Page 18 of Sunny Side Up

seven

When Brooke and Noor first pitched the Harbour Island getaway, I couldn’t have said yes faster.

Sure, a few beach days in February were what sold me, but really, the reason they planned this in the first place was to give ourselves some real R the boring dates were somehow even worse (at least bad dates meant entertaining recaps with friends).

My self-imposed Wedding Date Deadline loomed overhead, adding a thin layer of stress at all times. I needed a break. A time-out.

A long weekend at the Dunmore on Harbour Island was exactly what we all needed. We deserved this.

The view: light-blue water on pinkish sandy beaches.

The cocktails: bottomless and strong, hand-delivered directly to our mouths.

The company: brilliant, hilarious, and dressed to the nines, tens, hundreds .

The three of us had just settled into blue-and-white striped chaises along the resort’s beach, sun warming our faces, when I was hit with a realization: I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d taken a vacation.

Running a company was a round-the-clock endeavor, and in the last ten years, I’d all but forgotten to take time off outside of obligatory family events like weddings or funerals.

I was going to make this vacation count.

All that negative body talk I’d thrown at myself in the Bergdorf Goodman dressing room?

Uninvited. I announced the ban to the bouncer in my brain: See that little shit-talking bubble of hot air over there?

Don’t let him in, no matter how much he bribes you.

The beach has always made me feel torn. I love the sand, the rays of hot sun on my nose.

No matter how cold it is, I will get in that ocean, and I’ll probably be the last one out of the water.

But because of my complicated relationship with my body, I’ve avoided plenty of beach invitations.

When I do accept, I inevitably begin to dread the cringeworthy transition from cover-up to swimsuit so far in advance that I convince myself the whole thing will be a nightmare come to life: pin-drop silence, everyone staring, and a seagull with a microphone yelling to every passerby, Over here!

Sunny Greene! Baring her gigantic body, scantily clad in the world’s ugliest swimsuit, for all to see!

I’ve wanted to die from embarrassment every time , even though every single beachgoer, past and present, has done the same routine.

My cover-up-to-swimsuit reveal always went the same way: an awkward dance of trying to take off my clothes while still sitting in a chair behind everyone, hiding under towels. Hiding what was underneath.

But today, in Harbour Island, I was ready to break with tradition. I was THAT excited to show off my newfound designer skills.

I stood up in front of my friends’ chairs and asked if I could please have their attention. They tilted their hat brims and lowered their sunglasses while I began to hike my bright caftan up to my knees.

“TAKE IT OFF,” called Noor.

“OW OW,” yelled Brooke.

Off went the caftan, up over my head.

“Sunny,” Brooke said. “That is not the Aunt Pat suit you warned us about on the group text!”

“I didn’t see that suit at Bergdorf’s—I would have tried it on myself! I love the seashells on it! Are those real? That is STUN-NING. I want it,” said Noor.

“Seriously,” said Brooke. She reached up to touch the seashells that Kateryna had hand-stitched onto the straps. A few were scattered along the neckline, too, as though the suit had emerged from a bed of beautiful shells and a few were still falling down its front.

“Wait, is this the one you made with Kateryna?”

“Yup,” I said, smiling from ear to ear. I’d never felt more incredible in a swimsuit than this very moment.

It’s possible I’d never felt more incredible in any piece of clothing before.

And let me tell you, that is saying something, because, besides the shells, this suit was all black.

My dream reveal suit would have been more of a Kermit-green Lurex situation.

But you know, one small step for man, one giant step for swimwear.

“Well, no wonder it looks straight-up made for you .”

“Really,” I said, looking down at the one-piece, “it’s a heavily altered suit that already existed.

Although at this point, it’s really just the basis for the pattern.

I bought new fabric because this stuff is kind of crap.

And we nipped and tucked and altered. The seashells were my idea.

Handiwork was all Kateryna’s. But I gave her a ton of sketches and references and was a very opinionated fit model. ”

“You are the creative director, she’s the designer,” said Noor. “I’m so impressed. I can’t stop looking at you, at it.”

“Seriously,” said Brooke. “It’s incredible.”

