Page 4 of Desperate Measures

The one who was so like him.

I’d been studying the world around me, absorbing the nuances of life, and I wanted in.

I wanted in right now.

But how did I prove my point?

How could I show him I wasn’t just a kid playing dress up?

I frowned and sucked in a breath, but I was cut off by a booming voice I knew well.

“Is that you, Michaela? Wow! I hardly recognized you. You look so grown up,” Uncle Marat said as he walked into the study.

I could tell by the impassive expression on Dad’s face I was not going to win. I’d plead my case to deaf ears.

“You’re early,” Dad told his little brother as he poured them both a small vodka.

“Hi Uncle Marat,” I mumbled.

I was upset, but somewhat pleased that at least one person noticed my efforts to fit in tonight.

I was wearing a long aquamarine formal dress. It was the same one I wore for my junior prom.

It was pretty and glamorous, and the cut was flattering for my fuller figure.

Totally appropriate for a fancy black tie event like this one.

Mom was one of those true classic beauties.

I was lucky to have inherited her pale skin and chestnut locks.

But I had my father’s devil eyes and his features.

My face was just a little too angular to be pretty, but I was fine with that.

As for my size, well, I was raised in a family that appreciated bigger women. The kind of women society was finally recognizing through body positivity campaigns on social media.

Health was important. But so was loving yourself.

Even though I was only five foot six inches short, I weighed a hundred and eighty-three pounds. My stomach was soft, my thighs thick, and my breasts were too damn big to wear under-wire comfortably.

It was why I liked this gown. It had a built in shelf bra. Mom made sure of it when we visited her favorite couture shop, Von Wang’s.

“You should change before joining the others,Dochen’ka. This is not good for movie night.”

My father was always so serious. He hated miscommunications, and he was always very clear when he spoke.

I bit my lower lip to stop it from wobbling, and nodded, leaving the room to get changed.

He was right. I couldn’t wear this for movie night with the cousins.

At last he allowed me to invite my best friend to sleep over. Shelly, aka Michelle Davis, my BFF, was going to babysit for me if he said yes, and if he didn’t, we would just hang out.

Yeah, I needed a dose of judgement-free best friend advice.

Shelly would know exactly what to say to take the sting out of this rejection.

The doorbell rang, and I ran to get it, hoping Shelly had arrived early so I could commiserate with her.