“Really?” A giant smile takes over her face, making both her dimples appear.
“Yes, I enjoy the way Bonte does her makeup.”
“She has great style.” Mac pauses, pulling back the mascara in her hand. “Have you ever thought about what your style is? Those buttoned shirts and black pants aren’t considered a style either.”
“They are functional.”
“I get that, but that’s not what I asked.”
“I can appreciate when I see things. Like I said, I enjoy what Bonte wears.”
“I love the way you word shit.” She goes back to doing my makeup. “We should go on a shopping trip.”
“That might be nice.”
“Should we do it before we go wedding dress shopping or after?” I know she’s teasing, but now my mind is wondering what kind of wedding dress I would want to wear.
“It could be one of those quick weddings you do in an office.”
“Right,” Mac laughs.
“What’s so funny?” A proper wedding should be between two people in love. This will be transactional.
“Aunt Tova.”
“You think she wants a wedding?”
“I do, and you know it too.” She shrugs. We both also know my mom would never push such a thing, but Mac is right.
Mom would want a wedding. This is something I need to think about. Would there be any real harm if I had a wedding if only to make my mom happy? She doesn’t ask for anything, and it always warms me when I see her happy.
“I’m going to do a matte lip stain on your lips. It’s a deep plum that will complement your hair and complexion.” She does a chef’s kiss. “It’s also called Bad Little Thing.” I part my lips as Nix has taught me to do on the occasions that she talked me into one of her many makeovers. I don’t put up a ton of resistance. All I have to do is sit there.
When Mac is done, she starts doing her own hair and makeup. She has her mom’s red hair. Mac has more waves to her hair than curls. She too has an interesting style, being that you never know what she might show up wearing.
One day she’s in sweats, and the next, a dress. She told me once that she dresses for her mood. That’s an intriguing concept. My clothes are rather boring. When I was little, it was a lot of pink, bows, and tulle. Once I was old enough to ditch it, I would steal my brother’s clothes and pick things that fit and weren’t itchy or annoyingly in my way.
I change into the black mini dress I’d been given a year ago as a gift from Nix. I probably should have checked to make sure it fit. I wiggle into it.
“It’s snug.” I huff and pull at the fabric.
“Damn, girl!” Mac stares at me, her mouth dropped open. “I mean, I knew you had a body, but holy hell. You have curves for days.”
“Is it okay?” I ask, turning in a circle to see myself in the mirror. The thing fits like a second skin except for the bottom that hits a touch above mid-thigh. It flares a little when you turn.
“Lose the bra.” I take it off because she’s right. You can see the straps. The ones on the dress are thin, and I think useless.
“Let me put the heels on. They’re not crazy ones. A couple of inches.” I’m on the shorter side, but I have been practicing wearing them. I thought I might need to dress up to blend in at the retreat. Pretty girls all dolled up can get in and out of places. Sure, my last name can too, but you don’t always want people to know who you are.
I slip them on, and Mac comes up behind me. “Lift your hair.” I do as she requests, and she slips a black choker around my neck. She rests her chin on my shoulder, both of us staring in the mirror at me. “Perfect, let’s roll.”
“Which vehicle are we taking?”
“Damn, cuz.” Damon sits up from the couch he was sprawled out on. He must have gotten here while we were getting ready. “You look good.”
“Thank you.” He fights a smile, and I want to ask why, but I don’t.
“He’s our ride.”
