"Welcome to the club, Jon," Sarah said, and then frowned. "Well, almost welcome to the club. I think there's one last thing that needs some definite changing."
Sarah knew better than to rush into anything. If you want to do something right, you need to make sure you know what you're doing. Wordlessly, she left a speechless Jon once again and entered into the greater Gibson household.
She was looking for a home office. Or a homework room. Or a craft room. Specifically she needed some kind of adhesive label, and some kind of pen. But the next door she opened revealed what looked like the room of a ten year-old boy. A series of mischievous thoughts ran quickly through Sarah's head, as she recalled her earlier wish that anything she put in any closet in this house would link to the owner of the closet. There were things that she could do by making use of the clothes she saw here, but she quickly shelved those ideas. Maybe for another time.
She opened the next door: master bedroom. And she was about to leave here, too, when she saw that the door to the walk-in closet was left open. It wouldn't hurt, she told herself, just to peek inside and see what clothes lay inside those doors. She had plenty of time, and Jon wasn't going anywhere.
Now, the thing most people wouldn't realize about Sarah is that she was a fashionista in the purest sense of the word. She knew what looks were expected of her, and he knew her own visual strengths. But she could also appreciate a well-put-together closet, no matter what style it adhered to.
And, although she wouldn't admit it, she was genuinely impressed by what she saw in the closet as she walked in. On one side, there was a row of men's business suits, dress shirts, assorted blazers, all high-quality, all well-maintained, seasoned in a few places with some more casual fair. And on the other side, she found a feminine counterpart: professional dresses, skirt suits, attractive blouses, and some more casual outfits as well. Neither the male side nor the female side were designer, but Sarah noticed they were all name-brand. Some of them looked custom-tailored.
Sometimes it isn't the name on the label that's important, it's the eye of the consumer, the judgement to know what types of materials last long, what cuts don't go out of style, what colors work with a person's complexion. And Sarah found herself reasonably surprised to discover that Jon's parents had the skills to make the most of a shopping trip to JCPenney, or Dillard's, even if they clearly avoided Neiman Marcus and Saks 5th Avenue. And this stirring feeling began to grow inside of her as she examined hanger after hanger, almost a sense of respect. And the feeling grew as the seconds passed until Sarah suddenly realized: she needed to put on one of these outfits.
She had time. She could find a label after a few minutes as easily as she could now. The only question was: which outfit would she choose?
