With Love and Style, Stella


Why the hell didn’t I park valet? Stella wondered as she combed the parking lot of the Bal Harbour Shops. And what the hell am I gonna do about a dress? My mother is gonna cut my tits off when I show up dress-less and dateless on Saturday night.

Her brother’s engagement party was only two days away and, after hitting up every mall in Miami, her options were to either go naked or get food poisoning. The latter was the most enticing, but Stella knew her mother wouldn’t be having any of that.

So it was back to the drawing board tomorrow, her last day of shopping, as Saturday was booked with hair, make-up, mani, pedi and helping her mom get their home ready for a hundred fifty guests.

Worse comes to worse, I could haul my cookies to Aventura to find that jade cocktail dress in my size, she told herself. If only she were still a size zero.

After five minutes of searching, she spotted her white SL 500 on the opposite end of the lot. She also spotted her brother’s fiancé, Vivian, waving and walking toward her. Stella tried to look as cool as possible when she walked toward her future sister-in-law (and her only female competition in the family), but a gust of wind blew Stella’s dark brown hair all over the place, revealing her track. Apparently, Mother Nature wasn’t giving her a break today either.


“Hey Viv,” Stella said as she grabbed onto her hair (renegade extensions included) and draped it over her right shoulder.

Naturally, Vivian’s shiny black bob and blunt bangs were unfazed by the gusts. She gave Stella a kiss hello and pulled a dress out of her Neiman Marcus bag.

“What do you think of this for Saturday?”

Stella looked at the size zero ruche satin halter dress and wanted to kill her. She had to pick that dress. What was worse: she fit into that dress. Stella was fuming as Viv posed with the tiny jade dress in front of her.

“Isn’t that the Max Azria dress we saw in In Touch last week?” You know, the one that I said would be perfect for ME to wear to your stupid engagement party because I didn’t have a dress. ‘member?

“Yeah! I just bought it as an option for Saturday. I love the light chiffon one I bought with your mom last week, but it’s too bridal, you know? I mean, it’s beautiful, but I wanna save that look for my actual wedding. This weekend I wanna look like the sexy fiancé.”

You don’t wanna look sexy, bitch. You wanna look like me. God, when are you gonna stop trying to be me?

Sadly, though, you’re actually right about the other dress. It looks like a wedding gown for a midget and does nothing for your little boy body.    

“Plus, this one was the only one left, so I had to snag it. You know how hard it is to find a fierce dress in a size zero!”

I’ll give you a size fucking zero.

“Not as hard as it is to find a size four, apparently.”

Vivian’s big blue eyes opened a little more. Stella did not look like a size four. She did, however, look pissed. Her feline eyes were fixed on the dress, as if ready to pounce. Vivian quickly threw it back into her shopping bag.

“Sooo, did you find anything? Your mom told me you still hadn’t found a dress yet.”

Mental note: Remind my fucking mother to keep my name out of her mouth when she’s talking to Vivian.

“No, I found one already. I just came for a late lunch,” Stella answered, trying to play it cool. The last thing she wanted was for Vivian to know that she was going crazy trying to find a dress for her big night. She refused to give Vivian a one-up on her in any way.

“Oh my God, awesome!”

“Yup.” Stella replied as her Blackberry chimed. She reached into her red EPI Speedy for her phone. It was a BBM from Jordan, her gay boyfriend. “Give me a sec, it’s Jordan.”

JDN: We still on for coffee tonight, Bitchface?

“Oh, tell him I say hi and I can’t wait to see him this weekend!” Vivian insisted.

“Okay,” Stella said with a smile.

Stellar: Omg this nasty bobblehead just bought the dress I sent you

the picture of an hour ago.

JDN: I thought they didn’t have it in your size.

Stellar: I don’t care! She knew I wanted it and she bought it

anyway. She’s so jealous of my life. That’s it, we’re boycotting Saturday!

JDN: Ummm no we’re not bc I just dropped a wad of cash

at Ferragamo to make sure you have the hottest date there.

Stellar: Loves it. But I still hate her. Be at my

house around 9?

JDN: Yup. I’m gonna play football with Sebastian and

my brother at 6 so I’ll go by after that.

Stellar: Okay. Tell Seba I’m over his stupid little party.

JDN: Yes. I’ll remind him this weekend is all about you, not him

or his fiancé.

Stellar: Please do.

