She stops, shaking her head. Her lips do something strange: they press together, then droop to the bottom of her face before they start trembling.
“I figured he was an asshole,” she admits. “But I never thought it would’ve been this bad. When he called us about you, well, my first instinct was that he was completely off base. I figured it was a power trip.”
“It was,” I say.
“It was,” Ms. Jacobson agrees. “But he was also trying to shut down a valuable piece of reporting.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Alice still looks unimpressed, but I can’t help being touched. On one hand, I feel embarrassed and awkward when I think about that phone call. On the other hand, I can believe that Ms. Jacobson was doing what she thought was right.
“We’re all very pleased with Josie’s work,” Ms. Jacobson says, meeting my eyes. I stare back at her, and after a second, she looks away.
“Oh!” She claps her hands together. “Speaking of Marius, that’s the reason I called you over. We received a package for you a little while after you went to his fitting. Do you remember that? It’s just been sitting in our mailroom. But things have been so hectic with the holidays, as you can probably understand.”
Ms. Jacobson leads us to a closed-off office with huge windows overlooking Manhattan. The big white box on the desk makes my mouth go dry. I know what it’s going to be before she even opens it, but that doesn’t keep my jaw from dropping. It’s the dress—the one I tried on when we went to the fitting. Those embroidered roses feel like they’re from another time. An easier time. They’re still just as beautiful.
“Oh my.” Monique’s jaw has also dropped. “That’s an original Christina Pak.”
Alice is staring at me; I feel her eyes on the side of my face. I just don’t know what she wants me to say. We both know I could never afford the dress. That doesn’t stop me from picking it up, letting it unfurl in graceful folds, holding it up to my body. This time, it looks like it’ll fit. My eyes sting.
“Did she leave a note?” Alice finally asks. I can’t read her tone. “That’s an expensive gift.”
“It just says ‘For prom,’ ” Ms. Jacobson says, handing a card over. Alice reaches for it before I can. The fabric is still soft against my fingers, even as I fold it and put it back in the box. “Maybe it’s something you guys talked about when you were there?”
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing. “We talked about it.”
I didn’t think she was paying much attention to me at all. Turns out she was. Today has been full of different women being nice to me, and I eagerly soak it up, like a plant being watered.
“Excuse me,” I say, picking up the box. “I have something I need to do.”
If I’m going to pull this off, it has to be now, before I second-guess myself. I sneak into the bathroom and take out my phone. Like I thought, Marius is supposed to be at the Independent Infinity Awards tonight. Good.
I quickly change out of my clothes. My gut tightens, waiting for the dress to get caught on my thighs or my stomach, but it doesn’t. It slips over easily. I’m used to wearing clothes that are a little bigger, just so I’ll have room, but this one hugs my hips and my thighs. I look like the fat models I love. This must be their secret—tailors.
When I step out of the stall, I grin because I can’t help it. I feel the dress, and it’s better than anything I’ve ever worn. This is just like shopping with my sisters, only a million times better. It’s what I hoped it could be. I turn to glance in the mirror, and my feelings are confirmed. My legs look fucking amazing with the slit. My hair still looks like normal, but this is more dressed up than I’ve ever been. Even if I weren’t going to see Marius, I’d want people to see me. I look fucking great. I grin before jetting out of the bathroom.
As I push my way out of the office, I hear someone call my name. I don’t look back.
I have an award show to catch.
@JosieTheJournalist: french is the softest language when spoken by the softest person
“Union Square is shut down.”
I don’t respond; I’m too busy typing. The structure I’d use for a regular article doesn’t really work with this. It looks like this is just going to be a brief. It’s 446 words. I can do that. I can get through 250 words before he asks me to leave.
“Hello? Ma’am?”
I glance up. I’m in the back of a taxi, en route to the award show. And he just said— Oh, shit.
“Can you get me as close as possible?”
The driver raises a brow but nods. Normally, I’d wonder what he’s thinking about me, but it’s not important right now. I email Marius, along with a text: Have something for you. Meet me outside the theater. Just five minutes. I promise.
My phone says it’s already 6:30 p.m. I know Mom and Dad are probably going to kill me. I know I’m going to spend years paying back all the money I owe them for missing not one but two flights.
But this is important.
Marius was nice enough on the phone when I woke up from my nap, but he wasn’t the same person he was before. I want to get back to that person. If I don’t try, I’ll regret it forever. I know I will.
I am anxious but still able to breathe. Maybe it’s because of the dress. I feel good in it. It feels like I could walk down
