“You cannot be serious,” Megan said to Jill.
Jill’s hazel eyes shifted to catch Megan’s reflection in the full-length mirror. Jill nodded and then smiled at Megan’s sour face. Jill zipped the back of her tight, black leather skirt and tugged at the starched, white shirt. Reaching behind her, Jill took a white vest from Megan.
“Turn around,” Megan said.
Jill turned so Megan could help her button the vest.
“It’s tight, but …” Megan buttoned the top button of the white shirt.
Jill turned back to the mirror to evaluate. At twenty-five years old, post one baby, she was still round and flat in all the right places. Leaning around the Colorado Rockies sticker on the mirror, she checked for mascara smudges.
“You are not going,” Megan said.
“I’m going,” Jill replied.
Jill wandered into her bedroom looking for the match to the four-inch, black heel she held in her hand. Her head was under the bed when Megan said,
“He only invited you as a courtesy.”
Jill grabbed the pump from under the middle of the bed.
“I have an invitation. I’m going,” Jill said. “I want Trevor McGuinsey to see what he’s missing.”
“He’s not going to see any farther than his fiancée’s father’s wallet.”
Before Jill could put the shoes on her feet, Megan snatched them from her hand.
Jill looked Megan in the eye. ”You are not helping, sis.”
“I don’t have any intention of helping my little sister make a complete fool of herself.”
Turning the shoes back and forth, Megan shook her head at the worn, dry Salvation-Army-found shoes. She peered at the point of the heel. At least the plastic wasn’t showing yet.
“Pllleeezzzzeee,” Jill begged.
Megan dropped the shoes in resignation. Why fight it? She could never resist Jill.
“Wear your boots,” Megan said. “If you want my help, don’t just bring the boots. Wear them.”
Jill’s eyes grew wide. She trotted into her bedroom closet and pulled out the boots — those beautiful boots. Holding the boots against her chest, Jill drew in the smell of the butter-soft, black leather from the thigh-high, five-inch-stiletto-heeled boots. They smelled like love, luck, and happiness.
Trevor had bought these boots at the Mile High Flea Market. They were three hundred dollars cash, more money than they had seen in six months, and so worth it. They’d had a good time in these boots.
The retelling of Denver Cereal, Volume 1 continues tomorrow…
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