“I’ve been careful to make sure I’m wearing things by up-and-coming designers when possible, especially indigenous women. It’s such a great way to draw attention to those who might get overlooked.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call Lotus overlooked,” I say dryly, “since she just won the CFDA for womenswear designer of the year, but she’s still pretty new to the game, so that kind of exposure could only help.”

When I lift the lid of the white box and peel the fragile tissue paper away, Lennix and I both gasp.

“Holy crap,” Lennix says, running her fingers lightly over the golden silk. “This will look fantastic on you.”

“It was literally made for me.” I lift the dress from the box, revealing the gilded fall of shimmering fabric. “Lo sketched it over drinks when I was in LA a couple months ago.”

“You have to try it on.” Lennix presses her palms together in a begging pose. “I wanna see.”

“Okay! You lock the door. I’ll get the windows.”

While Lennix walks briskly to lock the door, I draw the drapes across the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the chaos of D.C. traffic and commerce. I rush back to the work table, anticipation humming through my every molecule. My girly reflex is fully activated. I’m already thinking about the Manolos I found to go with the dress, mentally accessorizing and wondering if I should wear my hair blown out or upswept and in its natural curls. Without self-consciousness, I strip off my slacks and blouse, standing in only panties and bra. Lennix and I are in that “over ourselves” stage of friendship you reach through time and trial. She, along with our friend Vivienne, were my extended family so far from home. I carefully slide the silk up to my thighs, frowning when it catches there.

“What the…” I mutter when the material only inches up incrementally, not quite clearing my hips. It pulls so tight that if I force it, the dress will probably rip.

“Oh.” Lennix bites her bottom lip and tilts her head to the side. “Well, it…did she maybe send the wrong size?”

“I told you. She made it for me. One of these exists in the whole world, and Lo confirmed my measurements no more than ten days ago. I don’t get it.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Well, if we—” Her phone buzzes on the work table. She grabs it, still eyeing me with consternation. She glances down and grimaces. “Ugh. Dammit. I forgot we added a meeting to my schedule this morning. It’s on possible legislation for improved maternity leave. Something with teeth. My secretary just reminded me.”

“Go.” I waddle over to her, careful not to make any sudden dress-ripping moves, and give her a quick squeeze. “Be the badass bitch First Lady I know you can be.”