If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

“What better way to introduce you all to the family business than to invite you to the place where it all started. When my mom, Lucy Mackenzie, was starting out, she rented a small office on the sixth floor of this building and shared it with one of her fellow recent fashion school grads. She’d won a small grant at her final student fashion show and had just enough to rent out a small space for a workstation. That student grant allowed her to make the first run of her famous slip dress. And now not only do we occupy the entire sixth floor, but the five below it as well. Today I wanted to give you all a chance to try on some of Mom’s most iconic designs and walk the runway before we take you upstairs for a grand tour.”

Everyone shrieks with delight, but my stomach drops because I know all about LuMac. The history. The strengths. The weaknesses. But most important of all—the size range. And when it comes to size inclusivity, LuMac is still in the Dark Ages, with a size range that only goes to a twelve and not even in their full collection. The slip dress, as iconic as it is, was always the kind of garment that defined the heroin-chic look on models with protruding hip bones and sunken cheeks.

“Jay?” Henry calls.

A beautiful person with short, perfectly edged lavender hair, a manicured beard to match, razor-sharp eyeliner, and nude lipstick rounds the corner. Jay wears a flirty skirt with a cropped sweater topped with a trench coat and platform sneakers.

“This is Jay,” says Henry.

Jay gives us jazz fingers and a curtsy before giving Henry a huge hug. “Our prince has returned from the war,” Jay says dramatically.

Henry chuckles and continues. “Jay is the new creative director of LuMac. They are the living embodiment of Mom’s vision for the brand, and as my mother continues to take a step back, Jay has pretty much been my other half as we fine-tune the future of LuMac.”

“Basically,” Jay says. “Henry is Daddy and I’m nonbinary Mommy.”

One or two of the girls laugh, a little unsure of what to make of Jay. Despite my uneasiness about what will be available to me for this fashion show, Jay makes me feel settled, like I’ve found my way back to my fashion-obsessed people.

“Follow me,” Jay says as Henry helps them down from the stage. “We’ve got racks upon racks of goodies for you beauties to choose from.”

My whole body is tense with nerves as we’re herded into a back room with racks of clothing and makeup and hair touch-up stations. Some girls settle in for hair and makeup, but I know that if I stand any chance of not walking down the runway naked, I need to get first dibs on these clothes.

In a panic, I start shuffling through the items left out for us. I look for the biggest sizes, of course, which is most often an eight or a ten, but I’m also looking for anything with a shapeless or flowy cut to it. Slowly, I begin to amass a pile of clothing in my arms.

Addison clears her throat from the other side of the rack. “Um, you only need one look,” she tells me. “That’s not really fair to just start taking all the other perfectly good stuff just because you want options. Wes?” she calls. “Are there rules to this? Cindy has, like, a whole damn rack in her arms. Wes?”

I roll my eyes, but otherwise ignore her and continue my efforts even though the other women are also starting to show signs of concern. A storm of anxiety swirls in my chest, and it’s the same panic I feel when I attempt to clean out my closet. I’m so used to finding that I have zero options that it’s almost impossible for me to part with my clothing. Each piece is something I hunted relentlessly for or customized to my exact taste. I can’t exactly walk into a Forever 21 and snag a dress I’ve personally doctored to be a Badgley Mischka dupe. I hate feeling like I need so many things, but when a chance to buy something in your size is one in a hundred and a chance to buy something good in your size is one in a thousand—

“Hey, kid, what exactly is going on here?” Beck swoops to my side.

I turn to her, my teeth gritted. “Did no one consider the fact that LuMac doesn’t even make my size?”

Beck grimaces painfully and yells out, “Irina! Get over here!”

Irina stops what she’s doing, leaving a half-naked Stacy with a dress bunched up around her waist. She stomps over to Beck with her arms crossed and a safety pin clenched in her teeth. “What?”

“Do we have any options for Cindy?”

“What do you mean?” Irina asks incredulously. “She has options coming out the ears.” She motions to me. “She looks like a Black Friday sale threw up on her.”

“In her size,” Beck says as discreetly as she can, like it’s something to hide. But it’s not. In fact, accommodating me is not that hard. If you want me on your damn show, make it possible for me to be included. That’s it. It’s that simple.

Irina throws her arms up. “I can only work in the framework of the episode. This is on you and Wes. You two are—”

“Stop,” I say firmly. “Stop it. Both of you stop. You’re both to blame, but bickering isn’t going to fix anything. I need scissors, safety pins, and fabric tape. And maybe a sewing kit.”

Beck motions to Irina. “You heard her.” Once Irina has disappeared into the chaos, Beck turns back to me. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“Buy me time.”