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You were scrolling through website after website, getting more and more frustrated with the clothes on offer. It was getting way too hot for all the stuff that you had and yet God (or maybe fat-phobic fashion industries) seemed to be against you finding anything weather appropriate to wear. How funny would it be if after everything you lived through, you’d finally succumb to Lucifer’s call because of a heatstroke.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you startled when soft hands settled on your shoulders.
"I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I came to ask what you would like for dinner."
Miranda kissed the top of your head before placing her chin on it, just as she always did when she approached you from behind. The familiarity and the comfort of the gesture managed to ease your frown a little. It was Miranda’s most special talent; she could make you smile even when you didn’t feel like it at all.
You kept scrolling for a bit, not really paying attention to the screen as your thoughts drifted to food. You needed to do another grocery run soon, if you remembered correctly. Perhaps you had enough for her to throw together a soup. You were just about to tell Miranda that whatever she could do with the leftovers would be perfect, when she excitedly tapped the screen.
"Ohh, this one!! Stop scrolling… a little back up. Yes, the lemon one! You love lemons."
The wave of warmth that flooded you was totally indescribable. You looked at the dress for a few seconds, taking in how pretty you found the pattern, but mostly how unflattering you imagined it to be on your body. The sleeves weren't long enough to cover any of your stretch marks and the slit looked very inconveniently placed for plus sized people.
You tilted your head back to look at Miranda who was still very eagerly looking at the dress.
"You should totally buy it. It would look great on you!"
The wave of love broke on your shore, washing over your riverbank and nourishing the soil beneath. A soil that had been cut off from water for just a little too long.
"I… I don't know."
A part of you wanted to. A part of you even thought you could rock this dress. But there was also a big part of you that was skeptical. Miranda knew about your past; a mother that always forced you to wear oversized clothes so that people "couldn't see how fat you were", classmates who made fun of you, friends who could never bring themselves to return your compliments.
It sounded stupid, but every picture of you that had been left uncommented had slowly chipped away at you. Especially, since you never waited to shower their photos with praise.
Miranda's hand slowly fell away from the screen as she noticed your mood. She could guess where your mind had wandered off to.
As she looked down at you, her face softened. Her eyebrows sank to their normal position and the little laughing lines around her mouth and eyes smoothed out. Immediately, you felt bad for squashing her excitement. But at the same time you couldn't help it.
Miranda's hand returned to your shoulder, squeezing once, before coming up to caress your cheek.
"Don't let the thoughts win, darling. You know they're not true. You are beautiful and you can wear whatever you like."
You pressed your lips tightly together as you nodded, face leaning into her touch.
Both of you just remained there in that position for a while longer, until Miranda pulled you up from your chair and led you into the kitchen. Helping her cook always took your mind off of things.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*
You gasped as Miranda opened the trunk of the car and you saw the picnic basket and blankets. The whole drive Miranda hadn't said a word about where she was taking you. Something you knew had been very hard for her because she didn’t once stop grinning like an overexcited puppy. You probably would have been able to guess, if your own attention hadn’t been solely focused on drinking her in.
"You prepared all of this for me?" You asked as you beat her to the chase, insisting on being the one to carry the basket, which was surprisingly heavy. "Goodness you really didn't pack light."
Miranda chuckled coyly as she bent down to get the blankets from the trunk.
"Nope," she shot you a toothy grin, "you deserve to be wined and dined properly. Aaand, I made my special lemon pie recipe to go with your stunning new dress."
You blushed as your stomach flipped and even with the basket weighing you down, the walk to find the perfect spot felt like walking on clouds.
"You know what?" Miranda asked later with some custard smeared around her mouth.
You took a sip of juice and grinned down at where she was resting on your lap. "What?"
"I just had a random thought, is all. But that slit in the dress? Could be convenient, no?"
Miranda laughed loudly as you choked on your juice, some of it escaping and running down your chin. Your cheeks felt blazing hot.
"You're incorrigible," you croaked, once the coughing stopped.
But you wouldn't have her any other way.