Read the previous parts of the story here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Maria had been my best friend since that time in third grade when the seat next to me was the only empty one in the cafeteria. She smiled at me, I smiled at her, then she offered me her pudding.
Inseparable from that moment on, we shared everything. We made it through the crazy hormones of adolescence, the heartbreak of high school, and we were both the maid of honor at each other’s weddings. We knew each other’s deepest secrets and we shared in every high and every low.
This was a low.
I handed her tissues as she sat crying at my kitchen bar. I didn’t know why yet, but it had been a long time since I had seen her like this. She finally looked at me through ruined makeup and my heart broke at the sadness in her eyes.
“I used to be pretty,” she said, and another piece of my heart ripped open. “I used to be desirable, maybe even sexy. Now look at me!”
More tears came and I just held her through it. I knew how she felt. Six months ago, I was in the exact same place, and now the guilt of not taking her with me on my recent journey set in. What was wrong with me? Why had I not seen her struggle? I should’ve known.
I pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled each with a long pour. We sipped in silence until we were done.
Then I asked her, “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you! You’re my best friend!”
“Good,” I replied, then stood up next to her.
I took a deep breath, opened my robe, and let it slip to the floor. Wearing only a comfy bra and panty set, I watched as she sat there with her mouth open and scanned me from head to toe.
When she finally found her voice, she asked, “What are you doing, Diana?”
“I’m making a point.”
After filling our glasses again, I held mine and did a twirl. We had seen each other in less, but that had been a while—well before my own recent growth and self-acceptance.
Knowing I had her attention and posing for effect, I asked, “What do you see?
“I see my beautiful best friend.”
Grabbing her hand in mine, I said, “That’s what I see.”
She scoffed, half-laughed, then took another sip of wine.
Of the two of us, I’m a little more brash and a little more impulsive. I hoped that would play in my favor as a plan formed in my mind. I knew this wasn’t a quick fix, but Maria needed a kick-start.
Downing my wine in a single gulp, I stated, “You’re coming with me,” then dragged her upstairs to my bedroom and stood her in front of my full-length mirror.
She immediately turned away, covered her face, and through teary eyes asked, “What are you trying to do to me?”
“You need to see what I see, what I just recently learned to see in myself.”
She looked up at that, and it was my turn to cry. I started at the top and told her where I was just a few months ago.
Finishing my story I said, “And the first step was right here in front of this mirror.”
The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips and I spun her again to face it.
“Now strip.”
“What?!” she protested. “No! Why?”
One of us was perhaps a little heavier than the other, but our builds were similar. Facing the mirror myself and catching her eyes in the reflection I asked her again, “What do you see?”
“Diana, I can’t–”
“You can,” I cut her off. “And it’s important that you do.”
Holding her gaze until she caved, I stepped aside. She shed each piece of her frumpy clothing until she stood looking subdued and fragile in only her underwear.
I moved behind her and in my softest, most caring tone, I lifted her chin and said, “Now look at you.”
It took some coaxing and some off-color humor, but she finally smiled faintly at her reflection. “Maybe you’re right, Diana. You certainly seem confident.”
“That’s because I am . . . now. It’s going to take a little time, and I’ll be with you through everything, but now we have to get you ready for the next step.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to get you laid.”
“Diana!”
Laughing, I told her I expected a thank-you card from Robert and the details from her, then ordered her to the bathroom to shower and shave everything. There were some expletives and reluctance, but she finally closed the curtain.
I went to my closet. Rummaging through for the perfect thing, I found it. It was the first dress my husband bought me six months ago. I teared up at the memory—and got a little aroused—but this was it.
Scooping up her underwear so she wouldn’t even try, I carried the dress to the bathroom and placed it on a hook. There would be more expletives for sure, but this was my best friend. She deserved to be happy, and I was going to help.
Her reaction to the dress was spot-on to my thinking, but I eventually convinced her, then set about doing her hair and makeup. She looked stunning. After picking some heels, I hooked the final touch around her neck. Covering her eyes and guiding her to the mirror, I held a hopeful breath and dropped my hand.
“Wow, is this really me?”
“Yes darling, it really is you.”
She started to get teary again until I threatened her against ruining her makeup, then she tried to squeeze the life out of me.
“Thank you! Thank you! I love you!”
Smiling and happy for her, I said, “I love you too. Now, let’s take a picture that will get Robert home early.”
She posed and I snapped until we got the money shot: Maria facing away from the camera, bent at the waist with her hands on her knees and looking over her shoulder with eyes that said “Eff me.” There was no way he would be able to resist.
Ten seconds after she hit send, she moaned, laughed, and said, “I gotta go babe. Your plan just might work.”
Winking, I answered, “Of course it will!”
Hugging me one last time with all the sincerity and understanding that years of friendship brings, she said, “Thank you,” and squeezed me again. I told her I was serious about the card and the details. She laughed, kissed me on the cheek, and was out the door.
Good for her, I thought, before catching my own reflection. Taking my time, I looked at myself from head to toe. It wasn’t a perfect body, but it was my body and I was proud of it. This had been a journey with ups and downs, steps forward and steps back, but I could now say that I was truly content.
Glancing down at my kitty, I felt a little stirring. Moaning a little, I reached behind my back to unhook my bra.
It was time to get my own husband home early.
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