Page 6 of Just Say Christmas
“Who are also people,” Alex said. “I’ll take the diamanté ones,” he told the clerk. “And she’ll have the lavender.”
“I will not.”
“You know you want them,” he said. “Of course, you’ll have to buy a dress that goes with them, which meansnotone that matches the woodwork. Here’s a fact for you. It’s backed by research, so you can trust it. People look longer and listen more to attractive people. Even tiny babies look longer at photos of pretty women. I read it in a magazine.”
That was helpful? It was just exactly not. “How depressing is that,” she asked, “for some new mum who’s stumbled out of bed in her ratty dressing gown at two A.M. to feed her screaming baby? To know that even thebabyhas unrealistic expectations?”
“I’m not saying it’s fair,” Alex said. “It’s true anyway, though. Makeup. Hair. Clothes. You’re tall and slim as anything, which, I will promise you with my hand on my heart, are gifts from God. A few extra minutes a day, and the judge is thinking, ‘Why did I never realize how brilliant Victoria is? I should invite her to sit on that commission.’”
“What commission?”
He waved an airy hand. “Whatever. Don’t tell me there aren’t commissions. Also, don’t tell me your hairdresser has never suggested a new cut. All of—” He eyed her with something very close to a shudder—"thatis too long for you, and too heavy even while it’s up. You have gorgeous features,strongfeatures. You have amazing hair, if you did what you should with it. You should be imperious. Otherworldly. You should be a bloodyqueen,and I don’t mean like me. You, my darling, are screaming for a makeover. Those things on the top your face are meant to be eyebrows, not thickets of brambles.”
“I don’t really go to a hairdresser,” she said. “Just one of those quick places. Much faster.”
Alex groaned and dropped his head into his hand. “No. No. No. You are coming with me. After work, soon as I can get you in. Give me your number, and I’ll let you know when.”
“You don’t have time.” Another lame excuse. Alex taught strength classes at a posh gym, and also did personal training for certain clients, if they asked very nicely and paid very well. He was extremely popular. She knew that because he’d told her.
“I’llmaketime,” he said. “You know how those doctors and nurses go on medical mercy ships and fix kids with cleft palate, so they can move on confidently to have a wonderful life?”
“Don’t say it.”
He said it. “Darling, you are my mercy mission. And we aren’t coming home until you’re cured. You’re a gazelle, not an ostrich. It’s all a matter of belief. That, and hundreds of dollars’ worth of products.”
Which meant that she had a new haircut and new makeup, and even a few new clothes, but notnew eyelashes. She’d drawn the line, and this was an experiment, that was all. Sixty-six days. That was how long it took to form a new habit, on average. She was going to make the effort for sixty-six days, and see if it made a difference. She was twenty-nine days in so far. Of course, part of that would be over the Christmas holiday, which wasn’t really fair, because she’d be sure to lapse once she was alone, and she tended to be alone a fair amount over the holiday. Which was fine, except for her habit-developing.
The new lookhadhelped with her professional confidence. Alex had been right about that. She didn’t know if it had helped with her romantic confidence. Hard to say. People looked at her more, it was true, but who knew what they were thinking? Andrew Halloran had suggested a coffee the other day, for instance, but he’d probably just wanted a coffee. Besides, Andrew Halloran was insufferably smug and would think he was doing her a favor. No, thanks.
On that note, she reminded herself, as she continued to wait for an answer to the doorbell, she wasn’t here about a rugby player in any way, shape, or form, other than that Nyree was marrying one. It didn’t matter that this was a rugby coach’s house, because that wasn’t why she washere,despite her unfortunate anti-intellectual rugby-watching habit, something she’d never been able to explain even to herself, which was why she didn’t tell anybody but Nyree.
On the other hand, Nyree was a rugby coach’s stepdaughter, and what had that ever mattered to their friendship? Other than in the past year, anyway? She was coming to see her closest friend, to check out Nyree’s project and help if she could, and to remind Nyree of the program for tomorrow and that she had better be there, because it would be just like Nyree to think she could skip her own hen party. She was coming to do her duty as a maid of honor, or at least to do her best. She wasn’t brilliant at girly things, but then, Nyree wasn’t brilliant at girly things, either. That was why they’d bonded at University, and why they were still friends. Because Victoria boasted a near-permanent ink smudge on her second finger and already had twin concentration lines etched between her eyes, and Nyree was usually wearing a few extra splotches of paint.
And also because, when Victoria had changed her hair and her makeup, after she’d studied endless YouTube videos and paid her hairdresser for lessons, because if you committed to a course, you did your research and your preparation and got your money’s worth, Nyree’s comment had been simply, “You look good. Confident.” In other words, the kind of best friend you wanted. She didn’t care how you looked; she cared what it meant to youthat you looked that way.
Also, nobody was answering the door. She buzzed again. Did she have the wrong house? Her stomach gave a ludicrous lurch until she remembered that Nyree’s ancient VW Beetle was in the driveway behind her. This was the place. Also, she knew the answer about her social-slash-romantic confidence. It was rubbish.
One more buzz.
The door was flung open, and a kid stood there a moment, stared at her, then said, “Hi.” Flatly. Nine or ten years old, all elbows and knees, with teeth that were too big for his face and would need a brace in the near future.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m here to see Nyree. I’m her friend Victoria. You must be Isaiah.”
Isaiah frowned at her ferociously, then said, “Oh. Hang on a second, please. I’ll check,” before he shut the door in her face.
Either shehadsomehow mistaken the date—though how could she do that, with the hen weekend itinerary laid out in her scheduling software for months now?—or she’d just met a kid even more socially awkward than she’d been herself.
But then, neurotypicality was overrated.
Finally, Isaiah opened the door again, and Victoria took a breath and went inside.
Which could have been a mistake.
4
Only One Shrek
Kane
