Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(27)
You’re gonna get it in three guesses, I can feel it
How was school today? Any good stories?
Phoebe:
Wordle 1,211 3/6
You know me so well
School was great, the kids are really getting comfortable
Maybe a little too comfortable though
Danny leaned over to me during silent snack and whispered in my ear that I should check myself for breast cancer.
Matthew:
Please start wearing a GoPro to work
He’s right though, you can never be too careful
Phoebe:
Totally
Quick-guess how long it took me to solve the Monday crossword
Matthew:
I’ve actually come up with an equation for this
Phoebe’s crossword time is equal to Matthew’s crossword time divided by 2.5. So that would make your time today just short of seven minutes
Phoebe:
Whoa
It was 6:45
And you say I’m the smart one
Matthew:
Is it sad that swapping scores with you is the best part of my day
I can’t wait to play in person
In person.
There’s not enough air in the car.
I consider reaching over to the passenger’s side to rifle through the glove compartment, where I keep a stash of barf bags I’ve collected from various flights over the years. In case of emergency, I always have one in my car and at least one in my tote bag. But this is not an emergency, I remind myself. Even though my body may react like it, I am not being chased by a bear, or about to be pushed out of a plane. I am safe, and I can get through this without needing to empty my lunch into a paper bag.
In through your nose, out through your mouth; my internal monologue takes on Sandy’s voice.
I blast the AC, which, unfortunately, does nothing but recycle hot stale air from outside into my Jetta. With a cold sweat spreading from my palms to my fingertips, I grab my insulated water bottle, twist off the top, and plunge my fist inside, grabbing as many ice cubes as I can. Clutching them until they melt, I count all the way to sixty, and then I text Nora that I’m here, leaving Matthew’s text unanswered.
* * *
—
“It’s perfect!” I tell the seamstress, Cindy, hoping she can’t tell that I’m holding my breath. One wrong move and the freshly sewn seam of the black satin dress could burst, but it technically fits, which is more than I can say about the first two alteration attempts.
Cindy smiles, proud of the work she’s done on my dress, and I decide in that moment that it fits well enough.
“Thank you so much, Cindy,” I tell her while stepping away from the mirror and attempting to go to the changing room.
“Not so fast,” Nora asserts from the corner of the room with her hands on her hips. “You’re turning blue,” she adds dryly.
Cindy steps toward me and fiddles with the straps. “It’s too tight?”
I look at my reflection in the mirror, Cindy tinkering with the left strap of my dress and Nora with the right, a devil and angel on my shoulder, respectively.
“It’s too tight,” Nora confirms.
I bite my lip to keep from arguing with her, because she’s right. It’s too tight.
Cindy takes her measuring tape and wraps it around my chest.
“You’re a lucky girl,” she tells me.
Nora nods in agreement.
“She has the best tits,” she tells Cindy with a casual familiarity that only Nora could pull off. I wince. “If she would only show them off once in a while….” Nora teases, and I take a second to admire my reflection.
I know why Jamie picked out this dress for me; it shows off all the features I usually try my best to camouflage with an oversized tee: the satin hugs my hips and the low neck accentuates my cleavage in a way that I’m not entirely hating. I try to imagine how I’ll look with my hair straightened, a request from Jamie that I begrudgingly accepted. The coarse texture of my curls makes my hair impossible to style in an appropriate amount of time, and only for Jamie would I subject myself to the particular type of torture that straightening my hair requires: two hours in a salon chair under fluorescent lighting. Although, looking at myself in this dress, I can’t help but anxiously anticipate how I’ll look with my frizz tamed. I turn around and throw my chin over my right shoulder to get a better look at the back of the dress.
With an eyebrow raised and my eyes locked on my ass, I ask Nora, “Has that always been there?”
Nora steps behind me and arranges us so we’re both looking into the mirror head-on.
“Phoebe,” she starts. “It should be illegal for you to wear your T-shirts and baggy jean shorts with this kind of body.”
With one last look in the mirror, I try to visualize a scenario where it’d be appropriate to wear this dress to work. I’d like Finn to see me in it.
“I need an hour,” Cindy tells us.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I can come back on Monday.”
Nora pulls me toward the dressing room. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Cindy! See you in an hour.”
* * *
—
With time to kill, Nora and I walk to the coffee shop down the street. I buy her an iced Americano and a blueberry muffin to thank her for this afternoon, and we sip our drinks while people-watching from the bench outside the café. We’re on a busy street, with a constant stream of film bros and girls with patchwork tattoos coming in and out of shops and hustling past us on the sidewalk. Nora picks at her muffin while I focus on smiling at any man who looks to be around my age, hoping that one might stop to talk and give me a chance to practice my flirting.