They had their hands all over my suit, admiring the craftsmanship of the seams, the perfect hip height that Kateryna and I had obsessed over, the elegant dip of the chest, the magical effect of the cascading shells, the way the cut of the butt accentuated each cheek without giving me any sort of wedgie, and the sexy, super-swooped, U-shaped back that stopped justtttt between the dimples on my backside.

“Okay, pervs,” I said, relishing the attention. “I’m going to sit down now.”

“Sunny,” Brooke continued, “you have to make more of these. People would go nuts for them, not just us.”

“You should absolutely make these suits,” said Noor.

“You could start your own line. I feel like you and Brooke know all the people in fashion to make this happen.” She was on all fours on her lounge chair, looking at me with the excitement of a kid hearing about Santa Claus for the first time. I wanted to kiss her!

I felt energy coursing through my veins—the same type of restless effervescence I remember experiencing in the early days of launching Lbr.

Maybe I should do this.… I had been having so much fun working on these suits: searching for fabric, sorting through all the shells, making mood boards, flexing my secret sketching muscle, which I honestly hadn’t exercised since I took my last figure-drawing class as a senior in college.

I think I’d forgotten that I had this creative side to me.

It was liberating to unlock it. The question was: Could I do this? Or was the idea nuts?

“It could be fun,” I began slowly, allowing myself to dream out loud. “At least I know I could do my own PR.…”

My head was spinning, but in a good way. I was already thinking about the favors I could pull.

“YES,” said Brooke. “See? It’s a no-brainer. And look, here come our drinks. Perfect timing. We need to celebrate.”

After a long, satisfying drink, Brooke kept going.

“Who are you, Sunny?! First you’re launching a newsletter, now this. Why are you so good at everything?”

“I’m not ,” I said, laughing. Hyper Brooke looked so much like her youngest son, the wild one. “Kateryna is the actual genius. And it took many, many failed shopping attempts on my end, online and in person, to take matters into my own hands.”

Noor looked up from her phone, the straw of her drink resting right by her mouth for easy access. “There’s quite literally nothing on earth worse than bathing suit shopping.”

“Especially in the winter,” I added.

“Nothing fits the way I want it to anymore,” Brooke groaned, sliding down in the lounge chair. “Definitely not after three kids.”

“Brooke, you’re insane. You look amazing,” Noor said.

“Ugh, thanks. It took a month straight of Barry’s to finally get rid of my Christmas-cookie ass.

Post-kids, I still have to hide my stomach.

Thank God for high-waisted bikinis,” Brooke laughed, intending it as a joke, but I could tell she was serious.

Brooke was very fit, and while I secretly suspected that her button nose wasn’t exactly the shape she was born with, I’d never have guessed her to be the type to fixate on her own perfect body.

“Okay, enough of this talk, we are all stunning,” Noor said, and I was grateful she had the composure to verbalize what my mind was too shocked to say.

Brooke and Noor—they were both skinny. Whenever I heard a woman smaller than me complaining about her body, hating her body, it always made my stomach drop.

If these women—who could easily shop in department stores!

—were still riddled with anxieties, what hope did I have?

It killed me that we all had these thoughts about ourselves.

Sunny Side Up readers were starting to show me the power of positive influence, and I was noticing how awful all this negative self-talk really sounded, especially in a group.

Why did women find this behavior to be so normal? My thoughts were interrupted by Noor.

“Okay, Sunny,” she said. “I just bought you a yearlong Shopify website subscription as an early birthday present. Now you have to do this.”

“Wait, wait—I would need to design suits, raise money, find a factory, figure out how to balance this with Lbr…”

“One thing at a time,” said Noor. “Everyone in your life is here to help you. I would genuinely invest in this. So much more fun than restaurants. Probably better margins, too. And the yearlong subscription doesn’t start until you activate it. It’s there for you when you’re ready .”

“Thank you, Noor,” I said. “For real. That’s insanely generous. And Brooke, thank you, too. Guys, your level of enthusiasm for this, you have no idea how good it feels…”

“I just need a Sunny swimsuit to save me before summer, please.”

“And I’m going to order every style in every color for each and every single one of my new clients,” said Brooke.

“Cheers to that,” I said, raising my cocktail.