I wondered what that was like.
Back at home, I dug through my underwear drawer and fished out the most padded bra I owned. I’d bought it on a whim but had never had the nerve to wear it—it felt like false advertising.
But I put it on beneath the sundress, and poof—my B cup breasts did suddenly resemble water balloons. Not big ones or anything, but there was a definite bulge happening above the neckline. Excited, I put some lipstick on and studied my reflection. Not bad. Actually, I thought I looked pretty good. The awful haircut wasn’t obvious, Winnie had done something with my makeup that made my brown eyes look wide and luminous, and I had at least two curves.
I wished Hutton could see me.
“It’s going to be fine,” I told the girl in the mirror. “You have come a long way, even if you don’t feel it. And there’s nothing wrong with being a work in progress.”
Happy with the way the girl smiled back at me, I rushed out of my room and raced down the stairs. Maybe that girl in the mirror wasn’t Mimi Pepper-Peabody or a Lithuanian supermodel, maybe she wasn’t even very elegant in her glasses and space buns, but she could get through tonight with her head held high.
She forgot the bag with the heels in it, so she’d have to get through it in sneakers, but really, she was more comfortable in sneakers anyway. She would be herself, and everything would be fine.
Of course, that was before the vodka.
I’m not quite sure how it happened.
I was only going to have a few sips of a cocktail to steady my nerves, which had seemed solid enough on the drive over, but had grown more shaky as the clock ticked closer to seven.
Really, it was Mimi Pepper-Peabody’s fault. She strolled over with a clipboard as I was setting out my appetizers on a table, looking like Reunion Organizer Barbie with her long, shiny, blond waves, her strapless little black dress, and her black patent leather heels with the bright red bottoms. “Hi there,” she said with a megawatt smile that lacked an ounce of genuine warmth. “I’m Mimi Pepper-Peabody, soon to be Mimi Van Pelt.” She held out her hand so I could admire the diamond engagement ring twinkling on her finger. “I’m getting married.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Thank you.” The smile stayed plastered on her lips. “And you are?”
“I’m Felicity MacAllister,” I said, glancing down at the name tag I wore. “We spoke on the phone? I’m the Veggie Vixen.”
Mimi looked confused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were one of the students I hired to help set up. You look so young with your hair in those things—what do you call them?”
“Space buns,” I said, touching one of them self-consciously.
“Space buns, yes. My little cousin likes to wear her hair like that. Of course, she’s eight.” More condescending laughter as she patted my sleeve. “But don’t worry, it’s cute for you.”
I glanced at her long, French-manicured nails and hid my hands behind my back. My cuticles were horrible. “Thanks.”
“But you should tell your stylist not to cut your bangs so short. They look a little silly.”
I bit my bottom lip.
Mimi snapped her fingers. “I remember you now—you used to get those awful bloody noses in the middle of class! Do you still get them?”
“Sometimes.”
She shuddered. “How embarrassing. Hope that doesn’t happen tonight.”
“Would you like to try an appetizer?” I picked up a platter of zucchini fritters and restrained myself from throwing it at her.
“No, thanks. So you’re in food service now?”
“Catering, yes. And a food blogger.” I gritted my teeth and asked the polite question. “How about you?”
She tossed her hair. “I’m a lifestyle blogger and influencer. How many followers do you have?”
“I just hit two thousand.”
Her smile was superior. “I have three thousand, four-hundred-eighteen. I’m growing really fast.”
“Oh . . . that’s cool.”
“Let me know if you need any tips on building a following. Good to see you, Felicity—you haven’t changed a bit.” She strolled away, leaving the overpowering scent of her perfume behind.
I was still angry when people started arriving a few minutes later—at Mimi for being just as terrible and beautiful as she’d ever been, at myself for letting her make me feel small, at Winnie for talking me into space buns, and even at Hutton for refusing to come with me tonight. Needing something to take the edge off my mood, I marched over to the bar and asked for a vodka soda with lime.