27. REEMA

I take one look at the store and decide. "I'm being punished, and I should accept that I deserve this."

My sister scoffs. "Where is your sense of adventure?"

"It died," I tell her, point-blank.

She regards me with surprise. "Is this… Are you kidding?"

"Obviously." Dammit. I have to remember to lie, especially since my plan for this week is to Play Adult and not expose the realities of my life back home. Otherwise, what would I say? Yes, your sister sleeps in some sort of sad child's playpen. Evenings are spent either doing crosswords with her significantly older roomie, or she is squashed and working in a parking lot. And so many instant noodle packs are had for dinner, it cuts into the food supply of poor college students.

I give Esha a nice, buttery smile.

She narrows her eyes, but can't say more for her bridesmaids join us.

Pooja and Jyoti.

Immediately, they talk about the store in front of us as if it has a praise kink.

"Oh, you are going to do splendidly!" says Pooja.

"What a fun, little naughty place you are," says Jyoti, giggling. "You've got no idea how long I've been waiting for you."

"Let us not wet ourselves, ladies," says Esha, pretending she's not completely soaking in their reactions. "Should we go inside?"

You would think a high-end boutique of racy lingerie wouldn't fit in Bells Falls, but it's tailored to the wedding experience. Bridesmaids bring their brides here to do wedding night and honeymoon shopping.

Logically, it's a brilliant upsell. There's incentive to add a day or two extra to your itinerary to fit in these kinds of pre-wedding activities, especially if you've got bridesmaids coming in from different parts of the world that have been waiting to experience this together.

Upsell. The word makes me think of work and all the clients I'm not recruiting this week. Not doing that and living in a world outside of work, even for a day, has me depressingly disoriented. Like I don't know how to act when I'm not funneling everything into one goal.

Good thing Esha grabs my hand and pulls me inside.

Everyone gasps. The street-front display was tame compared to the pieces they have on display once you cross the doors. There are pussy floss panties all around us. Yeast infection inducing frills of lace. Harnesses.

As I'm lost amongst the transparent scraps of fabric, Esha leaps into action. I love that she's a decisive shopper. Within ten minutes, she picks up ten outfits, and then shows us two of the more modest ones on. The last one is sea-shell themed, where her tits are oysters cupping the pearls that are her nipples.

"Gurinder is going to collapse seeing you in this," I tell Esha as she spins in a fluttery circle before us. "You're sure about marrying him, right?"

Bad timing, I know–but I'm compelled to ask. It's been a while since I have. Bridesmaids jerk their eyes to me. Calculations are being made. How do they exorcise the divorced sister before she destroys the mood?

If I cared, I'd do another soapbox thing. Divorced people are not automatically depressed. I am not bitter over men. Actually, I miss men and the convenience of regular, scheduled dick. If anything, after I move out on my own, I'm going to dabble with casual sex. Leo will help me vet the matches. Maybe I'll start with my Finder date, Wes? The picnic he set up for us was nice, and he even texted me a have fun message about this week.

Since Pooja and Jyoti still dagger-eye me down, I hug Esha. "Not that I have doubts. From everything you've told me and from the time I've spent with him, Gurinder is incredible."

She sniffs, "He's the best."

It remains weird to see her get so emotional. Esha loves dramatics, but is rarely close to tears. Then again, weddings make people go funny.

I squeeze her shoulder. "You are so lucky to have found each other."

"You'll get your happy ending," says my sister. "I have a good feeling about Jake. He could be the one."

"Sure."

"Speaking of him, where is he? You agreed to bring him today!"

"Right," I look around. "Coleman."

"It's weird you call him that," says Jyoti.

"It's not," I defend. "It's cute."

The group remains unconvinced, but I don't care. I'll run naked down the streets before I give in and call him Jake. "He's meeting us here," I say, immediately realizing that this day can, in fact, get worse.

I should've asked Esha about her itinerary. In my ignorance, I've invited Satan to a lingerie store! Not just anyone, but one designed for maximum titillating!

I need to text him not to come.

The shop-owner emerges from the back and heads our way. She's holding a box. Apparently, there is a presentation portion to this outing. She leads the four of us to the sitting area. Champagne is popped.

"Where is he?" Esha asks again.

