Chapter 24: What’s in a Label?
Over the course of the following week, Broderick and I discussed my options as far as the apartment in California was concerned. I’d already paid two months’ rent, so I had it for at least that long. The idea of keeping it beyond then appealed to my unquenched independence, but I wasn’t ready for a bicoastal relationship. I wasn’t sure I had the skills to gracefully navigate any relationship, but I knew I lacked those needed for long distance success. I’d have to pick between Broderick on the gulf coast and independence in California.
I chose Broderick.
We had a unique magnetic bond that was on the cusp of becoming something new, while my California dreams were just that- dreams. I could always revisit what life as an independent woman looked like for me, as well as where I wanted to put down roots, in due time. But the current moment held the opportunity to bet the house—err, apartment—on Broderick. He’d shown up for me more than anyone else I’d ever known and, without realizing it, continually inspired me to be a better version of myself. The broken parts of me believed I didn’t deserve his love and devotion and made me question his shadows as much as I’d questioned my own. But I truly loved my sweet, endearing best friend on every level and wondered what we could build together.
I didn’t want my impulsive move out west to be completely in vain, so Broderick and I brainstormed some possibilities. The best of which included using the apartment as a temporary writer’s retreat and/or exploring L.A. together. Both options were viable enough to ease my mind on that front, but addressing the triggers and consequences of running away weren’t as easy to resolve. I expressed concern that my volatile emotional landscape would affect him, and us, in the long run, but each time I brought it up, he assured me we could handle anything—together. His genuine confidence was encouraging but it didn’t eliminate the fear that someday he could become part of my past like Nate had. I despised that thought. But I despised the crippling grip of fear more. I couldn’t allow it to stop me from connecting more deeply with someone I already loved. I just needed the courage to venture into the unknown of what our love could be.
Once I felt comfortable that Broderick understood what he was getting himself into, I allowed myself to indulge in thoughts of taking our relationship to the next level. That was more challenging than I’d have preferred. As my best friend, he’d seen me at some of the lowest points in life, but now I wanted to feel attractive around him. How would I go about making that transition? Intellectualizing it was unbearable and made me wish we’d slept together in the Hamptons when things had unfolded organically between us. Our energy was so primal and sultry… Simply recalling the encounter caused heat to radiate from my chest. With each billow of my shirt, I relieved warmth and trace amounts of fear. It seemed turning my attention towards my physical desires might be all I needed to move us in that direction.
After giving it some thought, I felt new lingerie would help me with that. My current undergarments were more functional than anything else. They were designed to keep me squeezed into all the right places, not plucked off in the throes of passion. Nor were any adorned with ribbons, lace, or the luxurious touches that tantalized my feminine side. It was time to acquire a few sexy pieces for my own sensual pleasure; it would be a bonus that our budding romance would benefit from them, too.
Later that morning, I headed to the gym for my first solid workout in weeks. That proved more psychologically beneficial than anything else. I’d gotten so lost in the noise of my own mind that I’d forgotten how much physical activity (or a lack thereof) affected my mood and mental state. That workout was a clear reminder. I’d begun it in a detached fog of overthinking and ended on a blissful high, with reunited mind and body.
I still felt uplifted after my shower, so I put those endorphins to good use- lingerie shopping. It had been years since I’d shopped for anything sexy. Well, anything that went under my clothing, at least. I had no idea there were so many options. And some I couldn’t even figure out. Like the ones comprised of a few pieces of string and nothing else. Others had numerous straps and a few buckles that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to hop into. Perusing the surprisingly kinky offerings at the high-end shop was a bizarre start to my excursion. My confusion and mild embarrassment beckoned the assistance of a very kind saleswoman who directed me towards some pretty, albeit basic, collections. Those were more my speed.
I’d sacrificed many endorphins to showroom insecurities but was grateful the remaining few could aid in the selection process. Together we picked out a few two-piece sets and three very different nighties with the hope a couple might feel as attractive on my body as they appeared on their hangers. I was astonished that only one item was an absolute no, while the rest were exquisite. The sensation of quality fabric against my bare skin and the staging of the elegant baroque dressing room surely colored my perspective. I wasn’t naïve about that; I just chose to overlook it. All that mattered was how I felt, and I felt beautiful- confident, even. I took a quiet moment to myself to savor it.
I was equally mindful to exchange the enchanted lens with a more realistic one before making the final decision. The pink lace demi bra set that perfectly cradled my boobs, and a nightie with elaborate stitching and barely enough fabric to cover my rear won out. Matching robes would be helpful for both primping and on sexy evenings, so I planned to pick those up on my way to the register.
It had been ages since I’d enjoyed such a healthy dose of self-assurance that I made the decision to revel in it for as long as possible. There was no reason the most intimate moments of my life should be the only time I felt so fond of my body. Why not update other parts of my wardrobe to better reflect my current sense of self? So that’s what I set off to do.
By the time I left that department store, I’d been liberated. Partially from “thought viruses,” but also in a way I didn’t have words for yet. It was more visceral than mental. My movements felt more fluid- just subtly so. But different, nonetheless. Only time would reveal the full extent of what had changed within me.
My next stop was for fashionable activewear. I’d been enjoying a healthier relationship with working out and felt some stylish upgrades might keep me excited about that area of life. Wearing stained tees and the same few leggings to the gym had been economical but wholly uninspiring. I leaned into the frivolity of the moment by grabbing every industrial strength legging, breathable top, and sculpted sports bra that I was attracted to before heading to the dressing room for a workout all its own. Changing into and out of numerous three-pieces outfits designed to feel like a second skin was no small feat, but it was completely worth it. Several of them fit like a dream, as did their current promotion. I was able to buy four complete looks at a fraction of the original cost. I don’t know which made me giddier.
