I push past her toward my door. “I just need a couple minutes to change, and then we can leave.” I fumble with my key, finally jerking them from my pocket and jamming it into the lock.
“You need to hurry,” she says as my door swings open.
“You can just take the present and go without me.” I point to the nicely wrapped gift that I left sitting on the front table, so I wouldn’t forget to bring it.
“You aren’t going to wear that are you?” She ignores my suggestion.
“No, Mom. I just need to change. It’ll be quick.”
“Let me come upstairs! I’ll fix your hair while you do your makeup.”
“It’s fine.” I smooth the loose bun I have my curls piled into. Still damp. I washed it at Ant’s. At the time, I thought it was really convenient that he had all my favorite products. He said he’d been experimenting with his fur, and now I’m realizing he must have known which brands I used. Has anyone I’ve dated paid that much attention to what I like? It’d be sweet if it weren’t so creepy. Crap. I’m such an idiot. “I just want to put on a clean change of clothes.”
Mom follows me into the apartment and up the stairs to my bedroom. “Oh, this is such a nice apartment, Piper. Shame you’ll have to move now.”
“I’m not moving,” I tell her. “I like it here.”
It’s a great location—two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a perfect little backyard, lots of cute details, hardwood floors, central air, and decent-sized closets. Everything you could want in an apartment. Except that a deranged Mothman knows I livehere, and has been watching me closely enough to know what kind of shampoo I buy. Maybe I should move.
“You can’t stay here, darling,” Mom casually insists.
“Wait, why do you think I can’t stay here?” I ask.
“Men don’t like it when you have a nicer place than them.”
I freeze in the middle of my bedroom. I’m definitely not getting a new apartment now. “Men?”
“You know what I mean, dear.” Mom’s voice pitches higher. “I know you make plenty of money on your own. You are so gosh-danged accomplished. I’m so proud of you! But whoever you’re with, they’ll want to feel needed. And you’ve got less time, now that you're single and?—"
“Getting older?” I ask, knowing exactly where my mother is going.
“I didn’t make the rules! It’s a timing issue for women. I know you want a family. Kids and a husband—" Her voice comes from my bathroom.
"A husband?" My exhausted sigh is covered by the distinctive sound of her rummaging through my bathroom drawers.
"You know what I mean—" She stops herself mid sentence. She tries to be understanding of my sexuality, but never quite gets it right. "A spouse!"
I poke my head around the corner to see that she’s plugging in the curling iron she’s pulled from my vanity.
I slip a ‘Bookmarks are for Quitters’ shirt out of my dresser, and move to the bathroom to unplug the curling iron.
Mom looks at the shirt clutched in my hand. “Maybe, wear the yellow dress? The one you wore for Easter last year.”
“I don’t need to wear a dress like that to a child’s birthday party.” It’s one of the few Mom approved outfits in my closet because she bought it for me for family photos. I do look really good in it, but it’s much fancier than this event calls for.
“Never hurts to look your best, dear.” She’s already moving to my closet.
“It’s dirty, Mom. It needs to be dry cleaned.??1” I discard my dirty Halloween costume on top of my overflowing hamper, and pull the clean shirt over my head.
“Are you sure that you don’t want help with your hair?”
“I don’t need help, Mom.”
“Alright darling, alright.”
I reach for my favorite sitting down jeans, pausing briefly when I catch sight of Colin’s side of the closet fully cleaned out. At least I get more storage space now. I change into clean underwear and slip the jeans on.
Mom makes a face that expresses her clear disapproval for my outfit.
