Dinner and a movie

You pick up your phone from the cushion, flip it over, and open Chloe's text thread. The cursor blinks in the reply field while you consider your words.

Settling in great! Met some really friendly people in town already. The house is amazing—so quiet. Perfect for reading.

You add a smiley face. Hit send. It's not a lie—you did meet friendly people. You just leave out the part where they were friendly because they thought you were a twenty-one-year-old woman in a pencil skirt and four-inch heels.

Chloe's reply comes in under a minute, rapid-fire thumbs.

omg yay!! who did you meet?? anyone cute?? also mom says hi and she's glad you're settling in. she's been SO stressed about leaving the house empty

Just some shop owners, a waiter, people around town. Everyone's really welcoming.

thats so cute. small towns are the best for that. ok we're going to this tapas place tonight that has like 4.9 stars on google so i'll send pics. miss you!!

You close the thread and set the phone face-down again. The book lies open on your lap, chapter eight still half-read, but your eyes are tired from hours of small print and your brain feels pleasantly saturated.

"HAVEN, is there a movie library on the system? Something light—a rom-com, maybe?"

"Certainly, Chloe. The entertainment system has access to several streaming platforms. I can recommend titles from Chloe's watchlist if you'd like."

"Sure."

*"Popular selections include 10 Things I Hate About You, The Devil Wears Prada, Legally Blonde, and Anyone But You. Would you like me to queue one?"

You almost laugh. Of course Chloe's watchlist is a masterclass in feminine cinema.

"The Devil Wears Prada, please."

"Queued. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Shall I serve it in the living room?"

"Please."

You settle deeper into the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you, the silk camisole shifting against your bare skin. The massive screen above the fireplace flickers to life as the opening credits roll—Meryl Streep's silver bob, the click of heels on marble, the cold perfection of the Runway offices.

HAVEN delivers dinner on a sleek tray: a Mediterranean salad with grilled chicken, warm pita, hummus drizzled with olive oil. You eat cross-legged on the couch, the silk shorts riding up as you reach for the pita, and watch Andy Sachs stumble through her first day in impractical heels.

You know exactly how that feels now. The blisters. The wobble. The way your whole center of gravity shifts.

But that's not what catches you. What catches you is the scene where Andy walks into the office in her Chanel boots and Nigel's styling, and Emily's jaw drops, and Miranda notices. The transformation scene. You've seen this movie a dozen times—you always identified with Andy's bewilderment, her fish-out-of-water energy.

Except now you're watching her face when she catches her reflection in the glass doors. The way she pauses. The way something shifts behind her eyes—not just surprise at how she looks, but recognition. Like she's seeing a version of herself that was always there, waiting for the right clothes to surface.

Oh.

You set down the pita. Your throat feels tight.

When Andy walks into the party in that gold dress and Christian Thompson's eyes go wide—you feel it differently. Not from his perspective, not from the male gaze that wants her. You feel it from hers. The power of being looked at. The specific thrill of knowing you've become something that commands attention.

You felt that today. On the sidewalk. When the truck driver looked. When Fletcher pulled out your chair.

The movie plays on. Andy gets the job, loses herself, finds her way back. You cry at the ending—not the dramatic kind, just a quiet leak of tears you wipe away with the back of your hand—and then sit in the dark living room with the credits rolling, the Mediterranean salad half-eaten on the tray beside you, Margot's book still open on the cushion.

Your phone buzzes. Chloe again—a photo of a towering plate of patatas bravas, a glass of sangria, and her manicured hand giving a thumbs-up.

THIS PLACE IS INCREDIBLE. also mom says she'll call you thursday morning before her meeting. love you!!

Thursday morning. Vanessa's going to call. Tomorrow.

You stare at the phone, the glow of the screen reflected in your bare, makeup-free face, and realize you have less than twelve hours to figure out how to sound like yourself while looking like this.