“Then we’re not coming inside.”
That immediate answer made me trust her more than I had expected.
She told the photographer to wait by the car and turned her tablet so I could see the appointment page. At the top was my name. Beneath it were the words Twelve-Week New Mother Transformation Pilot.
The status line said Participant confirmed.
“I didn’t confirm anything.”
“I believe you.” Hannah tapped the screen. “I’m going to mark the session as declined pending consent review. Would you like our membership office to contact you directly?”
“I want copies of everything with my name on it.”
“I’ll request them.”
Grant came down the stairs as they were leaving. His hair was damp, and he was fastening the cuff of a white shirt.
“What happened?” he asked.
Hannah glanced at me. “Mrs. Mercer has declined today’s session.”
Grant looked past her at the photography equipment. “We paid for the launch package.”
“Consent has to be voluntary at the time of the session,” Hannah said. “Someone from membership will follow up.”
He waited until their car pulled away before closing the door.
“Do you understand how embarrassing that was?” he asked.
“For you?”
“For both of us. Tessa squeezed you into a pilot program that already has a waiting list.”
“I didn’t ask to be squeezed into anything.”
“It was a gift.”
“A gift does not arrive with a photographer to document the part of my body you dislike.”
His jaw tightened. “This is exactly why I wanted professionals involved. You turn every conversation about your health into an attack.”
“My doctor is involved in my health. You, your sister, and a photographer are not.”
He checked his watch.
“I cannot do this right now. I have a pitch meeting at nine.”
“Of course you do.”
“We’ll talk tonight.”
He picked up his laptop bag and left.
At ten-thirty, a courier delivered a long white box tied with silver ribbon. Inside was a fitted green dress.
Not the old green dress from my closet. A new one.
Two sizes smaller than anything I had worn before pregnancy.
A card lay on top.
