Page 18 of False Start

"How would that work? Do you have to go on dates with the boyfriend? Do all three of you go on dates together?"

Tiffany wrings her hands, clearly still processing the proposal.

"Eventually, I think it would be all of us. Assuming the first night had gone well, over time, we'd become, like…a throuple. A couple with three people instead of two."

I slump back against the couch, too stunned for words.

"Wow, Tiff," I manage. I experimented with girls a little in college, but my sex life is vanilla compared to athrouple.

She takes another swig from the bottle before slumping back next to me.

"Wowis right," she agrees, looking equally shell-shocked. "I didn't really know what to do. I just stood there, gaping like a fish, before running out like my hair was on fire." She sighs. "She's been texting me, but I don't know what to say."

I like to think I know a lot about a lot of things. I'm usually the one people come to for advice. But polygamy'swayoutside my wheelhouse. Where do you even start? Well, I guess you start with at least three people, but…

"Is he hot?" I ask, and Tiffany gasps, spitting wine down her shirt.

"Denise!" she says, scandalized.

"What?" I shrug. "I don't know anything about throuples, but no matter the size of the relationship, I assume you want everyone to be hot."

She bursts out laughing, and, after a while, I join her. It's not like anyone really knows what they're doing when it comes to relationships.

"Don't think you're getting out of answering the question," I add, still giggling. "If he's not hot, he's not worth the aggravation."

"That's why you're my girl," she says through a smile. "And yes, he was hot. They'rebothhot. But after Martin, I don't know if I'm ready to jump back into a relationship, let alone withtwopeople. It all just seemed way too fast and…too complicated."

"You're preaching to the choir," I answer, and grab the remote to pick our mindless TV for the night.

"So your sneaky link was a bust?" she asks. I hide my eye roll; I can tell she's dying to gossip. One of the downsides of girlfriends is they always want to be in your business.

"Since you wanna be nosy," I say with a smirk, "I'll tell you it wasnota bust. We hooked up again a few nights ago, and we now have…an arrangement."

Tiffany playfully hits my shoulder and my hand slips on the remote, inadvertently starting the movie, "No Strings Attached". I snort at the coincidence.

"Oooh! And you weren't even going to tell me?! Who is he? Do I get to meet him?"

"Since I don't introduce you to every vibrator in my drawer, no, you don't get to meet him. He's just a booty call. And before you even try it," I already see the puppy dog eyes coming, "I'm not telling you anything else, so don't bother."

She harrumphs and folds her arms like a kid throwing a tantrum, but I won't budge. The only way a secret relationship works out is if it stays secret.

"You're no fun," she pouts, then settles back to enjoy the movie.

Tiffany is snoring lightly—and drooling—against one of my decorative throw pillows. She looks peaceful, the worry from hours ago forgotten after two fairytale endings and another bottle of wine. The last time we spoke, she was all blushes and giggles, riding a post-hook-up high. Then this Monica chick had to go and ruin things by trying to lock her down after a couple good dates. It's for precisely this reason I keep men at arm's length. I don't need them fucking with my energy.

I open the ottoman for an afghan to cover Tiff and consider putting on another movie. We usually stick with rom-coms for girls' night, but I'm a horror and true crime fanatic at heart. Should I watch a scorned woman take her revenge, or an axe murderer terrorizing some teens by the lake?

Ugh. Neither, I grouse.I walk over to my drafting table and pull out my sketches instead; I've been procrastinating long enough.

Working on a design team has its advantages—more collaboration and feedback, better materials, shared workload—but lately, I've been itching to focus on my own designs. Although more and more designers are catering to women above a size 12, too many of the mainstream brands think we all have the same body type: big boobs, big butt, big waist, bigeverything.

That might work for some women, but not for me. I'm an hourglass—well, more like athree-hour glass—with a small waist in between a sizeable butt and DDD boobs. I have to tailor most ready-made clothes to fit me.

Plenty of large women aren't as full in the chest, something I sometimes envy when it's time to spend another $60 on a bra. Other women are big on top, but have no butt to speak of. We're alldifferent.

Someday, I'm finally going to strike out on my own and make a line for each curvy body type: hourglass, pear, apple, banana, and even strawberry. I sigh heavily and flip to the argyle sweater dress design I've been fussing over for the past week. My dream line sounds like a fucking fruit salad.

A sharpdingthankfully cuts my brooding short. I reach into the pocket of my "That's So Raven" pajama pants for my phone.

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