"Finishing… work. He'll be here soon," I say, trying not to panic-sweat at the thought of him in this store. It's so sexual. Dripping with sex. Lewdly outrageous.

My brain conjures him cornering me against the wall, like he did in his hotel room last night. He'd been so tall and bossy, and… I wanted to swing my hand and punch him in the chin. Or grab him by his shirt and push—pull—him for a shake. And somewhere, between all that, was a sliver of a fucking moment where I imagined—very impulsively—me leaping forward and throwing myself against him. Crushing my mouth to shut him up because the man drones on sometimes.

As the owner starts talking, I focus on the present. Maybe I'll ask her to turn on the air-conditioning. It's clearly broken. I've been hot these last few moments.

Not giving a care about my silent request, she talks more about pussy floss. As she goes on, I can't help but be impressed by the craftsmanship of the pieces here. Fabric is high quality and there's variety. You can also get a pussy latch that opens with a little tug.

Once again, I imagine Coleman here during this conversation. The back of my neck burns at the thought. I refuse. This can't happen.

I'm gulping champagne and secretly texting him with my phone hidden on the side. I miss the next part of the discussion–something about the stimulation of unlined lace baby dolls with thongs?—but no one notices. I'm good at this. Last year I made multi-tasking my bitch, even more than usual.

My first message to Coleman is blunt. You have a stomach issue.

Do I?is his immediate reply.

That's why you can't make it to this bridesmaid thing.

But I've already left.

Turn around.To add emphasis, I remind him of my first point. For those stomach issues. His next response takes longer than the others. I'm almost lulled into this sense of relief that he's listened to me, but I should've known better.

What if I'm asked about these stomach issues later? Lying doesn't come naturally to me.

And it does to me? Is that what he's saying?

It sure did come easy when you stockpiled those clients,I write back. What did he think the premise of this week would be? And why is there a hot wiggle in my chest? Something that feels like guilt. Something that makes me wonder if I'm a bad person for doing all this?

"Reema," asks Pooja. "What do you think of this one? We all love it."

I make appropriate cooing noises at the white strings the owner presents to the group. A debate is sprung up about the bride buying all white lingerie or not. It buys me time to nestle my phone between my thighs so I can read Coleman's next text.

I didn't want to stockpile anything. It's not something I'll do again.

Is he implying that I did want to do it?

Don't pretend you are better than the rest of us,I write, fiery annoyance spiking within me.

Three dots appear. He is typing. The dots disappear. There is no message.

He's not responding and that bothers me more. As if I'm the one who is taking this too far.

"Is that him? Is Jake coming?" Esha has come to stand above my shoulder. She's got a feather boa wrapped around her neck. The presentation is over. Jyoti and Pooja have left to browse the store for their own lingerie needs.

I turn my phone over so Esha can't see the screen. "It's awkward for him to be here," I tell her, opting for half-honesty, my conversation with Coleman ringing loudly in my mind. I'm not lying to hurt anyone. This whole fake-boyfriend situation was because I knew it would be… easier… and I was so tired of all the sympathy and questions… and the back-ended commentary on my choices…

Esha lifts her hand, palm-face up. I go to high-five it, but she moves it away, so I get her knee. I smile. It's a move we did all the time as kids.

The last time we played this game was so long ago. Another lifetime ago. Time has moved so fast, and my current life feels so sloppy when I compare it to the straightforwardness of my past. That's why I want to erase all the mistakes of these last few years before anyone sees them. So I can pretend they happened to someone else.

My sister sits. "You know, I almost cared more about seeing you this week than having my actual wedding."

My mouth goes slack.

"Relax. I said almost. This is still my week, and I'm going to be the center of attention, but can you also stay by my side?"

I nod, feeling a fresh layer of guilt. "Of course."

"You can help me pick my last outfit, and we can spend time together, and I can spend time with Jake and get to know him as well? I'm pretty sure we'll be done here by the time he comes. Tell him we won't make it awkward for him. Tell him to come. Please?"

"Okay." How can I say no to that?

Internally wincing, I type out another text to him.

Actually, can you come?

