The Shape of Love

#21 Monday Morning "Lighter"

"What about this one?" Lacey twirled giving Marie the full view of the outfit. It was the third ensemble she had tried on. At this rate Lacey would run out of clothes - it'd already been established she owned only one nice pair of slacks. According to Marie she couldn't wear the same outfit to the second interview, and especially not after she found the cereal stain on the white blouse.

Lacey diligently hide the inseam rip in her trousers for the moment.

"Lace brown and navy do not go together."

As Lacey looked down she grumbled. The shop owner was right. Navy on tan was not a look she could pull off. And definitely not with her black converse sticking out from her pant leg.

She straightened putting her hands on her hips. The pressure of the interview was mounting and at once she felt defensive. "Well this is all I have. I guess we'll just hope she's color blind."

Marie practically facepalmed. "Give me strength lord." She mumbled.

"Oh quit!" Lacey swatted at the girl who sat forward on the couch.

Marie caught her hand as she did so, pulling Lacey onto her lap. "I will not, you look like Paddington."

"The bear?"

"Cute," Marie twirled a piece of Lacey's hair. "But I don't think Paddington went for business casual." She finished earning another playful punch from Lacey.

"I don't want to be 'Pretty Woman'd'." Lacey stood with her arms over her chest.

The two were in the middle of Thrift Me Not while Marie riffled through rack after rack of hangers. She said little except for the occasional mumble as she held up prospective outfits.

Lacey had lost track of time after Marie had pulled her onto the couch and as she looked around she realized there was no clock in the store. It had to be nearing noon.

Antsy, Lacey tapped her foot on the ground.

"You're not being 'Pretty Woman'd' - you're borrowing it." Marie paused seeming to think it over. "I don't know how I feel about being compared to Richard Gere."

"You talk a bit more than he does."

Marie nodded again lost in the hangers.

Three racks later she let out a gleeful cry. Shoving fabric into Lacey's hands she hurriedly ushered her back up the stairs and into the bathroom to change. The action was so quick that Lacey hardly have time to register what material lay in her hands.

It wasn't until she'd closed the bathroom door that she noticed she was holding three hangers instead of one. It was a pantsuit. The matching slacks and jacket looked and felt like caramel, rich browns that rippled like water as she set them down. A crisp white button up was folded into the jacket.

It was perfectly professional and once Lacey tried it on she knew Marie would agree. The jacket held its shape well in the shoulders but was not so stiff that Lacey could extend her arms comfortably. The end seam of the pants hovered centimeters above the floor, just covering her battered converse.

She looked as if she were on her way to a press conference. Even her posture seemed to straighten under the new threads.

"Lace?" A knock came at the door. "Everything alright in there?"

Instead of answering Lacey flung open the door and struck a power pose. Raising her eyebrows flirtatiously she grinned.

Marie's smile had never been bigger. "Damn I am good." She shook her head.

"Oi, give me some credit here!" Lacey motioned to her silhouette.

"You models - always thinking it's about you." Marie rolled her eyes playfully, though after she'd finished she closed the distance between them. In the privacy of the apartment she pulled Lacey to her. Their mouths finding each other seamlessly as they shared the moment.

Pulling away breathlessly Lacey smacked Marie's shoulder jokingly. "You're going to wrinkle the shirt."

"Maybe it'll just have to come off then."

-

The couch dipped under Marie's weight as she joined Lacey on the cushion. It was twenty past noon and despite Lacey's protest that she wasn't hungry Marie had made them a pasta lunch.

"You can't go on an empty stomach, what if you faint?"

"But what if I puke?" Lacey countered though at the smell of pasta sauce her resolve had loosened.

As the two sat quietly eating the hot food Lacey tried to ignore the nagging nervousness that ground in her stomach like rocks in the dryer. She'd done it once she reasoned, she already knew Mrs. Meyers. There was nothing to be scared of ... but still.

"What are you going to do if you don't get the interview?" Marie ventured a noodle sticking out of her mouth.

Lacey almost laughed at the brash question, though it'd been the same one swirling in her mind. Would she take up another part time job? Find another apartment? She bit at her lip.

"I guess I'm going to have to figure that out when I get there."

Marie raised an eyebrow, "No plan?"

"Nothing set in stone."

"Feel weird?"

Lacey thought for a moment as she chewed. "A little lighter. I feel like I can finally focus on what's in front of me." She nodded as the words left her lips, as if speaking them validated their existence in her head.

Had that been the problem all along - then plans? Her detailed itineraries were never about the 'now', but always about the 'next'. Her next meeting, her next move, all just another thing to check off. When her schedule was derailed she'd sputtered, like a machine whose memory chip had been erased.

How could she move on if she didn't know where she was starting from? The board she'd perfectly laid out appeared foreign. Lacey had molded herself into a piece within her own game, and without the rule book she was useless.

As Lacey slurped up another noodle she knew the rulebook - not her- who was the useless one. There were a million things Lacey couldn't control, and those million were what she needed to come to peace with.

-

At 12:55pm Lacey stood alone outside of Mother Mary's Publishing House. The white brick loomed above her. Somehow the scene was more daunting than the week prior.

Taking a deep breath Lacey reached for the windowed door. As she pulled it open Lacey caught her reflection in the glass.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd purposely looked at her reflection. Sure she'd look at herself while she brushed her teeth or occasionally when she did her hair - but never for the sake of looking. Not since the day after July 17th, when she'd first caught her reflection in the hospital bathroom.

That day she looked broken.

A scar under her right eye, and a yellowing bruise on her neck.

Every day after that she couldn't shake the image, as if the healing she'd undergone was nothing but a mask. Physically she looked fine, but underneath - Lacey knew better.

Today as she caught her reflection something had changed. It was not her old self - at least not entirely. At first Lacey froze. Who was this girl staring back at her? She didn't wear the same wilting look in her irises. The bags underneath her eyes were no longer weighed down by exhaustion, with no flexibility or imagination.

She saw herself now. Strong. Meaningful. Worthy.

Her muscles relaxed as she took a step onto the tiled floor.

Lacey was an editor, someone with a future - plan or no plan. 

- 

 Do yourself a favor and google "Richard Gere Gerbil".