Shedding the Familiar

“You can’t wear that,” Cate announced boldly, though it had taken a rather large glass of wine to find her boldness.

Greta felt her smile falter. 

She looked forward to her nights out with her girlfriends, circling the date in her planner and staring at it during mind-numbing staff meetings or nights at home when In Style called to her more loudly than one of her beloved novels or the never-ending chain of e-mails she often tackled from her couch.

Cate pushed back the blonde curls ever tumbling over her forehead, despite headbands and bobby pins and expensive styling products that she ended up tossing across her bathroom in disgust.

Boldness might not have been the right tactic.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!  You look great, Gee, but you still can’t wear that.”

Carrying her own wine glass into the hallway, craning her neck to look in Cate’s full-length mirror, Greta turned a critical eye to her reflection, searching for her error.

The cotton shift fell nearly to her knees, the blue slightly deeper than the palest shade on the paint swatch that sat, forgotten, on her kitchen counter at home.  Flattering and familiar, it was one of Greta’s favorite dresses.

“It’s pretty,” Greta smiled at her college roommate, “And it doesn’t matter.  I didn’t bring anything else.”

“Of course it’s pretty,” Cate said, waving her chipped manicure dismissively, “Everything you have is pretty.  Well, except those yoga pants you won’t get rid of.  But maybe it’s time that you branched out beyond pretty.”

Greta drank her wine, letting Cate ruminate in thought.  After a suspiciously short moment, Cate rushed into her bedroom and returned with a mass of denim in the hand not occupied by a wine glass.

“Try these.  They’re too small on me,” Cate explained with an exaggerated sigh, walking back to the café table for more wine.

Holding up the jeans, a tendril of wariness snaked around her brain.  Cate had been the same size since they had lived together years ago.  A size Greta was always dancing just above, even on her thinnest days.

“Where’d you get these?”

“What?  I told…” Cate trailed off, then looked up, eyes traipsing between mischief and guilt.

“Fine.  I bought them.  I know they’ll be perfect.  It’s time you got back into some sexy jeans,” Cate said, giggling in defiance.

“What I’m wearing is fine,” Greta protested.  “It’s not like I’m the only one not wearing your fancy jeans uniform.”

Cate’s hand waved through the air again.

“Maybe not.  But you’re the one who needs them.”

“I’m not ready to deal with dating quite yet,” Greta said quietly, eyes entreating Cate to understand.

“Oh honey, who said anything about dating?” Cate poured both of them more wine, eyes and smile embracing Greta from across the room.  “You need them.  Not any of the guys lucky enough to see you wearing them.  Just try ‘em on.”

Knowing they would fit perfectly – Cate’s eye for clothes was both a gift and a practiced skill – Greta slid into them, reluctantly.

Walking into Cate’s closet to pull out a forgettable, forgivingly stretchy top, Greta felt a change in her gait. 

“It’s the wine,” she told herself, sliding her feet into her neutral heels, twisting in front of the mirror to inspect every possible angle for a reason not to wear the gift.

It wasn’t the wine. 

Greta wore the jeans for three straight days.

If you're interested in Greta's story, this piece takes place between "She'll Understand" and "Her Red Shoes".

 

the prompt:

Jeans. They can evoke so much emotion in us: the hot jeans we wear on a date, the skinny jeans we can finally fit into, mom jeans we vow never to wear, the comfy jeans we’ll never throw out.

The assignment this week is to write a piece – fiction or creative non-fiction – in which jeans play a prominent role. You can even write an ode if you’re so inclined.