Home > If You Were Mine(15)

If You Were Mine(15)
Author: Melanie Harlow

He admired it for a moment. “How do you do it?”

“I sketch an idea and then try to figure out how to break it down into layers within the pages. When all of the technical stuff is worked out, I carve the design into the book with an Xacto knife. Once all the layers are done, I paint it with watercolors and then bind the sides.” Sharing how I did something was much easier for me than sharing the actual work. I could talk all day long about the process, and even teach someone to do it, but when it came to putting my art out there to be judged…that was hard. It felt like putting myself out there to be judged. I put the book back on the shelf.

“Do you sell your art?” Theo leaned down to look closer at a sketch of my sister.

“No. I mean, not yet,” I added quickly. “I’d like to, someday.”

He straightened up and looked at me. “When’s someday?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Soon, maybe.”

“Why not already?”

“You have to submit your work to festivals and galleries and…I’m not sure I’m that accomplished yet.” The squirmy feeling was back under his scrutiny. My friends and family said I was good, but what if they were just being nice?

“I’d say you’re pretty fucking accomplished. What’s holding you back?”

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing a little, which gave me the impression he saw right through me. I waited for him to get on me about being scared again, but instead he asked, “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I glanced down at my black dress. “Yes. Why?”

He frowned. “It doesn’t fit you.”

“What do you mean? Yes, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s all loose and baggy. You can’t even see your shape.”

“My shape?” I should have told him to buzz off, but instead I found myself going down the hall to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the guest room door. Why, I have no idea, since I knew exactly what this dress looked like on me. But I thought it fit fine.

Theo followed me. “Yeah. You have a nice shape, you should show it off. Be more confident.”

“Actually, I was perfectly confident before you got here. You know, none of the women who reviewed you mentioned anything about getting an outfit critique.” I glared at him over my shoulder.

“I’m just trying to help,” he said, holding up his hands like he was innocent. “You mentioned before that you have trouble with guys. I’m giving you a guy’s perspective here.”

“I never said I had trouble with guys.” In front of the mirror, I turned this way and that to see if he was right about the dress. Was it too big? I wanted to be comfy, not frumpy.

“You didn’t? Huh. Well, I guess it was implied, then.”

“You really think this looks bad on me?”

“It’s not that it looks bad, exactly.” He shrugged, moving behind me to look at my reflection in the glass. “It just does’t do anything for you. And all that black…” He winced, shaking his head slightly.

“What?” I stuck my hands on my hips.

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” he hedged.

“Oh, really? Since when.”

“It’s just that you look like you’re going to a funeral or something, not out to have a good time. Love the red lips, though.”

I pressed them together. “Fine. I’ll change.”

“And maybe take your hair down, too,” he called out as I marched down the hall. “You have great hair. It’s one of your best features.”

“Enough!” I yelled, stomping up the stairs.

“What? It was a compliment!”

I reached the top of the stairs and ripped off the dress, throwing it to the floor. What an asshole! And I was probably an even bigger asshole for listening to him! Muttering to myself, I flipped through dresses in my closet and yanked out a new one I’d purchased on impulse while I was Christmas shopping a couple weeks ago. It was actually one I’d considered wearing earlier but had decided against because it was so tight. Tossing the dress onto my bed, I slipped off my booties and peeled off the black tights. There was no door to my bedroom, since the entire upper story was simply one big space, and I kept an eye on the steps, half expecting Theo to come up here and start criticizing my underwear.

I traded the cute black panties I’d had on for nude shapewear—a slip without panties. I wasn’t in the habit of going places sans underwear, but the dress was so fitted, a panty line would show. I’d have to watch how I sat tonight. “This is why dressing sexy is a pain in the ass,” I muttered. “You can’t be comfortable.” I swapped my black bra for nude as well, then shimmied into the dress, a burgundy lace shift with three quarter sleeves and an asymmetrical hem. The neckline was high, but the hemline was short, and the fit left nothing about my “shape” to the imagination. Unfortunately, I couldn’t zip it all the way up on my own.

Dammit. I’ll have to ask Theo to do it.

Frowning, I yanked all the hairpins out of my updo and let the mass of wavy hair tumble loosely around my shoulders. I messed with it a little in the mirror on the back of my closet door, but I didn’t have time to do much else. Leaving my legs bare, I stepped into beige high heels and checked my reflection. Good enough? I swiveled right and left, finding nothing amiss. In fact, I actually thought I looked pretty damn good. But I’d thought so before, too. I bet Theo will be able to find something to criticize.

   
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