The Right Fit

No one was more surprised to be sitting on a park bench in the dead of winter, pretending to read a romance paperback, than Maxine. After a month’s worth of emails, she finally agreed to go on a blind date. She told him she’d be wearing a long white coat with a red scarf. She had arrived a half hour early, nervous and unsure. To kill time, she’d gone into a small bookstore close to the front gate of the park. A leftover Valentine’s Day rack of staff picks of romantic books was still on display. On a whim, Maxine picked out the one with a formally dressed couple in each other’s arms, Waiting for Fate. A sign, she decided.

Earlier, when she was getting ready in her apartment, Maxine turned to the mirror on the back of her bedroom door knowing she’d need her spandex girdle for today’s escapade. The green Dior dress with the vixen neckline had been too good of a find at Carmine’s second hand shop to pass up, but she knew even with the size discrepancy of the vintage outfit, it was still a tight squeeze. Carmine had told her it was a dress made for seduction. She bought it on the spot, planning to lose enough weight for it to fit perfectly.

Maxine’s shoulders drooped at her reflection. “I changed my mind,” she’d said. “I’m not going.”

“That’s fear talking,” Crosby’s voice came from the inside of Maxine’s closet. There was a grunt then a curse as shoeboxes tumbled from the upper shelf.

Maxine’s heart moved to her throat as her younger sister stumbled backward out of the closet.

Crosby easily gained her footing, even in her stilettos and tight pencil skirt. She’d taken an early lunch from work and had arrived at Maxine’s apartment to help her get ready. She held out a pair of black patent heels. “Wear these, they’re adorable,” she ordered, the shoes dangling from her fingers.

“I can’t wear those in the snow.”

“But they match the dress,” she insisted, her tone defiant, indignant even.

Maxine zeroed in on the long white box still tucked away on the upper shelf. Still unopened. Still safe. Her pulse calmed.

Instead of taking the shoes, she began to play the usual ‘pull and tug’ game with the dress, trying to make it longer, wider—the right fit.

The right fit had eluded Maxine ever since puberty. Now, at twenty-seven she had to contend with wearing body squeezing, seamless shapewear under almost everything she owned, which as Crosby pointed out on a regular basis, were wardrobe leftovers from black and white movies.

“Stop stalling,” Crosby said. “You’ve blown this date off too many times, Maxie.” Then her voice softened. “You deserve this bit of adventure.”

A wave of heated embarrassment rose up Maxine’s neck. It was bad enough that her heart had been broken, but the fact everyone knew how was almost as painful as the physical ache in her chest every night— especially every time she looked at that damn box in the closet.

An image superimposed itself, buoyed from a memory she’d never be able to suppress. Maxine could see the box’s contents strewn across the floor while she stood dumbfounded in the doorway, staring at the couple on her bed.

She blinked hard to erase the vision, but the voices were still in her head, burned into her memory like a scar.

“Yes, Johnny. Oh God, right there, baby.”

A nudge brought Maxine out of her daydream. Crosby took Maxine by the shoulders. “It’s been almost six months,” she said.

Six months and five days.

Crosby continued, “You need to move on.” “Actually, I need my girdle.”

“You also need a bit of fun, something exciting!” Crosby thrust the shoes at her sister. “Wonderful, meaningless, rebound sex with a nice, temporary guy whose main purpose is to give you back your confidence.” She then motioned to the bed. “And you’re not going to meet him if you keep loafing around eating Winkies and watching Dynasty reruns.”

Maxine’s laptop was permanently in place on the left side of her double bed—her new bedmate it would seem. “But I’m really good at loafing around,” Maxine rebutted. “It’s important to know your strengths. Besides,” she said, tucking a generous wave of red hair behind her ear, “you can’t shame the Carringtons. Those rich people had to deal with family drama every week while still looking good in shoulder pads. The Kardashians could learn a thing or two from that show, you know.”

Crosby gave her a smile that was a mix of relief and amusement. “Don’t worry, just go with the flow.” She motioned to the bed again.

“I’m only meeting him to see what he’s like and maybe grab a coffee together. You make it sound like we’ll be hitting some sleazy motel.”

“Oh please, Maxie. You cleaned your apartment. Plus, there’s an antipasto tray from The Blue Olive and two bottles of wine in the fridge.” She grinned. “You’re bringing a man back here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s how I always celebrate Tuesday.” Then Maxine lowered her voice, feeling a twinge of shame nestle under her ribs. “You didn’t tell Rose, did you?” she asked. Her other sister, Crosby’s identical twin, was the epitome of caution and logic, plus working as a reporter for the crime section of the Globe and Mail made Rose naturally suspicious of any potential danger.

Crosby snorted then said, “I only told her you were going to coffee with a new friend. No fun intended.”

Maxine turned to the mirror for one last inspection; she’d spent an hour on her makeup making sure she had the right look to match her vintage dress. Makeup never let her down. No matter how ill-fitting her clothes, her lipstick always looked good. She then glanced at her fresh manicure, the white pearl color went nicely with her winter coat, plus it was called Fate. How much more of a sign did she need?