“He says ‘hey’ and he’s super excited for the party!”


“Anyway, I gotta run. I have to go get ready for a date and I’m already like an hour late. I’ll see you on Saturday!” Of course, by a date she meant her coffee date with Jordan. But Vivian didn’t need to know that.

As soon as Stella got in her car, she switched her Tory Burch wedges for the spare ballet flats she kept in her glove compartment. She then wrapped her uncooperative hair in a Pucci scarf, put the top down and blasted vintage Madonna as she sped down Collins Ave. She was dying to get home to take her hair out. She didn’t want to deal with heels or hair for the rest of the day. She had enough on her plate as it was.


After quite the frustrating afternoon, Stella needed a distraction.

First, she picked up some purple hydrangeas so as not to get home empty handed. She couldn’t think of anything worse than spending the entire day running around and coming home empty handed. Plus, her room could use a splash of color.

Stella had never bothered making her room in this Miami Beach mansion her own. Moving there was her parents’ first step toward retirement. Thus, Stella’s room was decorated more like a guest room than their daughter’s room. She wanted to paint it a blue-gray color she had seen in a Hamptons beach house in Life & Style, but her mom vetoed it for a more neutral cream color. Luckily, they did agree on the traditional white beechwood furniture and mahogany floors.

The truth was that she didn’t really care what her room looked like when they moved in because she only thought of it as a temporary holding cell. She had planned to be married to her boyfriend before the paint would dry in that room. But, now that they had been broken up for a little over a year and she had yet to meet someone new, she figured it might be a good time to make herself at home.

She put her flowers in water as soon as she got to her room, but couldn’t find a clean surface for them. Her furniture was littered with empty shopping bags, receipts, unopened credit card bills and shoeboxes filled with more of the same. Every time her mom would come into the room, she would say that she spent too much money on this furniture for Stella to keep it like this.

Stella actually agreed with her mother on that one. She was determined to rid herself of all the clutter and throw out the trash in her room. There was no need for her surroundings to look as shitty as she felt.

It took her the better part of an hour to decide what junk to keep and what junk to get rid of. She got rid of basically everything except a shoebox of memories she couldn’t handle throwing away just yet.

She hid the shoebox behind her most prized possession – her first Chanel purse. Her parents bought it for her sixteenth birthday and she retired it a year later when she replaced it with a Fendi Spybag. She planned on giving it to her future daughter as her first vintage piece. Now she may have to give it to her first niece since there’s no telling when she might meet someone worthy of impregnating her.


Stella made her way out of her closet and noticed how beautiful her room looked. The purple hydrangeas contrasted perfectly with the neutral walls and the orange sun setting outside her window. She normally closed the blinds at this time to keep the light out, but this time she decided to sit on her bed and appreciate the beauty.

Stella couldn’t remember the last time she watched the sun set. Her ex was too much of a prima donna to have ventured out to enjoy nature, and she was fine with that because less time outside meant less time ironing her hair.

She had never realized that there was just as much beauty outside her window as there was in any fashion magazine. How could she have spent so much time blocking this out?

The tangerine colored clouds on the horizon that faded into pink, then violet, then cobalt. She was amazed that such a cloudy day could produce such a pretty sight. It was as comforting as it was beautiful. It had been a while since Stella felt this zen.  

As much as she was dying to wash the Miami street smell out of her hair, she couldn’t peel her eyes off her window. She dreamed up outfits and accessories in the colors she saw until there was no more light in the sky.

Stella added mood lighting to the darkened room to keep her evening as pretty as possible. She also decided to move some furniture around before her shower. She wanted her bed under the window where an antique chest currently sat. The bed should be the focal point of a bedroom, she thought as she pushed the chest to the other side of the room.

Once the manual labor was done, she burned some oils and soaked in a hot bath. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to change everything in her room. If only she could do the same to her personal life (and family life, for that matter).

She soaked for about fifteen minutes before getting restless. She couldn’t relax knowing that she had so much to do in the following days. The engagement party wouldn’t be so bad if she had something to wear. But my brother had to propose to her, and she had to buy my dress.



Stella managed to finish her therapeutic bath more frustrated than when she started. She wrapped her hair in a towel and walked back into her room, where she noticed a scratch on the hardwood floor. Oh God, she thought, Mom’s gonna kick my ass when she sees this shit.

