The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (booksvooks .txt) 📗

She turned to leave, but Marc called her back. “Wait.”

She turned back, hopeful.

“Are you still planning to wear the red backless dress tonight? The one from Saks?” Marc’s gaze swept from her head to her feet and the question was clear: was she able to wear the backless dress—as in, could she zip it up? Jill reflexively pressed her palm against her stomach as she felt a flood of shame rise from her chest. She’d worked hard, forcing her naturally curvy size-twelve body down to a size six because she knew that’s what Marc preferred, but every day was a constant battle. And this dress had been particularly challenging.

Because she couldn’t find the words, she simply nodded before turning to make her way to the house. She’d wear what he wanted her to wear. After all, wasn’t that what she’d always done?

Inside, the house was the explosion of chaos that always preceded one of Marc’s business parties. People were everywhere—caterers, florists, servers. The kitchen floor was a maze of boxes and every inch of countertop space was crammed with platters and linen. Jill had hoped for space to assemble a quick lunch, but a team of caterers had completely taken over and Jill had learned that it was best just to stay out of their way. So she grabbed a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and headed upstairs to run a hot bath.

In the tub, the hot water and the lavender scent worked its magic. She was still annoyed at what Marc had done, how casually he’d dismissed the party she’d planned, but, as the water in the tub cooled, so did her temper. She’d married a man who was confident enough to change things that didn’t suit him. That, in fact, was one of the things she’d admired most about him, that he knew exactly what—and who—he wanted. A man like Marc could have chosen anyone and it was still thrilling that he’d chosen her. Everything else could be worked out.

After her bath, Jill stood before the bathroom mirror wrapped in a towel, wondering what to do with her hair. Typically she would arrange a salon blow-out before Marc’s events, but today she hadn’t. She swiped the fog from the mirror and studied her reflection. Besides encouraging Jill to lose weight, Marc had taken an odd interest in her hair. When they met, Jill had worn her naturally brown hair cut short and liked it that way. But Marc had persuaded her to grow it out, and when the length reached her collarbone, he’d arranged for blonde highlights at an expensive salon. Jill had never liked the color, thought the shade wasn’t flattering against her olive skin, but she kept it because Marc wanted her to. To be honest, sometimes she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was surprised at her own reflection.

With her hair and make-up done, she padded across her bedroom to her closet, her favorite part of getting ready. As she opened the door, the overhead lights flicked on, revealing racks of dresses, boxes of shoes, and shelves filled with cashmere. She paused to take it all in—the smell of new clothes, the abundance, the possibility.

Growing up, her parents didn’t believe in wasting their money on children, so they didn’t. Jill’s clothes were thrifted and her toys were used. The year Jill turned seven, Aunt Sarah had gifted her a brand-new Barbie doll and it had changed Jill’s life. She’d immediately set to work creating a wardrobe for the doll: fashioning dresses from strips of paper towel, embellished with poofs of stretched cotton and wraps of scrap yarn. That Barbie had ignited a life-long interest in fashion, and even now, twenty years later, she had to pinch herself when she entered her closet because she couldn’t believe her good fortune. She owned racks of the most beautiful clothes ever created, and every one of them made her feel glamorous and important.

What difference did it make if fitting into them meant skipping a few meals?

The red backless dress was another story though. The cut was all wrong for her body, and the shade of red wasn’t flattering. When she’d first tried it on, she’d rejected it, telling the personal shopper that no amount of alteration would make it fall right. But it was delivered to the house anyway and now Marc had asked her to wear it. She would, but she didn’t want to.

They hadn’t started out this combative, she and Marc.

In the beginning, they’d shopped together, and it was thrilling. He’d sat outside the dressing room and Jill had modeled outfits for him. She’d twirl, barefoot on plush carpeting, delighted to have found a man who wanted to spoil her. He’d insist that she have whatever she wanted. And she did. She bought cashmere and tweed, and dresses that cost more than she made in a month, and Marc paid for everything. Afterward, he’d take her to lunch at the Boathouse in Central Park, then back to his Greenwich Village apartment to watch the sun set over the city. She’d loved that time with him, and she missed it. Now, he ordered her clothes from a personal shopper’s checklist and had them sent. And it had been a long time since they’d gone to lunch.

After everything he’d given her, it was a small concession to do as he’d asked.

As she reached for the dress, she stumbled over a pair of strappy silver sandals on the floor. The shoes were meant to be worn with the dress, but they pinched and were all wrong for an outdoor party. The heels were too high and the straps were too tight. If she wore them, she’d looked ridiculous, like Brittney had.

Jill slipped on the red dress but reached past the sandals for a pair of flats she liked better. It was a small, petty victory but one she allowed herself anyway.

Four

The Summit house was designed for parties and