So strict.
Somomlike.
“Was Lance Hanson every bit the dreamboat you thought he was the night of prom?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “You know how boys are at your age. Things have changed—but notthatmuch.” Her eyes twinkle with pleasure.“He wasn’t the greatest company. I think he spent more time in the bathroom fixing his hair than dancing. He was definitely more in love with himself than he was with me.”
Ha. I bet.
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t end up married to him,” I tease playfully, fiddling with the bracelet around my wrist.
She laughs, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes and I wonder if her mind strayed to Dad. My parents met in college and used to be attached at the hip. But now? There’s so much left unsaid between them; the quiet tension filling the house on a nightly basis makes it feel like we’re living in a funeral home.
It’s so depressing.
“Yeah, thank goodness for that,” she says quietly.
Mom looks down at her hands, toying with the hem of her sleeve, as though weighing her next words carefully. “I like to think I’ve made better choices since Lance. Mostly.”
“Mom…” I start, then hesitate. This isn’t the time to dive headfirst into what’s going on between her and Dad.
Not tonight.
Tonight is supposed to be about me.
About prom.
But the question slips out before I can stop it. “Are you okay?”
Her head lifts slightly, and her lips curve into a soft, almost tired smile.
“Sweetie, I’m fine.” Her sigh is quiet, almost wistful. “We all have moments when we think someone is more important than they are.”
Is she talking about Dad? Or are we still talking about her prom date from twenty-five years ago?
I’m so lost.
She unclasps her hands, staring down at her fingernails, caught up in a memory.
“That’s the funny thing—prom isn’t necessarily about the person you go to the dance with. It’s about what you make of the night. How you feel in that moment. I didn’t have a great date, but I had fun with my friends. I still danced. I still made memories. We had a blast.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy and freeing at the same time, as she steps toward the closet and pulls my dress off the hook, holding it up for my inspection.
Her hand glides down the bodice, smoothing invisible creases.
“Harper.” She pauses, her shoulders rising as she takes a deep breath. “Sweetie, I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you planned with Easton. I know you were hoping he was going to ask you to be his date.”
That’s putting a nice spin on it.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her gently, putting on a brave face. “He likes someone else. It’s not the end of the world.”
And it isn’t. Mom’s right—tonight doesn’t have to revolve around having a date. I didn’t even plan to have one in the first place—it was supposed to be me, my dress, and a night to remember!
Who says I can’t still have that?
“I know you had different expectations for tonight,” Mom says hesitantly, as if she doesn’t want to pry. “And I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything perfect for you. But you’ve done so much to make tonight special—not just for yourself but for everyone else. That’s something to be proud of. No one can take that away from you.”
Her words warm me from the inside, the sting of emotion softening into something brighter, something lighter. I nod, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.
