If the Dress Fits

By Carla de Guzman

Martha Aguas has it all: a job she likes, a puppy she loves, and a wardrobe that makes her feel beautiful. Yes, everyone tries to make her feel bad for being mataba, she can't buy bras in the Philippines, and she's never had a boyfriend. But so what? It's never mattered before.

But when her perfect cousin Regina announces her engagement Enzo, the blast from the past boy whom she might have loved before, it suddenly feels like a big deal. Aguases from all over the globe are coming in for the engagement of the century, and the last thing Martha wants to hear is a well-meaning barb about how she should watch her weight.

Thank god for Max. Her funny, dependable, best friend Max, who doesn't mind playing the role of fake boyfriend for the family festivities. But the more Martha plays along, the less it feels like pretend, and more she starts to wonder if Max had maybe loved her all along.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jan 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094432120

Carla de Guzman

Carla de Guzman writes contemporary romance and believes in happily ever after.Her books Sweet on You,If The Dress Fits and Some Bali to Love are explorations of her favorite tropes, places and food. She is a part of #romanceclass, an online community of writers, readers and creators of Filipino romance in English, and will always say yes to a café invite.

Book preview

1

A two-piece burger steak with spaghetti, a large pineapple juice, and a chocolate sundae please," Martha Aguas spoke primly into the speaker of the Jollibee drive thru near the airport. A post-flight fast-food stop was essential, and thankfully there was one on the way back home.

Wow, they must have starved you on that flight, ma’am. The driver of the rideshare chortled, and Martha suppressed a groan and a roll of her eyes. She supposed opting not to purchase food on her budget flight from Seoul had been her mistake, but really, the man didn’t know that.

For Martha, there was nothing more satisfying than having Jollibee after a flight to make her feel like she’d truly come home. It was tradition for her and part of her routine, and she liked having that.

She really wanted to explain all of that to her driver, but really, who had the energy? Certainly not her, fresh off a six-hour flight. Between the rain, the catastrophic Manila traffic, and the Jollibee she wanted to enjoy, she was going to be stuck in this car for a while. It was useless to spend the next couple of hours being upset over a throwaway comment the driver likely didn’t mean any harm by. People never meant any harm when they said things like that, anyway.

Martha bought her driver fries and the pie of his choice and engaged him in the age-old Manila Fast Food Debate. Was a Jollibee Champ better than a McDonald’s Big Mac? Twister Fries or Shake Shake Fries? Which siomai stall reigned supreme, and why was it Siomai House? Who decided that siomai should be served with gulaman? Important issues all, which started a spirited discussion between her and the rideshare driver, with the throwaway remark swept aside, and Martha felt much safer for it.

Since she arrived, Martha had also been in communication with her family. She had to admit, she missed them, despite being only gone for a week, and she was looking forward to coming home and lying in her own bed. Travelling was fun, but she was a homebody at heart.

On my way home. Give me three hours.

The chat group had come alive with responses.

Mamacita: Three hours? It’s carmageddon?? At 12 noon? OMG!

Papa: Ingat, anak.

Mags: I have practice at 3:30 but I CAN WAIT.

[nervously waiting gif]

Martha: You only want me for my pasalubong.

Mags: or do i 👀

Martha looked out the window and considered her chances of getting home before three thirty. It wasn’t looking good. It was just a bit past noon, but the sky was as dark as if it had been well past six already. They inched forward in traffic, a result of the magic combination of bad city planning and rainfall. Martha settled back into her seat and took a sip of pineapple juice, frowning at the traffic and wishing she could make things move along faster.

Martha liked to think that she had a healthy relationship with food. Almost every moment of her life was punctuated with it—family gatherings were for all shades of kakanin and warm drinks, birthdays were for soft, spongy caramel cake with buttercream roses, mornings were for fluffy scrambled eggs and garlic rice, and any day worth remembering featured a cup of coffee or celebrated with dessert. Martha enjoyed all of that, enjoyed spending time with the people she loved over it.

She enjoyed it a little too much, was the consensus of the people around her. Rude.

And that was partially true, because she did enjoy food. What she didn’t enjoy was the judgment about what everyone thought her body should be. People were well-meaning, she supposed, but there was nobody better suited (except perhaps her doctor, and even he always blamed a cold on her weight) than Martha to know if her size 22, 5XL body was good.