As luck would have it, her mom opened her door before Stella could do anything to conceal the damage. Thinking on her toes, Stella dropped her towel right over the scratch.

“Hey Mom,” she said as she made her way to her underwear drawer.

“Niña, por el amor de Dios, ponte algo! Your brother and his friends just got back from football.” Carola inquired.


“Yeah, whoops. I’ll give you whoops.” Carola said as she scoped out the new arrangement of the furniture.

“Stella, I told you I don’t like the bed on that side of the room,” she said as she grabbed Stella’s eye cream. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her short highlighted hair was a mess and the stress of playing hostess on Saturday had taken its toll on her deep brown eyes.

“Oh, but I do.”

 “Claro. If I say I like it on one side you move it to the other,” Carola said as the damp towel on the floor caught her eye.

Stella noticed her mom walk toward the towel and rolled her eyes.

“Pero sera posible? How many times have I told you to be careful with these floors!?” Carola began. Stella grabbed a paddle brush and ran it through her wet hair, trying to avoid an altercation with her mom. “No, no, no, y como tu no lo pagas, no te importa un carajo.”

“Oh God Mom, it’s not a big deal. I’ll buy you a square foot of wood, okay? You don’t have to cry about it.”

“It’s not about the money, Stella. It’s about respect, okay? Contra!”

Caro was less upset at the scratch on the floor than she was about Stella’s indifference to it.

“Whatever, Mom. It happened, okay? I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t know what to tell you. Jesus.”

“You should have started with I’m sorry, okay? That’s what you should have done. You should have told me about it and not hid it. Dios mío, esta chiquita. No, and had I not seen it right now, you probably would have blamed it on poor Anita tomorrow.”

Stella rolled her eyes at her mother and took out her blow dryer. She couldn’t wait to drown out the annoying chatter.

“And preparate for when your father sees this.”

Five years earlier Stella might have believed that her mother would actually tell her dad, but she knew better now.

After making sure her daughter was sufficiently nagged, Carola stepped away from the scratch.

“Are you staying in tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Stella responded. ‘I don’t know’ was her way of telling her mother ‘It’s none of your business what I’m doing tonight’ without getting slapped.

“Yeah, you never know. Well if you do go out, remember to close the gate when you get in. I don’t wanna hear your father screaming at six in the morning again.”

Alright,” Stella responded. She had heard enough. Then she remembered her run-in with Vivian.

“Oh wait, let me ask you something. Why do you find it necessary to keep Vivian all up in my business?”


“I saw her at the mall today and she said that you said that I didn’t have a dress for Saturday.”

“You don’t have a dress for Saturday.”

“I’m aware of that Mom, but that doesn’t mean you have to go blabbing it to her. Now she’s gonna be calling me and asking me to go to the mall to find a dress…”

“And? I don’t see the problem, Stella.”

“I don’t wanna hang out with her! All she does is freaking copy me. First she buys my exact black Chanel purse…”

“Stella, don’t start. You have Chanel purses in every color!”

Again, not the point. And what about the clothes? It’s so freaking annoying. Jesus, why doesn’t anybody see this but me?”

“You wanna know what everybody sees? Everybody sees that you don’t cut Vivi any slack. You should be happy she loves your brother enough to have put up with your attitude for the past few years. She has been a saint to you since the day she met you.”

“She’s been nothing but bulimic since the day she met me. Actually, even before that.”

Carola shook her head in disappointment. Stella sat in front of her vanity mirror and started applying body lotion.

“Alright, you know what Stella? Go to sleep, go out, go wherever you want because I’m so sick of you.”

Caro made her way to the door.

“And listen to me very carefully. You had better control yourself on Saturday, you hear me? Because I don’t have time to baby-sit you and your mouth. So whatever you like or don’t like about Vivian, her dress, her make up, her parents or her friends, you keep to yourself.”

Stella responded by turning the blower on and pretending her mom wasn’t there anymore.

“I didn’t raise you to be so coldhearted.” Carola added just loud enough for Stella to hear.


“Oh my God, I am so over my mother,” Stella told Jordan as they sat down at Versailles Café for some croquetas and café con leche.

The pair had originally planned on doing a Starbucks run, but Stella was in desperate need of comfort food. She also craved the nostalgia of the Cuban café. The smell of espresso and Cuban food reminded her of life before diets, dresses and drama.

“Uh-oh. What happened now?” Jordan asked. He did not sound surprised.

