But it wasn’t time to think about Caitlin going off to college yet. It was just the first weekend of August; we still had some time. I crossed my arms and leaned in the doorway. “I guess that means more Chinese takeout for me.”
“Just save me some sweet and sour.” She flashed me a grin and darted back into her room to finish getting ready.
“What makes you think I’m going to order sweet and sour if you’re not here to eat it?”
“You know you like it!” There was a giggle in her voice and I shook my head, not even trying to hide my smile.
“Do not.”
I drove her to Faire that morning, with the understanding that Nina would drive them both back to her place. We pulled into the parking lot a few cars over from Nina’s so Caitlin could throw her overnight bag inside. As I reported to my post forty-five minutes before gate opened, ready for my volunteer shift, I was already mentally planning the rest of my day. Long, hot bath instead of a quick shower before Cait came home. Dinner from the Thai place instead of Chinese . . . though maybe I should pick up some sweet and sour for Caitlin to have tomorrow night. There was a documentary streaming that I’d been meaning to watch but had never taken the time to. Maybe tonight would be perfect for that.
A picture came to my mind, unbidden: another evening alone on the couch with the remote in my hand. The thought made me want to burst into frustrated tears right there in front of a scantily clad female pirate and the wizard on her arm. I was a woman who kissed men in kilts at a Renaissance Faire, for God’s sake. Was an evening of takeout and television my best option? Surely I could do better than that.
Oh, God. Now I knew why the leatherworker’s words had hurt so much. Because they’d described me to a T: I was mundane as hell. All these years not getting involved. Eyes straight ahead. Raising my daughter on my own. The most excitement I had in my life were my fucking book clubs.
Even now, when my sister and my daughter and my friends were all a part of this magical, whimsical event, all I did was sell tickets. Not committing enough to wear a costume or have any actual damn fun. No, I stayed on the outside looking in, sticking to my same old routine. Routines were safe. Routines were reliable.
But routines were boring. And so was I. And I couldn’t stand it for one more minute.
I had to, though, so I bit hard on my lip and kept selling tickets. Smiled and joked with Nancy until my shift was over. But instead of going straight to my car, I left my keys in my pocket and headed for the front gates of the Faire.
Emily wasn’t at the tavern, so I doubled back to the Marlowe Stage, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other, waiting for the Dueling Kilts’ set to be over.
“Hey, you okay?” Daniel touched my elbow, and I was wired so tightly I almost flew out of my skin. He looked down at me, his brow furrowed. “You seem . . .”
“A mess?” My laugh was almost frantic, and I didn’t understand why. What was happening to me?
Daniel studied my face. “I was going to say ‘over-caffeinated.’ Everything all right?”
“Sure.” I forced a deep breath, then another. “I just need to talk to Stacey, that’s all.”
“Well, let’s go get her. I can man the merch table for her.” He ushered me ahead of him and we skirted the audience toward the merchandise table. I hung back while he talked to Stacey, and she turned a concerned face toward me. I tried to look cool, but cool had left the premises a while back.
“Hey, what’s up?” Stacey’s voice was elaborately casual.
“Stace . . .” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to ask, or how to put it into words. So I did the best thing I could: take a deep breath and plunge on ahead. “Am I mundane?”
Her eyebrows flew up and she blinked. “Well. You’re not in garb, so . . . yeah? I mean, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. It’s just a . . .” She shrugged. “A thing.”
“Well, I’m sick of it. I want . . .” I wasn’t sure how to articulate what exactly I wanted, or how to get it. But I wanted to belong. I wanted to be on the other side of that chasm, with the people I loved. I wanted to have fun. Hell, I wanted to be fun.
I took a deep breath. “Stacey, will you help me?” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for. But I trusted her. I wanted to put myself into her hands and let her transform me. Make me not mundane anymore.
Stacey’s smile got wider and wider as though she was going to levitate. She gripped my hands with hers, squeezing tight.
“April,” she said. “It would be my absolute pleasure. Let’s go shopping.”
Eighteen
Stacey didn’t give me a chance to change my mind, which proved how well she knew me. Before I knew it, she’d practically dragged me bodily to a costume vendor’s tent, and I was wrestled and tugged and laced into a dress.
“Oooh boy.” I tried to take a deep breath but quickly discovered that wasn’t something I’d be doing for the rest of the day. “I don’t know about this.”
“I do.” Stacey walked behind me, examining the back of my outfit while I turned this way and that in the mirror. “You look amazing. Red is your color.”
“I doubt that.” I ran my hands down the tightly laced brocade bodice, over the unfamiliar shape that this corset had made of my body. All I could see was red. Lipstick red. Pick-you-out-in-a-crowd red. Not a color I wore ever. Not by choice. I looked like a stoplight, albeit a fancy one with a long swishy skirt.
I ran a mental tab on all the layers I was currently wearing: A white off-the-shoulder nightgown of my very own that fell to my knees, with a petticoat under that to give the outfit some fullness. Over that was a forest-green underskirt, followed by the red brocade, which was both bodice and overskirt in one, cinched in at my waist and laced up my torso.
“Yeah, but what about this green?” I tilted my head and scowled at my reflection in the mirror. “You don’t think I look like Christmas?”
“Here we are! Accessories!” Emily’s voice sang out, still in her Faire accent. She’d shown up not long into this whole makeover event, serving as Stacey’s assistant. Now she appeared from the other side of the tent, her arms full. First she tied a length of blue-and-green-tartan fabric around my waist like a sash. Over that she buckled a brown leather belt, on which she’d threaded multiple things, so it took a little finessing to get everything in the right place.
“Okay, so I got you a little bag, that’s here . . .” She patted the leather drawstring pouch that rested against my right hip. “You can put your phone, keys, cards, and whatever else in there. Then you don’t have to worry about a purse, see?” She barely waited for my nod before she continued. “Now, these are skirt hikes, there’s one on each side. You can pull up the sides of the overskirt, and then the skirt underneath shows too. Plus it gives everything some fullness. See?”
“I do see.” Because while Emily was talking she and Stacey were working, drawing up the sides of the overskirt and running them through the skirt hikes, like hooking curtains out of the way in a window. But they weren’t done yet. I stood still, letting them move me around like a giant doll they were playing dress-up with, while they adjusted fabric, pulled a little harder at my bodice strings until I thought I might fall over at a badly timed tug.