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IF YOU THINK YOU LOOK GOOD TODAY, YOU SHOULD SEE ME

T he Past

Mother: I have a fan club, you know.

Me: A… fan club?

Mother: Yes… so many men in this town would love to date me.

Me: But you’re married… to dad?

Mother: Well, it’s a nice confidence boost.

It’s why you should always go out looking your best.

By the way, you need to get your eyelashes and eyebrows tinted.

Me: Why’s that?

Mother: Well, yours are very pale. So you should get yours enhanced.

Or any man you’re with will look at a woman who does.

The Present

The way Timmy looks at me makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. When he says things like, “I love how your pale eyelashes make your eyes look soft, and then when you add makeup, they just pop—you’re so naturally beautiful,” it’s not just generic flattery—it’s specific to me. It’s the kind of compliment that sinks deep into my bones. He notices me in ways that feel personal, like he’s seeing me through a lens that nobody else has ever looked through.

I catch myself basking in it, craving his approval the way a plant craves sunlight. His praise is intoxicating. It pulls me closer into his orbit.

When I’m done getting ready, my hair neatly styled, my makeup subtle but enhancing, I emerge from the bathroom feeling confident. His eyes light up the moment he sees me.

“Damn, Marg. You’re glowing.” He lets out a low whistle, stepping closer. “Look at you, babe. That lip gloss is next level. By the way, whenever my exes used to wear that shit, I refused to kiss them.” He plants a soft kiss on my lips, the sticky gloss gluing us together for a moment. “But with you, I love it. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

The warmth of his words fills me, melting away the edges of any lingering self-doubt, making me see myself through his lens, like a natural beauty.

But then his own reflection catches his eye, and just like that, his attention shifts. His grin turns playful as he straightens his posture and checks himself out in the mirror, adjusting his T-shirt.

“I look so cute, right? You see it, right? Look at my outfit. Everything matches perfectly.” He turns to the side, tilting his chin up. “Come on, tell me. I look fucking great, don’t I? ”

I laugh, shaking my head. He’s ridiculous. But part of me is a little startled by how much he needs to hear it, how he craves the same validation he gives me.

“You do look cute,” I say, indulging him. “Very coordinated.”

He grins. “Yeah, I know.” Then his gaze sharpens, excitement bubbling to the surface. “Oh my gosh, babe—can you braid my hair? Please? Just two braids using the purple hair ties.” He grabs two small sections of his hair, holding them where he wants the braids to go. “Forward, over my ears. Like this.”

I laugh again, shaking my head. “You’re a dork,” I say, but there’s a fondness in my voice.

“This is gonna look so good,” he says with childlike enthusiasm. His eyes sparkle with joy, as if the simple act of braiding his hair will somehow complete his entire persona.

I fetch the soft lilac hair ties from the drawer and begin braiding his hair as requested. He sits, fidgeting slightly with excitement, while I weave the strands together.

“There we go,” I say, securing the second braid.

He checks himself in the mirror, tugging on the ends of the braids to position them just right. Then he grabs a cap and places it on his head, angling it backward. “Perfect,” he declares, grinning at his reflection.

It’s fun. A part of me feels like I’m back in elementary school, sitting cross-legged on the playground, braiding a friend’s hair. Timmy’s playfulness is infectious. Being with him feels like an adventure, like we’re two kids lost in our own world.

And maybe that’s what this is—a secret world, just for us. A love bubble where nothing else matters but the way we make each other feel. A world where his quirky demands and strange antics are endearing instead of suffocating.

The way he makes me laugh, the way he feeds me little bites of food and tells me to blow on them so I don’t burn my mouth—it’s all so charming. Sweet, even. And when he holds me close, when he says, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” it’s hard to imagine a reality without him .

But there’s a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a knot of unease that tightens ever so slightly each time I think too hard about the ways he needs me. The way his validation seems to hinge on my constant attention. The way his excitement for us feels so all-consuming that it leaves no room for anyone else.

It’s subtle, but I notice it more and more. How he seems happiest when it’s just the two of us. How my world has quietly shrunk to fit inside the boundaries of his. Friends feel distant—whether by geography or by design, I’m not sure.

But Timmy fills the void so completely that I tell myself it doesn’t matter.

This is what I wanted, right? Someone who sees me. Someone who loves me without hesitation. Someone who notices all the little things about me, the way I always wished someone would.

Maybe this is what real love feels like. Maybe the trade-off is worth it. Maybe a little isolation isn’t such a bad thing, if it means I get to keep feeling this way. As long as I stay on his good side, as long as I keep things light and fun, everything will be okay.

Because when Timmy’s happy, it’s like the whole world is brighter. And when he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, it’s easy to forget everything else.

And so I smile back. I laugh at his jokes, braid his hair, and tell him how cute he looks in his cap and braids.

And for now, that’s enough. It has to be.