“It’s her same old obsession with stupid Vivian and Sebastian and the wedding. It’s all she freaking cares about.”

“Well, she is helping Vivian plan it, so I guess that makes sense. I mean, weddings are really time consuming, Babe.”

“What’s time consuming is all the ass-kissing my mom does to that girl.”

Stella dipped her tostada cubana in her coffee. Jordan rolled his eyes.

“It just bothers me. Like, she has always been obsessed with Sebastian more than me, but that makes sense because he’s a hundred percent useless and can’t do anything for himself. And I’ve never really been that needy, so she’s never had to do anything for me. But now whenever I need her for anything she’s all like ‘Vivi this’ and ‘Vivi that’ and blah blah blah. And that wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t hate on me so much all the time. It’s like, sorry I’m not married and you didn’t get to plan my wedding last year. Sorry for not finding a man. Sorry for thinking Vivian is an annoying ass bitch who copies every single outfit I wear, and then pretends to give me credit like I’m her little Rachel Zoe or something.”

“Jeez, tell me how you really feel.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me you’re gonna defend her, too.”

Jordan took a bite of his croqueta to buy time before he answered. He knew how Stella felt about the whole Vivian thing, but more importantly, why she felt that way. He wanted to be a friend but still tell her she was wrong without sounding like he was on Vivian’s side.

“I’m not defending her, Babe. And your mom wouldn’t have to defend her if you wouldn’t attack her. I mean, I know she can be annoying, but I don’t think that’s why you really hate her. And that’s what concerns me. I don’t care about her. I care about you.”

“I get that, Hon. And I appreciate it, but I still don’t understand why I can’t hate her. Why is that something I have to explain to everyone? As if there aren’t a million people my mom or my brother don’t hate.”

“I know but those people aren’t gonna be part of your family.”

“W slash E.”

Jordan laughed. He didn’t want Stella to feel bad. He just wanted her to admit what was really making her feel bad, but Stella wouldn’t give in that easily.

She would talk to him when she was ready. In the meantime, he would catch her up on all things Jordan.

While he was catching her up on the new guy in his life, Stella had noticed that the soccer moms to her left were eavesdropping on their conversation.

Both in their forties, one had a bad dye job that made her hair look Cheetos orange. The other was petite with highlights and roots that needed to have been retouched about three months ago. Both were in frumpy-mom gym outfits – an oversized t-shirt and faded black yoga pants. Their look – if anyone would call it a ‘look’ – alone offended Stella.

Then, to add insult to injury, she noticed that the topics she discussed with Jordan started making their way to the conversation at their table, only the soccer moms had a different take on things.

“I mean, imagine growing up with two moms or two dads. As if kids don’t have enough to deal with off the bat, you know? At least normal kids start off at zero. Kids that grow up with two dads start off with one strike off the bat. It’s not right,” stated the redhead while she stuffed her face with mariquitas. Her short friend nodded in agreement, her mouth full with about half of a Medianoche sandwich.

Jordan caught Stella listening and tuned in to the conversation at the next table, too. As soon as he got the gist of it, he rolled his eyes at Stella.

Feeling uncomfortable for her friend, Stella put down her café con leche and turned to look them up and down.

“What the fuck bitches?” she began.

Excuse me?” the redhead responded with a furrowed brow.

“I’m a lesbian, okay? So, if you have something to say about me, say it to my face.”

The woman looked confused. She turned to Jordan, who was rubbing his temples.

“She’s not a lesbian,” he told her, then turned to Stella. “You’re not a lesbian.”

Stella shot Jordan a dirty look.

“Hey, Benedict Arnold, what the fuck?” she asked.

“And you,” she began with her finger pointed at the ginger to her left. “You know what? I may not be a lesbian, but if I were, I wouldn’t wanna tap your giggly ass. Your husband probably doesn’t either, which is why you’re here devouring your feelings.”

The woman was shocked and furious. All she could do was turn to Jordan to save her from his friend.

“Control this girl before she gets you in trouble, okay?”

Although Jordan definitely agreed that Stella was out of control, he didn’t like the woman’s tone. He also didn’t like the fact that Stella was fighting his battle.

“Relax lady. If you don’t like what my friend has to say, you can get up and leave. If you don’t wanna leave, then keep your mouth shut like I did while you were busy spewing ignorance and perpetuating the negative stigma homosexuals and their children have to deal with from narrow-minded bigots like you.”

