Kristan Higgins - Fools Rush In

But things were different now. And, thanks to Trish and her New Jerseyite, Sam was single. Katie was single. Love was in the air, although neither of them could smell it just yet.

FOR THE NEXT PART OF MY PLAN, I again turned to Curtis and Mitch.

My suffering over the past two months had paid off. By late April, I was a comfortable size eight and pretty damn pleased about it. The last time I’d been this tiny, this light, was at about age twelve. Time to see what the boys and I could do about finding me some better clothes.

In a moment of self-delusion, I had briefly entertained the idea of asking my mom and Trish to take me shopping. Last weekend, Trish had come up to visit Danny, and when I’d seen her car in my parents’ driveway, I couldn’t help the pretty little scene that had flashed through my head—Mom, Trish and me, laughing, shopping, going out for lunch. Of course, that was about as likely as a great white shark befriending a wounded harbor seal, but still…

My parents and Trish were seated at the kitchen table, laughing about something. Trish leaped up the moment I came in. For a second, I thought she was going to greet me, but in more characteristic fashion, it was to show me how busy she was and how unimportant I was.

“Hi, Millie. I’m just on my way back home,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “Dinner in the city tonight. Nobu.”

“Hi, Trish,” I said flatly. I hated her constant namedropping. We looked at each other for a minute; she was even taller than usual, thanks to the sleek black heels on her feet. I wore sweats and a paint-stained turtleneck; she wore a horribly expensive-looking red knit dress that clung to her chiseled, perfect figure.

“Well, must run,” she’d said curtly. “Bye, Mom, bye Dad. Talk to you soon. Bye, Millie.”

It was always like this. Trish never let me forget, even though it had been almost thirty years now, that I had interrupted her starring role as Only Child. Millie’s here. Party’s over. Message clearly received.

So Curtis and Mitch it was. They met me at my house, and we headed out in their beautiful, buttery-yellow Mercedes.

Hyannis is the elbow on the arm of the Cape, the town that has the airport, the ferry, the hospital, and, most importantly, the mall. Given my tight funds, I couldn’t afford the Provincetown boutiques where Curtis and Mitch did their own shopping, so it was to the soulless but affordable mall that we headed. As I was armed with two men whose wardrobes were fabulous even by P-town standards, I was confident that I would emerge well dressed.

We started with underwear. Curtis and Mitch had no interest in me as anything but a friend, and yes, they picked out my underwear. Gone were the days of Hanes purchased at the supermarket, I noted as the boys chose my panties in shades of lavender and rose and black. Matching bras! Thankfully, the boys let me try those on all by myself, and once I found a model that was both comfortable and made the twins look perky, the boys went to town.

Next was pants. I hated pants. Not only was I short, but I had no waist to speak of, and pants were always a challenge.

“No pleats,” Curtis stated, looking at me scientifically.

“Absolutely not,” Mitch agreed. My opinion, clearly, was not required.

“Nothing flared.”

“Dear heavens, no! And let’s not even consider those ghastly low-risers….”

“Classic, tailored, clean lines.”

“You’re so right.”

As the boys scoured the department store, I wandered around, fingering the sleeveless blouses, wondering if I could get away with showing my plump arms, deeply grateful to have friends who loved both me and the challenge of clothing me. I pulled a bright green top with a square neckline from a rack. “How about this?” I called to my boys.

“Put that down!” Curtis ordered sharply.

“My dear girl, how could you? Green!” Mitch murmured, in shock.

“Honey, just go sit and wait for us, okay?” Curtis said, trying to recover from the obvious horror I’d presented. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

I found a chair and waited, occasionally hearing Mitch or Curtis exclaim over some item of clothing, some accessory. As this was an alien world, I passed the time with my favorite hobby: daydreaming about Joe Carpenter.

The last time I had seen him was a week ago. Another wave and “Hey, Millie!” from the rooftop, like some demigod calling from the heavens. My thoughts drifted….

I am walking into the senior center, wearing tailored, classic pants with no flares and a sleeveless, non-green blouse that shows off my contoured but feminine arms. Great shoes, great purse (though I couldn’t picture either). Joe leaps off the ladder as I cross the parking lot.

“Whoa, Millie!” he says, giving me the once-over.

“Hi, Joe!” I respond.

“You doing anything this weekend?” he asks, staring at me, his dimples just showing.

“This weekend?” I reply. “Well, I have plans for Friday, but…what did you have in mind?” (I know better than to be immediately available…it’s in all the books).

“Maybe we could go out or something.” He smiles.

My reveries about Joe were not that, well, imaginative. I was a realist, I liked to think. I had no illusions about Joe; I loved him for who he was, a blue-collar kind of guy with a heart of gold. And I never had silly, overly romantic dreams about him rescuing me from muggers or anything like that. Just his noticing me would be more than enough.

“Come, child.” Curtis interrupted my thoughts with a wave of his manicured hand. “Time to try these on.” He had a pile of clothes draped over his arm. Mitchell had a similar load. Each item was either beige, black, ivory, red or royal blue.

I took the heavy piles from them. The fabrics felt great, silky and cool over my arm. “Are these my colors?” I asked.

“Yes, precious. You’re a winter,” Mitchell explained, striding into the ladies’ dressing room without hesitation. Good thing there was never any help around in a department store.

The boys waited outside the stall as I tried on the clothes, instructing me through the slatted door.

“Everything is mix-and-match, Millie,” Curtis informed me. “That way you don’t have to worry about what goes with what.”

“I know what it means, Curtis,” I said. “I’m not stupid.”

“Only when it comes to fashion!” Mitchell said.

I stuck my head out of the dressing stall. “Be nice!” I ordered. “Or I won’t buy you lunch.” But it was impossible to be mad at these two, and truthfully, I loved being Eliza to their Henry Higginses. And, hell, they knew what they were doing. My God, I thought as I surveyed myself. I looked great!

The boys had chosen lovely, nondramatic pieces, all of which could be, in those complicated fashion terms, mixed and matched. Three shirts, two short-sleeved sweaters, four pairs of pants and a long skirt. Tailored, professional, classic. I couldn’t believe how I looked. Of course, my hair would have to be worked on and I wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still…I actually looked the part of confident, smart, well-dressed doctor.

“Guys,” I said, coming out garbed in the long black skirt and red sweater. “Guys…” My throat closed with sappy gratitude.

“Ooh! Honey, you’re so pretty!” Curtis exclaimed, darting in to adjust a shoulder pad.

“I always knew a beautiful woman was hiding in there,” Mitch added, kissing my cheek. I grinned wetly back.

But they weren’t finished. “The outfits are just the foundation,” Mitchell pronounced, leading me to the shoe department. To save time, Curtis went to the jewelry counter. One hour and $775.39 later, we were done. I was a well-dressed woman. I weighed 134 pounds. I was a size eight. I had a decent haircut. I owned makeup.