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“You’ve got that look on your face,” Moira says, frowning at me as I pull open the door to the next shop, heading for the women’s suits and skirts.
“What look?”
“That look that tells me you’re adding up the calories from your coffee,” she says.
I logged the calories before I ever got out of the car to meet her at the café, but I’m not about to admit it. Moira says “maintenance” means I don’t have to watch what I eat anymore, but good or bad, habits are hard to break.
Maybe there’s some fear there, too, but now is not the time. Obsessing isn’t healthy. Dwelling on my boss and his absolute indifference to my appearance isn’t healthy, either.
Half an hour later, I’ve got two new suits to my name. They aren’t cheap, but they’re a style and quality that’ll probably outlive me and everybody I know, so I hand over my card without comment. Moira is impressed, and after the fourth store takes care of the final touch, she tells me so.
The final overall look is overtly feminine, a material middle finger to the shapeless, androgynous nature of my former, fluffier self. The blouses are pure silk and drapey, the pinstriping on the pencil skirt tight enough to balance a budget on its own. On our way back to our cars, I pull Moira back into the lingerie store for those stockings.
And the garter belt too, because screw it. I’m building from the ground up, even if nobody but me is ever going to see it on my body. I’ve worked too hard on myself to hide anymore. No more poorly fitted, sloppy, secondhand slacks. No more shapeless dresses and baggy sweaters. And definitely, no more pretentious jerks who think they’re better than me, regardless of what my bathroom scale says.
I wonder what Nic will think of my new look. Probably not a damn thing. The man has witnessed nearly every stage of my personal transformation and he looked at me the same way this morning as he did the day he hired me.
My phone chimes. I swipe open the message.
“Speak of the devil,” I say.
“Were we?” Moira asks.
“It’s Nic,” I say, waving my phone at her and sidestepping the question. “He needs me to pick something up on my way back to the office.”
“I better let you get to it, then,” she says as we approach her car. She hugs me hard and kisses my cheek. “I am so damn proud of you, Nat. Don’t let him ride you too hard.”
“Moira.”
“What? I meant at work!” That’s an image I did not need.
I stow my purchases in the trunk and navigate my way to Nic’s apartment. I’ve only been there once before, to feed his cat one day back when I first started working for him and he had to go out of town for a client meeting. Forgetting a file is unlike him, to say the least, but considering he didn’t blink at my long lunch plans with Moira today, running this small errand is the least I can do.
2
FINN
This February sucks more than most; the anniversary of my parents’ deaths, and hey, bonus, I haven’t seen or talked to my twin sister in weeks. Not since she took up with her boyfriends, one of whom I used to call my best friend in the world. West is like a brother to me. Or was.
Clearly, Callahan feels differently since she’s sleeping with him now. And their third, Raleigh. I’m still annoyed at myself for liking him when we first met.
Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’m allowed to be pissed, damn it. They lied to me.
Doesn’t change the fact that I miss them. West is nearly family, and Callie is the only actual family I’ve got left, besides our cousin Sullivan.
A knock sounds at the door. Only two people have this address since I moved in a few weeks ago, and I told one of them to make sure she calls before coming by.
Which means?—
“Speak of the devil,” I say.
Sully pokes his head through the door, looking around. “Speaking… to whom? Talking to yourself again, Finn?”
“Close enough.” I let him in, closing the door against the cold. The new apartment isn’t home, but I never expected it to be. After ten years out on the farm, I’m ready for a little bit of city life. It’s high time I start living for myself; Sully and Callie started their lives ages ago, apparently. Maybe that’s not fair.
Tough shit.
Sully helps himself to a beer and tosses me one.