I rode that high into the next shop where I browsed the racks for cute and casual summer clothing. I found a few items worth adding to my wardrobe, as well as a couple accessories. I was tempted to buy more but started to feel uneasy about spending so much money on myself. Adding sunglasses into the mix helped quiet the whispers of guilt since they’re a necessity in Florida. Thank goodness for an honest loophole. On my way to a boho-chic store I’d wanted to check out, I picked up some Swiss chocolate for a mood booster. That soothed me enough to pick up a flowy dress and linen capris relatively guilt free. Crazy how buying a couple items at a time can feel less indulgent than one massive purchase.
The afternoon had gotten away from me store by shiny store, and I was wrist-deep in a Caesar salad when my mind was in sync with my body again. I admit it wasn’t of my own accord, though. When my server returned to check on lunch, I found myself poking at romaine leaves with my fork. I awkwardly collected myself before assuring him I was content. “I’m at Sophia’s” echoed in my mind as I scanned the café to reacquaint myself with precisely where I was. There was a table of three young ladies in their early 20’s across the way that I didn’t recognize. In the other direction were two separate tables of Mitsies. That was a derogatory term I’d heard in reference to women who made a career out of being a wife and had the luxury of “lunching” every day.
I had no idea how long I’d been sitting there, nudging the lettuce around my plate while reliving the last several years of my life. I’d zoned out on a whole new level. Nothing around me felt the same as when I’d arrived—from what I could recall, anyway.
The older women seemed familiar enough, like they’d been there from the start. But their essence had changed—or my perception had… I didn’t know right off the bat. I looked back at the young ladies, hoping to gain clarity of some sort. One of them was peering at my bags, as they sat lined up in the booth across from me. She appeared distracted while her friends conversed beside her. They probably seemed alluring from her perspective. If only she knew the full story. How their contents were so much more than they appeared to be. They weren’t pleas for attention, affection, or haute status symbols. Instead, my new possessions were hard-earned representations of personal growth. I’d crawled and clawed my way to a place where I felt like I was worth anything- worth acknowledging, worth showing up for, worth honoring… My treasures were worth far more than any price tag could boast, but she couldn’t see that. No one could. Because no one walked my path except me. What once served as bribes for self-acceptance had become celebrations of where I was, or who I was, in that season of life. Honestly, that was too much to process in the moment.
I shifted my attention back to the tables of older women. Then back to the girls- comparatively speaking. Then once more at the “ladies who lunch.” I dropped my fork upon the startling realization that I’d become one. I was no longer in my twenties dreaming about the abundance that lied ahead. Instead, I was living a very comfortable life thanks to someone else’s hard work. The audible clank of silver on china made several diners jerk their heads in my direction, but I didn’t make eye contact with any of them. I zoned back into an altered state of consciousness and panicked internally for a moment before looking outward again. First at the table of youth, then back at my… peers? I’d been sitting smack dab between reflections of my past and present self the whole time.
I nearly short-circuited.
The awareness that I’d become someone I’d been conditioned to judge so harshly illuminated one reason my life had felt like an uphill battle. I’d consciously been striving for ideals that I subconsciously resisted- if not rejected- on one level or another. My stomach knotted with each revelation. The initial wave of unpleasant emotions that had washed over me turned turbulent. I pushed my plate aside and methodically sipped my drink while waiting for the check to be dropped off.
I was eager to switch mental gears by the time I got back to the house, so I invited myself to get lost in thought about when I might debut each new item as I unpacked it. Floral short sleeve sweater- brunch. Sailor denim- as soon as possible. Bold workout ensemble- tomorrow. That prompted me to put my new workout attire in the washing machine and hand wash my delicates. The latter might sit in a drawer and remain unworn otherwise. Then I grabbed my phone to review Broderick’s schedule. The knot in my stomach returned when I saw that he’d be free the following evening for a date night. That was too much pressure. We’d probably want some time to ease into things. I skipped ahead to the following week- he’d be available on Thursday. Maybe I would, too?
To relieve the tension that had been building within, I changed into a swimsuit and made my way out to the pool. The sun was blazing hot, which made the cool water feel all the more refreshing. Warm rays drenched my arms and shoulders while I slowly lowered myself into the crystal-clear water. I loved how it danced around my legs. The air smelled of salty musk and sang of waves slapping against the seawall at the foot of the property. All my senses were being reset after the busy and emotional day. Water had always fascinated me in that regard. It held the power to both annihilate and heal, which was incredibly humbling. It was probably that very essence that grounded me time and time again. Even when I’d felt my most scattered, lost, or encumbered, connecting with water made everything alright. It washed away what ailed me so I could reconnect with my truest self. I took a deep breath to settle my mind, then leaned my head back on the pool’s edge. A flock of birds doing acrobatics overhead caught my attention as they changed formation, creating art for us mere land dwellers. I wondered if they felt hotter being closer to the sun or if the altitude made it cooler for them instead. Then my imagination was off and running in more pleasant ways than before.
At some point my mind drifted to curiosity about my first romantic evening with Broderick, as well as how much the sun had kissed my skin that afternoon. Both signaled it was time to head inside. The enticing thoughts followed me while the heat and midday sun kept their distance. Broderick loved my cooking, but I’d stress more over preparing dinner than focusing on us. I didn’t want that. We’d dined at enough places to have our favorites but, after considering the ambiance of each, I concluded delivery would be the way to go. Valenti’s food was outstanding and even sensual, with their slippery sauces and succulent house-made pastas. However, their dining room was quaint and often crowded. I wouldn’t be able to fully relax in that environment. I’d enjoy the evening more at home. Maybe with a small bouquet of flowers and a couple candles on our dining table. A sexy playlist, too. That all seemed comfortably outside my comfort zone.