Did she hate that she had to pay through the nose for bras from the US because nothing here was her size? Yes. Did she wish she fit into regular sizes sometimes? Sure. But did she hate herself for being fat?

Not at all.

And she could love herself for all she was worth (and then some), could learn to put on a bikini at the beach without an ounce of self-consciousness, and still think that taba is a bad word. It had been used against her all her life, and she was okay with admitting that she would never be comfortable with it. But she knew herself well enough to know that she was a lot more at ease with herself now than she was at eighteen, or at twenty-one.

The traffic miraculously cleared when they made it to the Skyway. It wouldn’t last long, but it did give Martha a view of Makati, thunder and lightning dancing above. It was pretty, if a little scary. She was home, and there was no place she would rather be at the moment.

Her phone pinged with a voice message from Max.

A little jolt of excitement ran through Martha, only because she missed him so much. Smiling, Martha played the message out loud.

So I just got the Google alert that your flight landed, his recorded voice spoke. Have you, or is the Internet lying to me?

Martha immediately pressed the Call button and prayed to the Internet gods for strength.

Max? she asked when he picked up. Her connection was too weak for video, but at least his response was crisp and clear through the speaker.

Martha! The Internet didn’t lie! Are all limbs intact?

Why wouldn’t they be? she asked, laughing.

Who knows what could have happened on your #MarthasSeoulAmazingAutumn? he asked, and Martha rolled her eyes, because there was no way she was using his ridiculously long hashtag.

It was a work trip, she reminded him.

Did you meet the oppa of your dreams?

Why would I—

Did you miss me? he asked, almost immediately.

Did I—

Let’s have dinner. Or merienda. Or merienda and dinner!

Max, slow down, I—

TUNA! There you are. What are you doing hiding under my bookshelf, darling girl? The sound of heavy doggy breathing and a bark let Martha know that Max was still at work, and once again talking to his pet patients. He remembered his clients’ pets before he remembered the clients. I’m on a call with Martha, please stop squirming—

The call ended, and Martha laughed. Tuna must have decided she didn’t want to share her time.

Boyfriend, ma’am? the driver asked. Martha laughed and shook her head.

Not my boyfriend, she simply said to the driver before refocusing her attention on her food. She felt her face heat up as her cheeks started to feel the burn from smiling too much.

Ategirl doth protest too much, besh?

She dismissed the thought quickly. Her spaghetti and burger steak weren’t going to eat themselves.

She’s here! She’s here! Martha spotted her younger sister running down the stairs to greet her the moment she walked into the house.

Maggie Aguas’ ponytail swished behind her as she practically bounded to her sister. She was already dressed in her usual leggings, sports bra, and tank top, no doubt on her way to the gym or to volleyball practice. Her eighteen-year-old sister was a libero for her school team and took training very seriously. Everyone and their aunts loved to comment on how thin Maggie was now, how good she looked! Ang payat mo na! Keep it up, ha?

And Martha would be the first to join Maggie in a Massive Eyeroll, because Maggie was Maggie, no matter how much she weighed. Anyway, none of that mattered at home, where Martha was Maggie’s Favorite and Only Ate. Martha quickly quashed her thoughts and gave her sister a huge smile.

Mags!

Martha really did miss Maggie, even if she had only been in Seoul for a week. Maggie would have loved Korea in September—with the autumn leaves crunching underfoot, the cute outfits, and the cool air. She would have also loved the street food. Martha’s mouth was already watering just remembering the sheets of odeng in warm soup, grilled scallops, and rolls of kimbap.

Must remember to eat at a Korean restaurant soon.

But before Maggie could reach Martha, a little ball of white-and-brown fur shot past her sister and slid on the floor to gently stop at Martha’s feet.

Bibi! Martha cooed, easily picking up the Shih Tzu mix and cradling him in her arms. Bibi was sniffing every part of Martha that he could, as if making sure this was, in fact, his owner, and not some stranger. He huffed in satisfaction and rested his head in the crook of her neck, his legs draped over her shoulders.

Oh sure, you’re more excited to see the dog than your own flesh and blood, Maggie deadpanned, stopping just in front of them before joining in on the doggy sandwich by hugging them both. Bibi wriggled free from his owner’s grasp, and Martha let him down on the floor, where he moved to Martha’s bag, sniffing suspiciously. But welcome back! Did you exchange calculators with your fellow accounting nerds?

