CHAPTER ONE

Girl, Are You Sure About This?

“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.”
—Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Gina Biletti snuggled into her new rose-colored armchair, which hugged her like a giant marshmallow. She was particularly pleased with her choice of color, perfect for concealing any future wine spills.

She fiddled with her laptop, primping for the video preview. A fizzy cocktail of excitement and dread bubbled in her stomach. This wasn’t just any old Zoom call—it was a consultation with Dr. Cerrone Narine of Narine + Papazian, which was the crème de la crème of Beverly Hills med-spas. The place was so exclusive that even the Kardashians wouldn’t dare set foot inside without a coveted appointment.

A year ago, Gina would have scoffed at the mere idea of “having work done.” She’d been one of those holier-than-thou types who rolled her eyes at the shallow, desperate women who went under the knife—or needle. But that was before her life had completely imploded. Her painful divorce and an unexpected layoff had tag-teamed her in the same godforsaken week, leaving her ego more bruised than a month-old banana and her face a map of worry lines.

Then came salvation in the form of her new gig as Maidenwell’s Hospitality Director. The job came with a personal care allowance so generous it made her head spin—covering everything from a wardrobe overhaul to hair treatments and, yes, even cosmetic procedures. 

Her bestie Danielle, ever the enabler, had cooed that a few injectables were just “temporary tweaks” and “everyone was doing it.” Fueled by Danielle’s encouragement and a healthy dose of Pinot Noir, Gina had decided to dip her toe into the fountain of youth. 

So last year Gina and Danielle had taken an unforgettable girls’ trip to LA. It was part ‘last hurrah,’ part ‘let’s make you fabulous before your new job.’ 

Danielle, with her enviable high-powered PR connections, had worked her magic and secured Gina an appointment at Narine + Papazian. 

Gina could still remember the nerves twisting in her stomach as she sat in the waiting room, trying to distract herself by flipping through magazines. Danielle had squeezed her hand, whispering, “It’s going to be amazing. Trust me.” 

And amazing it was. The skilled hands of Dr. Narine had worked wonders, smoothing out the worry lines and erasing the harsh evidence of her emotional rollercoaster. Every glance in the mirror since had been a delightful surprise—she looked like herself, only a version that had slept better and laughed less. Or at least laughed less visibly.

Gina snapped back to the present. The video call with Dr. Narine was about to begin, and she couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in her stomach, just like she had during her first visit to the fancy med-spa.

Gina and Danielle were planning another girls’ trip to LA next month, and Gina had scheduled a refresh with Dr. Narine to coincide with the getaway. 

She loved this gently improved version of herself, but the idea of even more procedures still gave her a case of the jitters, a tiny voice in her head whispering, Girl, are you sure about this? On top of everything, she had been watching a bunch of YouTube videos and was thinking of stepping it up a notch. But she wasn’t sure if she should.

Gina took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes and holding it in, as if she could will away the jitters through sheer force of concentration. When she finally exhaled and opened her eyes, she was greeted by an unexpected sight: a small gray cat strolled into the room like she owned the place, her tail held high and a certain swagger in her step.

The little gray feline’s sudden appearance caught Gina off guard. She was still adjusting to having a furry companion around, even if it was just temporary.

Pixel was her friend Millicent’s newly-adopted cat. Gina had happily volunteered for pet-sitting duty while Millicent and her boyfriend, Elliott, were off on a weekend getaway to the Bay Area to catch a performance by Zepparella, an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band that Elliott was obsessed with. 

The cat leaped onto Gina’s lap with the grace of a ballerina, nuzzling against her hand in a clear demand for attention. Gina couldn’t resist scratching at the base of Pixel’s tail, eliciting a contented purr.

Pixel purred against her palm, a tiny furnace of calm. Maybe she should get a kitty of her own. 

Gina grew up with cats, but when she moved in with Erik, pets were off the table. He claimed he was allergic, but she always suspected he simply didn’t like animals. 

Now he was gone, and the idea hit her like a permission slip she hadn’t realized she was waiting for. She could have a cat again.

She pictured the whole domestic fantasy: the toy mouse graveyard under the couch, the shredded curtains she’d pretend to be mad about, the soft thump of paws following her around the house. Chaos with whiskers. Worth it.

Pixel nuzzled closer, her warm body a soothing presence. Gina’s nerves about the procedures began to melt away, replaced by a quiet sense of determination.

As the video call connected, Dr. Narine’s flawless face filled the screen, a walking advertisement for her own services. “Hello, Gina! It’s such a pleasure to see you again,” she gushed. Her gaze zeroed in on the ball of fur in Gina’s lap. “And who’s your little friend there?”

Gina held up the cat to the camera, as if she was Simba in the Lion King. “Oh, this is Pixel. I’m cat-sitting for my friend.” She gave Pixel a little scratch behind the ears, and the cat started purring like a mini motor.

“What a cutey,” Dr. Narine cooed. “So, how have you been enjoying the results of our last session? You look fantastic, by the way.”

Gina preened at the compliment, conveniently forgetting that she’d spent a ridiculous amount of time getting all dolled up for this call. Like, forty-five minutes of outfit changes, makeup layers, and hair wrangling. All for a video chat with her plastic surgeon. Totally normal, right?

“Thank you, Dr. Narine. I can’t even begin to tell you how thrilled I am. All your voodoo—it’s been fantastic.” Gina grinned, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl who’d been told she was pretty by her crush. 

Dr. Narine chuckled, but there was a hint of disapproval in her voice. “I’m glad to hear that, Gina. My goal is to help my patients feel their very best. Although we generally avoid words like voodoo or magic. It’s science—pure and simple. The science of beauty.”

She glanced down at her iPad, her perfectly polished nail scrolling through Gina’s chart. “I see it’s been just shy of a year since your last visit, hasn’t it?”

Gina nodded, hyper-aware of the fine lines around her eyes. “That’s right. And I’ve noticed a few… unwelcome guests creeping back in.” She gestured to her face, half-joking, half-mortified. The price of admission to midlife, written in parentheses.

Dr. Narine gave a sympathetic smile. “Well, unfortunately, the procedures don’t last forever,” she said. “Botox typically lasts about three to six months, and the filler we used for your nasolabial folds lasts twelve months maximum. Usually eight.”

Gina sighed, feeling a mix of resignation and acceptance. At first, she naively believed these sorts of cosmetic procedures were kind of “one-and-done,” like getting your tonsils out. Nope.

“My recommendation would be a refresh,” Dr. Narine said. “We’ll start with a touch of Botox for those expression lines, and perhaps a bit more filler to soften the area around your mouth. Nothing drastic, just enough to keep you looking fresh and rejuvenated.”

As Dr. Narine outlined the treatment plan, Gina found herself nodding along. It all sounded so reasonable, so… necessary. And yet, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, ‘Is this really you, Gina? What happened to aging gracefully?’

She pushed the thought aside. This was the new Gina. The Gina who took care of herself, who refused to let life’s curveballs show on her face.

“Sounds good to me.” Gina hesitated for a second, then took a deep breath. “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you about, Dr. Narine…”