Page 8 of Embody

I go to my bedroom to see if I own a decent bathing suit, acceptable for this event. Brynn never speaks of it, but…she comes from money. I am not about to stroll up into a well-to-do party wearing a threadbare circa 2000 bathing suit with all those tiny fabric balls—you know the ones—that collect on the ass over time and many washes.

I’m screwed. I have one,onebathing suit, and it is everything I just listed and more. And the clasp thing in the back? Yep, it’s broken.

Not a lot I can do about it though. It’s okay, I don’t have to swim.

 

 

I’M READY WELLbefore five. Partly because I’m a nervous wreck, deathly afraid I won’t fit in with the crowd, other part because I ran out of things to occupy my frantic mind a long time ago. My place is more than clean and my bag’s been packed for hours.

I’ve got my hair down and straightened, minimal makeup on and I’ve decided to wear one of my nicest sundresses, with spaghetti straps and a hem above, but not too far above, the knee. And my favorite wedge sandals, found at a yard sale for three dollars!

So I’m just sitting, pretending to read the words on my textbook page when really all I’m doing is playing out worst-case scenarios in my head, when a knock on my door rescues me.

“Who is it?” I ask, checking the peephole.

“Delivery for Miss Morgan,” the man, in uniform, I see on the other side answers.

I open the door, leaving the chain latched and talk to him through the crack. “I’m not expecting anything, who’s it from?”

He reads the box. “All it says is Bella’s Boutique.”

“Can you just leave it there on the stoop? Thank you.” I smile and shut the door. I’ll wait until he’s long gone before fully opening my door to retrieve it.

Has to be from Brynn, probably something to wear tonight because she knows I won’t have anything quite up to par. Very thoughtful of her, but I hate feeling like her “project” that she has to spend money on to ensure I fit in with her lifestyle.

Shame on you, Bellamy!That’s a terrible way to look at it. She’s a kind, generous soul and I should be grateful.

It’s been long enough, so I open the door and scoop up the package, beautifully wrapped, and smile—I can’t wait to see what’s inside. I’ll have to bake her some of my special triple fudge brownies as a thank you.

I untie the ribbon and hold my breath as I lift the top off the box. I check for a card, but there isn’t one, so I start throwing tissue paper as fast as I can to get to the goodies.

Oh my.

It’s definitely gonna take more than one batch of brownies to repay this gift.

First, I pull out a fire red bikini, which I can’t possibly wear in front of Brynn’s parents, not with the ample “D” girls I lug around everywhere I go. I’d look obscene. Next, I find a pair of glamorous sunglasses, the designer of which I have to Google…and still haven’t ever heard of him or her, but I see the ungodly prices. And last, I lift out a sundress in a beautiful light green and nicer than anything I own, with a much higher hem and much lower neckline than the one I’m currently wearing.

What was Brynn thinking? She knows I’m pretty modest…which one would think it’d be a given that modesty will amplify,not disintegrate, when meeting her whole family! But as to not insult her, I pack it all in my bag. We’ll see what happens.

At five o’clock sharp, there’s another knock on my door and I open it, knowing it’s Brynn.

“Hey! You ready?” She’s all smiles.

“Yep, lemme grab my stuff.”

“So you decided to stay the night? Yay!”

“Yeah, I didn’t want you to have to drive me all the way back. Plus, while I appreciate it so much, and you really are too good to me, I wasn’t sure how some of the things you sent would fit, so I packed it but brought back-ups. Either way, Iwillbe paying you in baked goodies until I’ve evened the score.”

“Things I sent?” Her face crinkles in confusion.

“Don’t play coy,” I laugh. “I know it was you. Very thoughtful, thank you.” I shut and lock the door, then head for her car.

She doesn’t, standing in the same spot I left her, looking…unhappy with a double side-order of angry.

“Are you coming?”

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