“But it’s the first one I’ve tried on.” I gesture to the others still hanging on the wall. “Let’s at least see the rest.”
She sighs, her shoulders drooping on her exhale, but she hands me each dress, and I try them on one-by-one. The black, silky one is “too mature” and apparently the forest green dress washes me out. To my surprise, I’m not a huge fan of the way the yellow dress looks once I’m wearing it. But as soon as the ice blue gown is in place, my insides flood with warmth. “Mom,” I whisper, “I love it.” I take out my phone and capture this moment on my camera for the girls, hittingsend.
The dress is the perfect shade of blue, understated in a way that highlights my features, hugging all the right places. It’s made in a comfortable, stretchy fabric that also appears to be high quality.
“It’s not as good as the red one,” she states.
I spin away from my reflection to face her. “What are you talking about? It’s perfect!”
But Mom is shaking her head, a troubled expression plain on her face. “No, no, it’s no good, Bardot. I’m not letting you go to that dance in anything less than what you deserve.” She stands and picks up her purse before reaching for the red dress hanging on the wall. “I’ll go pay for this while you change.” She rushes from the dressing room before I’m able to process her words.
“Mom!”
But the door closes behind her and as her footsteps retreat, I’m left staring at my stricken face, glossy eyes, and parted lips in the mirror.
Is she for real?
I half expect her to come rushing back to the dressing room, apology fresh on her lips, ready to buy me the dress I’m currently wearing. The dress I actually like. But instead, the silence surrounding me is a presence heavier than the pit in my stomach.
I study the beautiful, ice blue garment on my body as if I can somehow will it to never come off. When I slip out of it, I don’t even bother taking it with me. I just leave it hanging on the wall in the dressing room.
I search for Mom once I exit the stall, finding no one except a mother pushing a stroller with a whining, small child in it. I walk around until I catch sight of the back of her red coat near the register in the center of the store. She turns when I approach her, bag in hand and wearing a smile void of guilt. “Ready, sweetie?” She squeezes my shoulder and we walk toward the exit together.
I think about the dance this Saturday. I think about the way Mom is acting, how excited I was for her to be here, and how I now just want the next few weeks to hurry up and pass. Because this woman isn’t my mother. At least, not the mother I remember.
“Ready,” I say.
I shove the dress in my closet when I get home. I don’t even want to look at it. Even worse, when I check my phone I see several texts from Mabel and Rue, gushing over the picture I sent them of me wearing the blue dress.
I call Zayne, speaking into the phone as soon as he answers. “My mom is driving me crazy.”
“What do you mean? How is that possible?”
“Something’s up with her,” I say through the thickness in my throat. “I don’t know. She just seems different.”
His voice is gentle. “Hey, calm down. Don’t worry. She’s probably just adjusting to being back, right?”
I nod, though I know he can’t tell. “Yeah. What are you doing right now?”
“I was just reading. Do you need me to come over?”
Someone knocks on my door. “It’s me,” Beau says.
“No, that’s alright. Get back to your book, you nerd.”
Zayne doesn’t mistake the fondness in my voice. He laughs. “Bye.”
I open the door. “Please tell me you got ahold of Aunt Lucille.”
“Nope,” he says. He holds up his phone to show me the massive amounts of messages he’s sent her with no response. “Ready to talk to Dad yet?”
I bite my lip. “No. Let’s just see how things go from here. Maybe she’s just having an off day.”
He sighs dramatically. “Fine.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mom seems fine over the next two days. There’s no school because Thanksgiving is on Thursday, so we actually get to spend time together. We cook a stockpile of meals to go in the freezer so we’ll have food after she leaves. She paints my nails. I braid her hair and she takes it out because her scalp is sensitive. We play a board game as a family when Dad comes home from work. Beau’s pouting is replaced by smiles and laughter for once.
