It fell right below my knees and wrapped around my curves without squeezing them too much.
“What do you say?” she asked hopefully.
“Eh, it’s too dressy.”
It was actually made for someone who was tall and slender like her. It didn’t do anything for my wide hips and rounded belly.
“You look great, June.”
“It’s a bit tight on me. If I sit down I’ll pop a stitch.”
“What are you talking about? You look gorgeous,” she insisted, bringing me to the mirror.
I kept my head down as a wave of blond hair covered my face. My mom gathered it on my shoulders.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Why should I?”
“June, look in the mirror. You look gorgeous, how could you not like it?”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
I would’ve had a laundry list of objective reasons. My thighs were so soft that they rubbed against each other, same with my arms. Not to mention my round face, the rolls on my stomach, and the stretch marks on my legs.
But my mom didn’t seem to notice any of that. She studied me with dreamy eyes.
“It doesn’t fit me, Mom.”
“Then change,” she said, resigning herself.
“No, I mean—”
“I don’t want you to wear something just to make me happy, but if you could make a sacrifice . . .”
I decided to make what was a small effort for me but would be a major source of joy for her. For once, I appeased her.
“Okay,” I muttered.
I pulled my hair into an updo, leaving a few strands to fall on my face.
“Very sophisticated,” she said, satisfied, even though she didn’t have a clue about style or good taste.
“Thanks, Mom. That’s definitely a compliment coming from you.” She obviously didn’t pick up on my sarcasm. “I really look like a crazy artist’s daughter,” I commented, giving myself a final once-over in the mirror.
“And I look like the crazy artist’s daughter’s sister, right?” Welcome to the insecurity carnival.
“Yeah, Mom. You look very hip.”
“Hot, remember that.”
“Let Jordan say that,” I teased.
The ride over was short, too short for my liking. I didn’t know that the man lived a few blocks away from us. My mom put lipstick on for the hundredth time before getting out of the car. I rolled my eyes. The night hadn’t even started and my patience was already wearing thin.
“You think he spent three hours getting ready? It would’ve already have been a lot if he even took a shower,” I provoked her, opening the car door.
“June, don’t start with that now.”
