Tess stripped off the skirt and stared at herself in the mirror in frustration. She had a soft face, with wide, soulful eyes and full lips, and a nervous air about her. Even in her underwear—red, lacy, with a festive trim she’d thought was funny when she bought it—Tess looked awkward. She sighed. There was no way she’d impress Colette’s family, not really. She just wasn’t the kind of person to impress people who valued the sort of things Colette did. It was a wonder (or a sign of Colette’s desperation) that Tess had been asked, if she was honest.
Eventually, she shoved another armful of books and her most Christmas-y clothes into her suitcase, and decided to leave it be. Holidays were meant for relaxing, after all, so she was probably overthinking it. Just as Tess was zipping up her bag, her work phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, this is Colette.”
“Oh, uh, hi Ms. Sylvestre,” Tess stammered. “What’s up?”