Page 109 of Insidious

“Shopping for what? We are all loaded up with diapers and wipes and whatnot, and Amelie has so many clothes, I will need to put some on Vinted.” I muse. “Besides, you hate shopping.”

“Well, we are going out on a real date, aren’t we? Are you saying I am not worth it?” he asks, briefly meeting my eyes before looking south again. “My word. I mean, I loved your boobs before, but now … Anyway, we need to get you a dress. Then, we are doing a lot of girlie things that your mum says are absolutely necessary for a date. And Amelie is coming along to give her opinions,” he says. “So, chop, chop, you shameless hussy. Stop flashing me. I am not that easy.”

Chapter 29

Luna

Unerringly, Isaac leads me to The Silk Purse. It’s tucked halfway down one of the older streets in town, all warm lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. It is the place I found my engagement dress. They have a few expensive, exclusive pieces by their in-house designer. My dress was a vintage, frothy purple Marilyn Monroe dress with a deep V showing off the girls. My legs looked fabulous, and it had made me feel like I was living a dream. I had splurged half a paycheck on that dress and let Isaac buy the groceries for the rest of the month.

It also has a few select second-hand designer pieces, as well as some beautiful, affordable options by a junior designer. The boutique smells like clean linen, one of my favourite smells in the world.

As a frequent customer—or at least browser—Laura, who owns the shop, has become a close friend. Isaac trails behind me, carrying Amelie in the baby carrier strapped to his chest.

Laura immediately has that face people get when they see my baby.

“Aaaaw … Who is this adorable muffin,” Laura asks Amelie with bright, shining eyes. She looked like Christmas has come early. My cheerful baby allows herself to be carried around and admired while I browse and Isaac offers opinions.

It lasts about ten minutes until she spots Isaac and babbles, kicking her feet out like she is trying to swim towards him.

“She’s judging me for letting the ladies take her,” he mutters as we walk past a rack of dresses.

“She’s only four months old, Isaac.” I try to hide the smile.

“Exactly. Peak judgement age. It’s downhill from here, mark my words. The next thing you know, she is bringing home a tattooed biker old enough to be her grandpa because of her daddy issues,” Isaac grumbles.

Amelie stares up at him with enormous, solemn green eyes before promptly trying to eat his shirt.

“See?” he says. “Disrespect. She is spitting at me. The next thing you know, it will be pee and shit.”

I laugh despite myself and drift towards a rail of colourful dresses. I feel filmy chiffons and gossamer fabrics. It feels … strange being here again … stepping back into an old version of myself. The one who liked to dress up and stop Isaac in his tracks after a day spent under engines with grease stains on my face.

I am startled to see my husband watch me with what looks glossy eyes, not sure about what set him off. The spell is broken when the sales assistant comes up to me with a selection and starts piling options into my arms while Isaac quietly settles into a chair near the fitting rooms and chats with Amelie.

The first dress is a disaster.

It is too tight around my boobs, which now feel like melons.

The print of the second one reminds me of a circus tent.

As for the third … I stare at myself in the mirror silently. It’s clingy in all the wrong places.

My hand moves to my stomach. It is soft and squishy. I have a pooch.

“I hate this,” I mutter as I look at myself in the mirror. My backside looks massive.

A now familiar feeling of … unattractiveness invades me.

I hold the fabric away from my body and stare harder.

“I want my old body back,” I tell myself. I watch as Isaac comes up, and I try to smile.

“I want my tight, muscular body,” I sigh and turn slightly sideways, flexing an arm like a bodybuilder.

Except now, there’s softness where there used to be a flat waist and a bubble butt.

My eyes suddenly sting.

God, how embarrassing to turn into a cry-baby. I blink quickly, but one tear escapes anyway.