I'm so hot and cold. Is he going to punish me for it? He has no reason to show up. I don't even know why he's here in the first place. We're not friends. We're co-workers. Competitors. Two people who argue more than they ever agree. He has no reason to do anything I ask him to do, especially after this last conversation.

Putting my phone away, I help Esha pick out the flimsiest piece of lingerie we can find.

As a thank-you, she digs her hand underneath my sweater and finds the strap of my bra. It's lifted and released, the band snapping back on my skin.

"Fuck-off," I say, rubbing my shoulder. "What was that for?"

"How old is that bra? It looks aged."

Pooja contributes, "Everyone has a favorite cotton bra, but did I just see that yours is oatmeal colored?"

"Dirty oatmeal," adds Jyoti.

My sister claps her hands. "It's Reema's turn to try on lingerie!"

I try fighting them off, but the same persuasiveness I wield at work to win clients is what my sister also possesses, though in more sporadic doses.

"We have a few minutes until our next appointment and this will make me really happy," she says, begging me. "It's my wedding week, remember? And you don't have to buy anything, but try some pieces at least." She pulls a piece off the wall. "What do you think Jake will like?"

I back away as if panties are about to explode in my face. "He—He hasn't seen me in anything like this!"

"Do you want him to see you in it?"

The question throws me off. I don't know why, but my mind went straight to Yes. Obviously, the scenario is strictly hypothetical, but I guess I would enjoy producing any kind of slack-jacked effect on his face. I've only ever seen it at work, very sparingly, notably that one time I got three clients to sign with me at once.

But this?—

Esha grabs another piece off the wall. This one has one of those pussy latches the owner was showing. "Would you ever wear something like this?"

Old me would. Old me did.

I tried a lot of marriage-saving methods with Harry, each one getting more desperate and pathetic. At first, it was about cooking his favorite meals, and then it was making sure to compliment him. Twenty-four-seven, I was his cheerleader. Rah-rah-rah, you can do no wrong, baby! Just wait, you're going to win today. By the end, it had gotten so bad that I thought this sugary, cheery baby voice was my real personality. Fuck me, but cringe.

We'd been together for so long that I was willing to do anything to preserve the marriage. I can't think about it without hiding my face in shame, so I don't. This isn't about Harry.

This week is about pretending I'm the Reema of the future. I have a boyfriend who loves me, and my life is progressing nicely with my own apartment, and I have a very reasonable amount of money sitting in my account. After I get my bonus, that's who I am going to become. So what's wrong with treating this week like I'm already there? Isn't that the fantasy I have to sell, anyway?

I won't buy anything, but I can try a set on.

My eye catches on a racy purple teddy that has built-in garters.

"That one," I find myself saying. "That would drive him crazy."

The owner materializes from somewhere. With the skill of someone who has done this for a long time, she grabs the set, puts it into my hands, and pushes me into a fitting room. The curtain is closed behind me and I'm alone, except for the mannequin in the corner.

"Hello," I say, nodding at it. "Don't mind me."

In the mirror, I'm wearing a sweater layered over a collared t-shirt.

Two years ago, the style was more popular.

I see myself slowly strip.

Standing there is a woman who has been healthier, but is still alright. Though the sneakers, no one can defend. I toe them off, and slip into the fitting room provided heels. My arch complains, and I make a mental note to practice wearing heels, otherwise the wedding day and reception shoes will murder my feet.

Getting used to this pair, I strut a bit. Then I navigate myself into the lingerie set. It's a fucking mission, but finally I have it on.

The cups pushing up my cleavage are lined with silk, and because I've kept my original bra on, there is a double-lift going on. My chest pours over the scalloped edge. The edge of the teddy finishes somewhere in the upper thigh region. If I bend over, I'm pretty sure my whole bum is going to pop out. Or, it would, if the whole outfit didn't cling so tightly over my curves. There's suctioning and plumping wizardry at play. My waist feels nipped saucily with a bow, and my legs look endlessly long. Garters are the extra teasing touch, even though I've not clipped them to any stockings.

In this, my hips sway with confidence.

"Soon," I whisper to my reflection. "This won't be so strange. Soon, I'll be this person again."

Not today, though. The price tag on this piece alone is half a rental damage deposit.

Before I can start taking the lingerie off, the curtain rustles open.

Coleman steps inside the fitting room.