The redhead was taken aback by Jordan’s reaction. She threw a twenty on the table and left with her friend, shaking her head at Stella and Jordan.

“You people have no class and that’s why nobody respects you.” She muttered as she walked away.

“I’ll give you fucking class!” Stella hollered back. She then turned to Jordan, who was laughing and shaking his head.

“I knew those claws were just dying to come out,” she said, then lifted her coffee cup for a toast.

“To class!”

With his face flushed from embarrassment, Jordan giggled half-heartedly and lifted his cup.

“To class.”

Stella immediately noticed his lack of cheer.

“What’s your problem now?”

“Nothing. I’m just over letting people like that get to me. Now everyone in this restaurant is looking at us like we’re trash.”

“Oh God. You sound like my mother right now.”

Jordan laughed.

“I love your mom, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Umm I love her too, but I meant that in a bad way,” she responded in a playful manner.

He laughed and shook his head.

“Dude, we’re in our mid-twenties. We have to start acting like decent human beings, cause acting like shallow bitches doesn’t make us cute anymore. It makes us classless.”

Stella rolled her eyes. She was sick of everyone’s indictments. To her, these comments sounded less like constructive criticism and more like unwarranted attacks on her character.

“I’m not interested in acting like an adult. I’m not gonna become a boring ass bitch just because I’m twenty-five. Fuck that.”

Jordan wanted to roll his eyes at this dramatic overreaction, but he decided to laugh it off and rejoin team Stella instead. He remembered that his role was to be the supportive best friend, not the third parent. He also remembered what Stella was going through. It couldn’t be easy to be suddenly single when everyone you know is engaged, married or pregnant.


Stella had no idea what to do to keep from thinking when she got home. Against her will, the coffee kept her awake and alert. She couldn’t go to sleep and she couldn’t stand being alone at night.

In a last ditch attempt to make herself feel better, she decided to deal. She grabbed a tacky little notebook someone had given to her as a gift and started writing.

Dear Diary,

Sorry I’ve never written in you before but I’m not Ugly Betty or one of those dorky ass bitches in high school who wrote in diaries.

I was too busy fucking my boyfriend to keep a diary. And I wasn’t dumb enough to leave a self-incriminating diary for my mom to find when she was putting away my laundry.

But, right now I need to talk to someone that doesn’t hate me and I’ve run out of human beings, so you – as tacky as you are – will have to do…

Why the fuck has everybody decided to hate me all of a sudden? First Dad screams at me this morning, then I see stupid Vivian, then my mom tells me I’m a cold-hearted bitch, then the fat whores at Versailles…

What the fuck? When did I get like this?

I don’t get it. I used to love my life. Everything was so perfect.

Now I’m a potential spinster and I fucking hate it.

How the hell did this happen? And why the hell is stupid Vivian getting everything I was supposed to have?

These years were supposed to be about me. My engagement party, my wedding, my first pregnancy… Then this bitch comes along right after I get dumped and she gets to plan a wedding. That nasty bobble head is getting married and I’m getting fat.

How did this happen? What did I do wrong? I don’t understand. I was the perfect girlfriend. I gave him everything he wanted and that wasn’t enough.

I wish I could go back…

I would do anything to not feel this alone. I don’t care what it would take.

I think what hurts the most is that I still love him so much.

I would give anything to have him as my date for Saturday.

How pathetic.

God, why can’t I hate him?

Why do I hate everyone else but him?

Why don’t I want anyone else but him?

God, why did You let me make so many memories with him if You knew this was gonna happen?

That I was gonna be lonely like this.

I made him the center of my universe and now he’s gone and all I’m left with is a black hole.

I should have just been a bitch to him.

Maybe that would have made him love me.

Maybe then I’d be pregnant right now with our first child, picking out wallpaper for the nursery and Saturday would be my baby shower, not an engagement party for somebody else.

Maybe then I wouldn’t be sitting here, blaming myself for being alone.

I don’t want to blame myself, but I don’t know what else to do…  

It doesn’t make sense.

I don’t want to be this person that everybody hates.

I want to be the confident, capable and happy girl I used to be.

But I can’t do it without him.

I can’t do it alone.

I’m not strong enough.

I need someone to love me.

I feel like the oldest kid at the orphanage…

And I can’t blame anybody for hating me.

I know I’m a bitch, but I don’t know how else to be.