That’s not how a conference works. Martha laughed, shaking her head as she and Maggie moved to the couch, Maggie pulling Martha’s luggage with them. That was when Aling Nessa walked in and placed a plate piled high with sticks of banana cue on the coffee table, before she gave Martha a hug to welcome her home.

I made your favorite merienda, just for you, Aling Nessa said, winking. Without waiting for a reply, she hurried back to the kitchen.

Merienda was taken seriously at the Aguas home. There was always a delicacy served, a rotating list of the family’s favorite afternoon snacks, along with either coffee, tea, or some other refreshing beverage. Today the banana cue was paired with fresh dalandan juice. The Aguas sisters took a banana cue each and started talking about what one missed while the other was away.

Tita Flora’s been calling Dad, Maggie said conspiratorially, keeping her voice low like they were two spies exchanging secret information in the duck pond near Buckingham Palace. Martha had officially seen Good Omens too many times. Yesterday he spent like, three hours sitting at his desk staring into space and occasionally agreeing with her.

Martha tried not to laugh, but she could picture it so clearly in her head. Philip Aguas was the youngest in a family of four, with three older sisters who had strong personalities and a wealth of things to complain about. Martha and Maggie’s father always said that it was his lot in life to be surrounded by such strong women, and Martha liked to think that list included her.

She never calls unless she and Tita Fauna are planning to come home, she pointed out, popping a bit of caramelized sugar into her mouth. And that’s not usually until December.

I don’t know, Ats, something’s up. Maggie shrugged, leaning back against the couch. I mean, I love the Twin Titas, but sometimes…

Sometimes they ask for too much, Martha agreed. Because that was the thing with families, wasn’t it? Blood ran thicker than water, even when the blood was asking for an already-busy man to interrupt his busy schedule even more to accommodate them.

But anyway, are you going to give me my pasalubong now or…?

Martha pretended to roll her eyes as she leaned forward to pull her luggage closer. The front button of her jeans dug into her stomach, leaving her gasping for air and unable to grab the bag. So she readjusted her position, sitting forward so she could reach her suitcase.

Skincare and makeup goodies spilled forth from inside the bag, and Martha loved the look of surprise and awe on her little sister’s face. Maggie may already be eighteen, but in Martha’s eyes, she was always the seven-year-old girl who was fascinated by everything shiny and new.

Girls, Philip Aguas’s voice filled the living room, and the man himself appeared at the end of the hallway, having emerged from his office. Martha couldn’t really see his face, but she saw the steaming cup of barako in his hands, smelled the lingering scent of anise seed and coffee in the air, and knew it was him. Any plans of sharing the banana cue with your favorite papa?

I thought you said you were on a diet, Papa? Maggie teased.

Bananas are fruits, he argued, moving in between his daughters and snatching up a banana cue for himself. Hello, Martita. I missed you.

Martha smiled and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. A lot of his friends and colleagues had blatantly commented about his weight gain in the last couple of weeks. Had it happened to Martha, she would have been incensed, but her father simply smiled and threw himself into a punishing routine that required strict discipline and zero carbs, as well as special metabolism herbal remedies in the mornings to go with his maintenance meds.

Today was, apparently, a cheat day.

How was Seoul? he asked her pointedly, leaving his mug on the coffee table as he sat on the chair near Martha.

I’ll give you the official report version on Monday, boss, Martha told him. But personally, it was fun.

Good. Extra certification is always good for the office, and that ASEAN Integration stuff is going to cause issues for our clients in the future. He nodded, in boss mode even if they were at home on a Saturday afternoon. Philip believed that any crisis in life could be solved by logic and accounting, which was one of the reasons why his clients loved him so much.

Maggie said Tita Flora’s been calling you? Martha asked nonchalantly.

Mhm. Philip nodded. She and Fauna are coming next week.

Oh! That’s sudden. They usually tell us like a month ahead.

Which leads me to believe that something’s going on, Philip mused, as he continued to eat his banana cue. Anyway. I’m sure Mama will call a family lunch when they arrive. Your Tita Merry’s looking for you, by the way.

