“You’re forgetting a little detail…”

“Which one?”

“I’m still paying him to be here.”

Blair waves me off. “I’m sure he’ll give you the money back on the first occasion. And once you’re back in the city, you can start dating like two normal people. Who cares how you met? On the record, you two met through work; doesn’t matter if the job setting wasn’t exactly conventional.”

I stare at her still half-unconvinced, but also relieved.

“Have I been persuasive enough?” Blair asks.

I nod.

“Great,” she cheers. “Now that I’ve got you all wised up, you want to open your Christmas present?”

***

Comforted by Blair’s words, I return to the house just in time to shower and get ready for the big day. Alone in my room, with my hair still damp, I pull on the dress I brought for today: black, simple, not a hint of cheer anywhere on it.

Mmm… I stare in the mirror, unsure. My habit of dressing more for a funeral than for Christmas Day doesn’t seem appropriate this year. But I didn’t bring any other dresses elegant enough for the occasion. I could ask to borrow something from Julia, but would her clothes even fit me? And I’d gladly skip the chance to try one on and not be able to close the zipper. Yeah, it’d just give her another opportunity to tell me how I should cut back on carbs. So, black dress it is. Unless…

I open the closet and shuffle all my old clothes to the side until I find what I’m looking for. At the back, hidden behind everything else, rests—abandoned and forgotten—my last attempt at joining my family’s festivities with any real enthusiasm.

Blair forced me to buy this dress five or six years ago. She’s a fan of Christmas like everybody else and had me convinced the bright red fabric would help me get into the holiday spirit. The dress was gorgeous, and it fit me perfectly, so I bought it and brought it home to wear on Christmas Day. Then, my mom—or my sister, I can’t remember—majorly pissed me off with a stupid remark, which put me off any attempt of “joining in” the celebrations. And so my dress-for-a-funeral-on-Christmas-Day tradition was born.

I take out the dress and press it against my body, studying the design. Square-cut neckline with cap sleeves, and a high, fitted waist with a peplum frill detailing. The cut of the skirt is midi length, and the whole shape has a tailored fit. Too much? And more to the point, will it still fit me? Only one way to know.

In a fluid motion, I shed the black dress and replace it with the red one, glad the zipper closes all the way up. Still, it fits a little tighter than I remembered. To make sure the seams won’t burst apart the first time I sit, I try a couple of squats. Not exactly comfortable, but doable. Actually, the snug fit has the positive effect of pushing up my boobs, making them seem bigger. Yeah, not bad. Not bad at all.