Nobody ever showed me how to deal with this hurt.

I’m dealing with it the only way I know how.

I wish I were stronger, nicer, sweeter…

But why can’t somebody love me the way I am?

What’s so horrible about me?

Or why can’t somebody just tell me why they hate me so I can change?

I want people to love me.

I want to be loved more than anything.

I would give up everything…

I just don’t understand why I have to.

I don’t understand why I’m stuck here, humiliated and living with my parents, while everyone around me is moving forward and celebrating the happiest times of their lives.

I’m alone and growing older with nothing to plan, nothing to look forward to, with no one to love me, no one to hold me, to think about me. And every time I see a happy couple it’s like salt on my wounds.

I can’t handle being lonely.

I can’t handle Saturday.

I don’t know what I’m gonna do…


Stella closed her new diary, put her head down on her desk and sobbed for what felt like an hour. She hadn’t cried like that in years. Not even when her great grandmother died did she sob like that. She had always been afraid that if she let it out she would never be able to make it stop.

Miraculously, though, she stopped crying after a few minutes. She was still confused, but she felt less frustrated. She was shedding some of the weight she had packed onto her heart over the past few years.

It was a step. She didn’t know in what direction, but it was something. She was actually doing something. It was the most she had done to try to move on with her life.

Intent on moving forward, she opened her closet and pulled out the shoebox. She hadn’t actually opened it in over a year. It was the biggest skeleton in her closet. She knew it was going to make her cry, but she wanted to get it over with at this point.

Stella threw the box on her bed and sat in front of it with her legs crossed. She lifted the top and threw it to the side. It wasn’t as scary as she thought. Just a bunch of notes and little bullshit gifts he had given her for Valentine’s Days and anniversaries.

I guess one of the perks of dating a dick is that he doesn’t leave too many sweet memories to remember him by.

Feeling empowered by her benign reaction, she dumped the contents of the box onto the bed and continued to sort through them. She was relieved that there was so little meaning in most of the items.

She read a few of the notes, cursed the day he was born, and decided to just throw it all away because she was tired from all the crying and she was tired of giving that relationship so much power over her.

She tried to dump everything back into the box, but of course, not everything fit anymore. One of the items overflowing was a large white piece of paper folded twice. She knew exactly what it was. She didn’t even remember it existed until the sight of it pulled the memory back into her consciousness. She picked it up and placed it on her desk.

She sat in front of the paper forever, just staring at it. She was afraid that she would want to die when she opened it and came face to face with it. This piece of paper meant more to her than any of the mindless scribble that idiot wrote in his cards.

After much agonizing, Stella came to the conclusion that if she could look at this piece of paper and not die, she could deal with everything else that might come her way.

In an act of bravery, she opened the piece of paper to reveal the sketch of the wedding dress she planned to wear when she walked down the isle of the Church of the Little Flower on the perfect spring day.

It was the most beautiful wedding gown she had ever dreamed up: inspired by a Monique Lhuillier dress she had fallen in love with, the satin gown had a plunging neckline and a big ruffled skirt. She removed the detailed lace and organza in the original design and replaced them with very minimal beading. It was young, chic, and just slutty enough to piss her mom off, but not enough to get kicked out of the church.

She couldn’t help but cry again, this time in mourning for the dress. It was the most beautiful dress she could dream up. She spent night after night sketching until it looked perfect. It had to be perfect. It was her wedding. The day she had been planning since she had the ability to reason.

Her first inclination was to destroy it. She needed to let it go, but she couldn’t find it in her to destroy it.

Their love may have been a pile of bullshit, but the dress was still beautiful. Nothing could change that. Her tears came and went, but she kept staring at the paper. She didn’t want to put it away again. As much as it hurt to think about it, the dress made her happy. The design came from a good place in her heart and she couldn’t let that go because she had no idea how to get back to that place.

It took a while for her mind to return to her current reality. Stella wanted to bring the girl that designed this dress back to life, she just didn’t know how. She could frame it in her room so that she looked at it every morning, but then it would always be a sketch, never a dress.

And it would be too weird to make the dress and hang it up in her closet. She wanted to feel happy, not insane. She looked at the sketch and imagined how the dress would look going down the aisle.

The image made it clear to her what she had to do. She opened a drawer, pulled out a pen, and wrote at the top of the sketch:

To Vivian:

Welcome to the family.

With Love & Style,




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