I was a girl. I knew this firsthand. And already, I'd been hogging the place for far too long.
Forcing some cheer into my voice, I called out, "I'll be out in a minute."
I used that minute to smooth my hair and practice smiling in front of the mirror.See, everything's fine.
Except it wasn't.
Because as soon as I opened the door, I wanted to slam it shut again.
And why? Because it washer.And I didn’t mean my momorthe redhead.
Chapter 11
At the sight of her, I tried not to cringe – and not only because she was dressed like a hooker at Mardi-Gras. "Aunt Tabitha?"
From the look on her face, she was just as delighted to see me as I was to see her. "Cassidy." She glanced downward. "Nice dress."
Funny to think, it was the exact same thing I'd heard from the redhead. This time, I didn't bother returning the compliment. Knowing Aunt Tabitha, she was here for a reason, and itwasn'tto exchange niceties.
Besides, her dress was definitely on the nasty side.
When I made no reply, she gave my dress a longer look. "Youdoknow I picked it out, don't you?"
Ididn'tknow. But I wasn't terribly surprised. Aunt Tabitha had been a clothing designer back in the day – or so she claimed.
Honestly, I didn't quite believe her – just like I didn't quite believe my rotten luck of seeing herhereof all places. Then again, luck probably had little to do with it.
I glanced down at my outfit. Praying for some sort of peaceful resolution, I said, "Well, you did a nice job, of picking it out, I mean."
"I know." She gave me a thin smile. "And I need it back."
I tensed. "What?"
"The dress," she said. "I need it."
"You're joking, right?"
Her mouth tightened. "I never joke about clothes."
This much was true. I'd known Aunt Tabitha my whole life. She didn't joke about a lot of things.
It was really strange, too. Everyone always said she had a great sense of humor. But I'd never seen it, or rather, she'd never wasted the effort onme.
Aunt Tabitha looked a lot like my mom. Her hair was long, dark and luscious. Her lips were very full – naturally and with a little help from her cosmetologist. I knew this, because she and my mom went to the same place.
I crossed my arms. "Sorry, but you can't have the dress."
"Why not?" she demanded.
Wasn't it obvious?"Because I'm wearing it."
"So?" she said. "You can have mine."
I gave her dress a long, horrified look. No doubt, the thing cost a fortune. One thing about Aunt Tabitha, she never wore anything cheap.
But the truth was, when it came to the dress she was wearing now, there simply wasn't enough of it.
It was red and sparkly with nothing to keep it up on topordown on the bottom. It was like a big, festive bandage, cut so low on her chest and so high on her thighs that she was one good sneeze away from flashing whatever body part happened to pop out first.
