Page 118 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

“There are people from all walks of life and all ages just like you. Teachers, counselors, priests and nuns, influencers, fitness models, NASA scientists… you name it. I know it’s easy to feel alone in this considering how much sex sells, and a lot of us do seem pretty obsessed with it, but people on the ace or celibate spectrum are a bigger chunk of the population than you would think.”

“It’s really hard to believe that sometimes.”

“I understand that, and it can be hard to connect with other people like you. It’s not like you can walk up to people and ask if they’re pro hanky-panky or not.”

She snorted at that. “Did you, a thirty-two-year-old woman, just say hanky-panky?”

“What? Would you prefer I use a different term?” I teased, thinking back to our very first shopping trip together. “The beast with two backs? The horizontal tango? Making whoopee? Wham bam thank you ma’am? Hiding the hot dog? Go⁠—”

“Oh my god, not the hot dog!” I had hoped the brief moment of levity would last a bit longer, but the amused words were barely out of her mouth before her expression sobered again. “I just... I still don’t know how to feel about people expecting me to be totally down for it because of the way I look.

“You know, growing up, I was always fine with not dating, because it seemed stupid, but now, I really do think there’s room in my heart for love and romance. I want to find someone I could spend the rest of my life with. But am I ever going to be able to find someone to fall in love with if I don’t do one of humanity’s biggest biological drives?”

Goodness, that was a question and a half. My heart truly ached for my best friend. When she first told me she was ace, I’d done all the research I could about people who weren’t really into doing the deed. I had found out a whole lot, and I truly did intend to go over all of it with Amanda, but I was ashamed to say that a lot of it got put to the back burner while she and I were planning everything about my wedding.

“You will find someone, Amanda. Someone who loves you for all of you, no matter what your sex drive is.” I paused for a moment, an idea coming to me. “But...”

“But? But what?”

“You told me a while ago that originally, the reason you got into makeup and fashion and fitness was because you had trouble socializing as a kid, and once you hit puberty, you noticed that more attractive girls got treated quite a bit differently than less conventionally attractive ones.”

She nodded. “Yeah, they get to be real weird but are considered quirky instead. Or they can stuff their faces with chicken fingers and pizza, you know, fun and safe foods, and everyone says to ‘get it, girl,’ or pays hundreds of dollars to watch them eat. People are way more likely to tolerate a joke that doesn’t land, or a weird hobby, if they can stare at your tits while doing so.

“I was tired of being alone all the time, of feeling like an alien on the outside, so I got into all that stuff, and it worked. I always had friends, and a gaggle of guys following me around. I was given things, I got invited to things, and when I put my foot in my mouth or said something stupid, people laughed and chalked it up to me being quirky ol’ Amanda.”

“While I think it’s totally crazy in a really cool way that you did that, I can’t help but wonder if this manicured way you present yourself is attracting the wrong sort of person. You know, people who don’t actually like you for you and all your wonderfulness, and only really care about, well, your tits, as you so aptly put it.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault that people are treating me this way?” she asked cautiously.

“No! No, not at all! What I’m saying is that for so long you have been trying so hard to be ‘normal,’ that I think the true Amanda gets a little buried sometimes. I don’t think you have to give up any of that stuff, because I know you love it, and frankly, the textile knowledge you have is staggering, but what if you didn’t have to be this polished person all the time? What if you didn’t have to pay this tax of being an attractive woman and could just exist as yourself?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, you helped me find my own style and feel comfortable in my skin, so maybe it’s time for me to do the same for you.”

Amanda sat up so fast from her slouch I was surprised that she didn’t get whiplash. Her voice was almost reverent when she spoke, tone hushed. “Olivia, I swear to Yves St. Laurent and Gucci, if you are toying with me right now, I will kill you. But are you suggesting a makeover?”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a makeunder.”

Amanda let out a squeal, and the next thing I knew, she was leaping off the couch to run into her room. I would have asked what she was doing, but by the time I recovered from the surprise, she was already stepping back into the room, dressed in a flowy sundress and cozy cardigan.

“What are you waiting for, girl? Let’s go!”

And go we did.

When I’d arrived at Amanda’s house with all my rescue treats, multiple boxes of tissues, and a supportive shoulder to cry on, I certainly hadn’t been expecting to end up on a late afternoon jaunt to a handful of surf shops.

Not that I was complaining.

It was a bit nostalgic to tromp through my old purchasing grounds, showing Amanda where the shoes with extra arch support tended to be hidden by employees who wanted to purchase them later, and where the softer clothes were kept. It was a peek into the past, but instead of being ashamed at the frumpier, rather than stylish, woman I once had been, I was only full of gratitude at how much I’d grown.

Back then, I’d been so ashamed of my body and my looks that I had tried to hide. Now, while I still had some insecurities to work on, I genuinely liked myself. Looking in the mirror was no longer a terrible activity I tried to avoid at all costs.

And never would I have guessed that I would have been able to use my fuddy-duddy knowledge to help a friend in her own journey of self-discovery.

“Huh,” had been the first statement she made when she saw herself covered in a loose, oversized T-shirt and equally baggy sweatpants with no brand name. Although her tone was relatively unreadable, that wasn’t directly negative, so I took that as a victory. And it turned out I was right, because she relaxed with every piece we tried that showcased her in a different way.

“I like this,” was the second thing she uttered, when she was wearing a loose-cut dress that reminded me of a Korean hanbok. It was a silhouette that some with a narrow perspective of modern fashion in the western world might have found ugly, but I thought it was a combination of lovely and understated. Maybe even a little old-fashioned, but not everything had to be hip and happening and up to date.