Martha’s eyes immediately widened in panic. Nothing good would come out of her only Manila-based Aguas aunt looking for her. Should I tell her you’re still in Seoul?

She’ll never believe that. Martha snorted. I’ll…call her myself.

Or you could just say no to whatever she wants you to do? Maggie suggested unhelpfully. And Daddy, you can just…tell Tita Flora you’re busy?

Both Martha and Philip threw her a look, because nobody ever said no to Merryweather Aguas Benitez.

Ah, Maggie, Martha thought, smiling affectionately at her sister. One day she was going to realize that being part of a family, especially one as close knit as theirs, was a lot more complicated than weekly lunches and constantly being up in each other’s business.

Hmm, I wonder who raised you both to be so stubborn, Philip remarked, shaking his head as he continued eating his banana cue. I’m going to go ahead and say it’s your mother.

Hala, nagsalita! Maggie hollered. I’m telling Mom.

Go ahead, I’m not scared. Philip huffed and Martha laughed, shaking her head.

It was good to be home.

She was about to head upstairs to unpack her belongings when Maggie called after her. Ate! We’re eating at Hapag tomorrow lunch. Tell Kuya Max?

Martha gave her sister a thumbs up and headed to her room.

The next morning was a Sunday, and Martha lived for lazy Sundays.

She turned over in bed, one bleary eye open. Morning sunlight poured into the room, diffused by the curtains she’d purchased especially to achieve this effect. It threw soft shapes over the sheets, made pretty patterns against the wall opposite her bed. She stretched her arms over head and twisted a little. She loved days where waking up was a slow and easy process, where there was absolutely no rush, no hurry, and when a folksy song from the sixties would be the perfect soundtrack.

Martha always thought that mornings like this was perfect for cuddling in bed, in the arms of the one you loved, when you’re both too lazy to move or get up, just because you wanted to be held as close.

She had fantasies of mornings like this all the time, except in her head, his face was never clear, but the warmth and love in the faceless partner felt as clear as day to her. They would lie in bed on mornings like this, her head on his chest, his hand on the small of her back as he spoke to her in deep murmurs that made her feel sexy and beautiful.

Then they would wake up, and that soft morning light would follow them to every part of their imaginary house. Martha would hop up on the kitchen counter and talk to him while he made breakfast. She would wear his ratty pambahay shirt and nurse a cup of coffee in a red mug, just like those Nescafe commercials from years ago.

She frowned slightly. Something in her mental picture didn’t make sense. Why was she picturing a tall, long-haired guy in her little fantasy? Her celebrity crushes had big, I-split-that-tree-trunk-in-half-because-I-can kind of guys. She liked guys who filled rooms with their sheer presence, who could glare you down until you were a gooey puddle of desire on the floor.

Since when was she into guys that almost looked like…?

Martha sat up, not daring to finish that thought. And now that she was up, her real Sunday could begin. Sunday was Aguas family day, which meant going to church in the morning, then off to lunch. It was all a part of the routine she loved so much. And part of that routine was making a phone call first thing in the morning.

She picked up her phone. As usual, the person on the other end of the line took a few rings to pick up.

Mmm, a deep, rumbly voice hummed, and Martha’s entire body stiffened in surprise. She placed her hand on her chest, remembering her little fantasy, and tried to push it aside. But fantasies were stubborn bastards, and now the man in her fantasies took the face and shape of Max Angeles, her best friend.

Shuta, bes. Patay.

…Max? she asked hesitantly, like she couldn’t believe he had managed to produce such a sexy sound without opening his mouth.

Yes, gorgeous? His voice was rough and velvety, the exact kind of voice Martha was just fantasizing about moments ago. Mmmm. Good morning. I missed my Sunday morning wake-up call last week.

She was thinking of what to say when she heard him laugh, his voice smothered by a pillow. Clearly he found all of this amusing, and Martha huffed.

He was teasing her. Of course he

Reviews for If the Dress Fits

[L'eau · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It's a sweet story touching on the issues of the problems driven by societies' emphasis on outward appearances. After reading the author's acknowledgements, I am more appreciative of how this book was written. The story also allows me to understand why some of my colleagues do what they do, even though, much like the hero, I feel very indignant for my colleagues about their feelings of obligation to their families because it always looks very one-sided to me.