lit up and Tasha nearly swooned. “My three favorite words.”
“I can’t wear this.” Stella threw a too-short skirt over the top of the dressing-room door and waited for the next item of clothing to be handed to her.
The makeover had started out excitingly enough, but as it turned out, real-life makeovers were nothing like the montages in movies. There had been no dancing or twirling or jump cuts that let her instantly change outfits. There were ridiculous outfits, though. Plenty of them. Tasha had promised she wouldn’t get carried away, but the pile of discarded leopard print items in the corner told a different story.
“I don’t know why animal print gets such a bad rap. Actually, I do. It’s the—”
“Patriarchy.” Melanie and Stella finished her sentence at the same time.
Stella was slowly buying into some of Tasha’s theories about the long reach of the patriarchy, but she knew it had nothing
