“I’m wearing this,” she says, turning to put it on a wall hook. “I know it would look great on your figure, but the red will clash with your hair.”
When I don’t disagree, she goes right to a dress with confidence, which means she had already perused and considered the options before I arrived.
The dress is black, and I can’t tell much about it by the way it drapes on the padded hanger. She merely lays it over her forearm, then orders me to take the robe off.
I do so without hesitation or embarrassment. Growing up together, we’ve been naked in each other’s presence thousands of times.
“Bra, too,” Fallon says, so I unhook my white cotton bra to let it fall to the floor.
She moves to place the dress over my head. I thread my arms through what I think are the armholes, and she lets it slither down my body. The fabric is silky, but it has a glittery shimmer to it. Turning to the full-length mirror, I gasp.
It’s gorgeous, elegant, and totally indecent. It’s almost a Grecian design with pleated folds over my shoulders that crisscross over my breasts and bind tight at the waist. The plunge down my cleavage, though, is so deep that not only the inside swells of my breasts are visible, but also the underswell as well. The sides are almost nonexistent under my armpits. As I turn slightly, I can see parts of my breasts showing there as well.
“I can’t wear this,” I say, even though, deep down, I’m fascinated because I’ve never felt so sexy in my life.
“You can and you will,” Fallon says, giving me no choice in the matter. Or is it that I want to wear something a little daring and risqué, knowing I might not ever have an opportunity like this again because this just isn’t my lifestyle?
Fallon grabs a black pair of strappy, pointy toe shoes with a ridiculous heel. I’m already envisioning a broken ankle, but I resolve to plant myself in a corner and not move, thereby minimizing the risk of serious injury.
I sit on a padded bench to put the shoes on, grateful they are closed-toed as the paint on my toenails is chipping. Fallon drops her robe and slips into her red dress, which truly does look amazing on her with her coloring, which is so different than mine.
As she’s fiddling through her jewelry drawer to put the finishing touches on us both, I take the opportunity for some sisterly advice. If there’s something Fallon enjoys more than trying to push me to do things I don’t like to, it’s giving me guidance in life.
“So… um… Rich is going to sell the coffee shop,” I say.
She doesn’t look at me, but her tone seems genuinely interested as she pulls out a gold mesh necklace and holds it up for consideration. “Oh, really?”
“He wants me to buy it,” I add.
That gets her attention and her head snaps my way, eyes flaring. “You’re kidding.”
In those two words, I hear disbelief which means she must think Rich is crazy for offering it to me, which means I’m not worthy.
I start to stammer. “I know you never approved of my career path, and you probably think it’s stupid and unambitious but—”
“Actually, I think it’s a marvelous idea,” she exclaims, coming to sit next to me on the bench. “I mean… yeah, I didn’t want you to be a manager of baristas your entire life, but owning a business is a commendable undertaking. And you already know everything about running it and how to keep it profitable.”
I’m so relieved to have her support, and I revel in this moment of glory that she’s being supportive of something I want to do rather than disapproving.
But, as so often happens with my sister, she manages to cast a little damper on things. Rising from the bench to go back to her jewelry selections, she offhandedly says, “Plus… you have your mental health under excellent control now with the medications. That shouldn’t be a hindrance to you owning a business.”
My gaze drops to my hands, which are now clenched in my lap. Fallon’s never been sympathetic to my issues, and I’ve always believed they’ve been a bit of an embarrassment to her. It’s sad she thinks I’m better with medications, especially since I haven’t been on them in years. I’ve just learned to control my weirdness and keep my crazy thoughts to myself, but I’m not about to share that information with her. I’m just going to go with the fact she supports my idea.
“He needs two hundred thousand cash, and he’ll finance the rest,” I say, lifting my eyes back to hers.
Fallon whistles. “That’s a lot of money. What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” I reply, frowning. “I don’t have that type of money.”