Mickie
I implored the help of Sage to get me ready for the Boys in Blue Gala. For more than one reason.
One, I sucked at makeup application, and Sage was a veritable genius in that area.
Two, I was completely disheveled from work and the kids. I barely had enough energy to pour coffee down my throat in order to keep me awake, let alone style my hair into a fancy up-do.
Three, because Dawson had asked me at the last minute, I hadn’t had enough time to figure out what I was wearing, and I needed a fellow woman’s opinion.
So, that’s how I ended up still trying to decide on a dress at six o’clock on the night of the gala—a mere hour before Dawson came to pick me up. Sage had been offering her opinion of the dresses I’d quickly yanked off the BCBG sales rack earlier that day.
The only problem was, none of them were working. And I was starting to freak out.
“Where is your waist?” Sage asked from her sprawled position on my bed. She was assessing me in the latest dress with a semi-horrified expression. “Is that a freaking maternity dress? Because it looks like one.”
Frustrated, I spun around to look in my full-length mirror. Okay, yeah, so the frock was a little shapeless. And the lavender color really wasn’t doing anything for me. “It’s not a maternity dress,” I insisted. “It’s comfortable.”
“Ugh,” Sage grunted, dropping her head. “You did not just give me the ‘it’s comfortable’ excuse. Mickie, you’ve got a little firecracker body underneath all that material. Show it off.”
I sighed. That was easy for her to say. Sage had the confidence of twenty Victoria’s Secret models combined. I turned back to the other dresses on the bed and fingered the one on top.
“The red one wasn’t that bad,” I said.
She shook her head. “Don’t do satin. The underwear situation will be a real bitch to tackle with that clingy material.” Her eyes shot to mine, and she waggled her eyebrows. “Unless you want to go without underwear.”
I inwardly cringed. “I’d really rather keep the panties on.”
She sprung up from the bed and walked into the closet. “Let’s see what we’ve got in here.”
I snorted. “I don’t keep gowns in my closet,” I said. “If I did, we wouldn’t be in this current situation. I usually give the ones I’ve worn to past galas to one of my nurses. It’s not like I need to keep them.” I pulled out another dress from the pile. “I’m trying on the pink one again. I don’t care if you think it looked like something your grandmother wore in the 50s.”
“If you don’t keep gowns, then what’s this?” she called from the closet doorway.
I turned to see a black velvet floor-length gown dangling from her outstretched finger. “Oh, wow,” I exclaimed. I walked over and ran my finger down the soft material. “I completely forgot I had this.”
“It still has the tag on it.”
I remembered the day I bought it. “I was going to wear it for my birthday two years ago. Dawson had this big weekend trip to New York City planned. He was going to take me to the opera because I’d always wanted to go…like in Pretty Woman, you know?” She nodded, smiling. I tried to make myself smile but I couldn’t. “But we never made it.”
Her smile turned to a frown. “What happened?”
I shrugged and walked back to the bed, not wanting to be reminded of the disappointment I felt when I celebrated my birthday at home doing laundry instead of being in New York with my husband.
“You remember when those three college girls were murdered two years ago?”
Her eyes turned thoughtful. “Yeah. It was all over the news for months.”
I pulled the pink dress over my head. “Well, that was Dawson’s case. He was lead on it. And the day the cops arrested the killer was the day we were supposed to leave for New York.”
Her face softened in understanding. “Oh, Mickie…”
I ignored her sympathetic tone. If I didn’t, my emotions might crush me. “With all the media coverage and the pressure from the mayor to put the guy behind bars, there was no way Dawson could have bailed then. So, he stayed and worked the entire weekend. He said he’d make it up to me and take me another time. But we just haven’t had the opportunity.”
She was silent for a moment, but I refused to look at her. I was afraid that what I might see there would make those emotions come bursting forth once again.
“That’s it, you’re wearing this,” she announced. She stomped over and shoved the black garment into my hands.
“Are you insane?” I screeched, trying to hand it back to her.
She just crossed her arms over her chest and stared me down. “What’s the matter with it?”
“I can’t wear this,” I said. “I’m a mother.”
“You were a mother two years ago when you bought it.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, well. I was being impetuous.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why women think that when they become mothers, they’re no longer allowed to dress hot and youthful.”
I threw the dress onto the bed. “Uh, because I’m almost thirty. And I’m not going to be that woman whose goods are hanging out when she’s dropping her kids off at school.”
She came up behind me in the mirror. “Oh my God, I’m not talking about dressing like it’s Spring Break 2017. The Daisy Dukes and crop tops can stay in our early twenties where they belong.”
She yanked on the pink dress, pulling the material taut around my waist. Oh, look. There’s my figure.
“I’m talking about showing off what you do have while still keeping all the bits and pieces covered. You have an hourglass figure and skin the color of melted caramel. Be proud of that. Take advantage of it while you can.”
She may have had a point. I mean, I was lucky my boobs still looked the way they did after two kids. But let’s face it, they were going to succumb to gravity at some point.
“That dress is too small, anyway,” I said, still grasping for excuses. “I’ve gone up at least one size in the last two years.”
She grabbed the dress off the bed and held it up in front of me. “Nope. Definitely not too small. You’ve just been wearing your clothes too big. If anything, it’ll just push the girls up a little bit more. But it’s not like Dawson’s going to complain about that.” She winked at me in the mirror.
After a little more coaxing, she was able to get me into the dress. And I wouldn’t lie, the sincere gasp she let out when I came out of the closet boosted my confidence a little.
“Holy shit, that looks incredible on you,” she said, practically squealing.
I smoothed my hands down my body. The bodice was cinched at my torso, the material knotting above my left hipbone, creating the illusion of a slimmer waistline. And it did squeeze my boobs together, creating more cleavage than I was used to, but it was still tasteful.
“I haven’t worn anything this tight in a long time,” I said, my uncertainty growing.
“And I can see why,” she said, making me frown. I jerked my head around to see her smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Because if you did, your husband would be in prison by now for killing all the men who tried getting a piece of the pie.”
A laugh burst from my lips, putting me more at ease. Looking satisfied with herself, Sage led me to the vanity and pushed on my shoulders until I sat.
“Now, if you think that dress will make Dawson’s heart stop, wait ‘til you see what I’m about to do next.”
Oh, shit.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.