K.
The front door opens behind me and Mom comes out with her purse slung across her body. She grins at me and walks past me to get to the car. “Let’s go.”
I follow her and get in the passenger seat.Play it cool. Just play it cool.
“Thanks for taking me.” The words come out almost as light as I intend them. If she detects any traces of unease in my tone, she doesn’t show it.
“Absolutely. Do you know what color dress you want? I’m thinking an ice blue or forest green would look lovely on you.”
I abandon my ideas of yellow and offer her a weak nod. “That sounds perfect.”
We drive toward the mall. I stare out the window, watching the occasional dog and owner walk by, or a kid on a bike as we draw nearer. The day is warm with a cool breeze, and I pull down the sleeves of my mustard cardigan from my elbows to my wrists so I can fiddle with the edge. I send a group text to Mable and Rue.
Me
Not going to make it. Sorry guys. :(
Mabel
What??
Rue
How come?
Me
My mom wants to take me. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. I feel bad, I’m sorry.
Rue
Oh. That’s okay, Dot.
Mabel
Have fun with your mom and send us pics of your dress!!!
I feel an immense sense of relief that they aren’t mad. I release my breath and try to stay positive. There might not be anything wrong with Mom. Maybe she’s just in a funk.
When we reach the mall, Mom finds a parking spot near the entrance of her favorite department store. We make our way toward it through the parking lot. Under different circumstances, I’d find this outing exciting. After all, a shopping day with her would have sounded like a dream come true to me yesterday, or last week. Part of me is happy to be spending timewith her at all, but the overwhelming worry surging through me right now is much stronger than any positive emotion.
The automatic doors open for us as we step into the brightly lit, colorful store. Special occasion dresses adorn the walls in a seasonal display, and the smell of expensive perfume tickles my nose. The hum of chatter buzzes in my ears as we gravitate toward the nearest cluster of dresses.
“Look at this one, Bardot,” Mom says, pulling a ruby red gown off the rack. “You would look exquisite in this dress.”
The compliment warms me, but still I’m on edge. “What happened to ice blue or forest green?”
She clicks. “You should at least try it on. I’ll hold onto it while we keep looking.” She folds the dress over her arm and sucks her lip in concentration as she shifts several garments around on the rack. She shows me a strapless black gown made of a sleek, silky material, and a baby pink dress covered in shimmery sequins. We even find a sparkly yellow one that makes my cheeks lift into a smile. When she finally finds dresses in her coveted color palette, we go to the dressing room. For a moment, it feels like old times, when she’d take me shopping for outfits resembling those I’d find and fall in love with online and in fashion magazines.
Mom hangs up the dresses on the hook in our stall and I slip out of my school uniform. We have the kind of relationship that prevents me from being embarrassed to undress in front of her.But apparently not the kind that allows her to be honest with me.
“You can never go wrong with classic red,” she tells me as I pull the thick fabric up my body. “It’s the ultimate eye-catcher.”
I look in the mirror once the zipper is in place. The dress is indeed eye-catching, almost loud in a way that screams,Look at me!
“I don’t know,” I tell her, fiddling with the thin shoulder straps. “It seems like a bit much.”
She shakes her head. “No such thing. Bardot, this dress is the one.”
