When Mama proudly presents me with my Small Woman costume at our final dress rehearsal, I gasp when I glimpse the neon yellow top and the bright red bottom.
She screams back that it’s a beautiful dress. I tell her I’m going to look like a small bug in it, and she tells me not to speak so rudely.
“I did not raise you to talk that way, young lady,” she says with a pointed stare. “Now put on the dress and let’s take a look.”
It’s just as I suspected. I look like a cross between an ant and a bumblebee.
“That is not true,” Mama says.
“Billowy red skirt, skimpy black and gold striped top. Ant and bumblebee, Mama.”
After a few alterations, it’s no better. Mama skulks away, muttering something about Small Woman being beautiful, and I sigh.
When I get up on the stage to rehearse, I forget my lines. Millie, the director, admonishes me that tomorrow is opening night, there will be a full house, and I better not forget then. I apologize as Mama brings out the script to me with a glare.
“I told you,” I say to the leper now-turned beauty. “I told you he’d love you anyway. He always has, and it’s not the looks. It’s what’s inside you.”
Right, it’s not the looks. Why would the whole play be based around how she’s improved her external appearance if it doesn’t matter?
Mama frowns at me when I tell her this. She tells me to go home and get some sleep, saying I clearly need it.
So I drive home, feeling lonely, feeling sad, and cursingQueen Austenand the fact that I agreed to be in it.
My phone rings as I’m pulling into my driveway.
“Macey!” Mrs. Rattles sounds out of breath and raspy.
“Are you all right? You sound sick.”
“Just a small case of pneumonia. Nothing that a few pills won’t fix.”
“Pneumonia! Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Now that most of the wedding pieces are in place, Mrs. Rattles has surged back into the forefront, not wanting to be left out.
“There’s no time for bed when my daughter’s about to get hitched!” Mrs. Rattles enters into a coughing fit that lasts for over a minute. I know because I’m staring at the clock on my dashboard.
“I’m fine, really,” she says finally. “Now, the wedding’s just over a week away. In terms of the flowers…”
“Gin told me about them being short on daffodils. Not a problem. I’ll stop by the store later and pick out…”
“Unbelievable, these people,” she says, cutting me off. “They don’t know anything, do they? I bet Gigi isn’t having our problems!”
I’m sure she’s not.
I go inside and deal with the flowers. And I write.
But I toss and turn all night.
When I wake up the next morning, I’ve got dark circles under my eyes. Just the look I’m going for when I get up on stage tonight. Luckily, Riley’s agreed to do my makeup beforehand.
I sit at my desk in the liquor room with my laptop in front of me all morning and write my novel.
I’m trying not to be nervous. But I am nervous even though I only have a couple of lines. Mama’s terrified I’m going to humiliate her even though she’s never said as much out loud. And I don’t want to let her down.
* * *
As I walk into Hair ‘N Nails, I realize I’m the last one here.
