Mebel finds herself cackling along with them. She’d been hesitant about this whole thing, but now that these girls are here, she has that wonderful feeling again, like she’s about to step into something glorious and fun. They cheer when Gemma pops open the bottle of sparkling wine. She pours them each a generous glug and they hold their glasses up in the air.
“To Mebs,” Gemma says. “Once a baddie, always a baddie.”
“Aiya, I’m not sure I like this ‘baddie.’ It sounds like bad guy.”
“No, it’s not like a bad guy!” Gemma says.
“It’s more like a bad bitch,” Bella says.
“A bitch?” Mebel says in horror. “That is very rude word to call me!”
“Oh, we’ve reclaimed it,” Bella says.
“What does that mean, reclaim it?”
Bella and Gemma look at each other and narrow their eyes as they consider it, then Gemma says, “Well, men use the word ‘bitch’ to penalize women for daring to disagree with them. We don’t like that this word has so much power over us, so we took it and we made it ours. We took away its meaning from being something derogatory to something affectionate that we call ourselves and our friends. Now, when men use it against us, it no longer has so much power behind it.”
For a long while, all Mebel can do is stare at them with her mouth slightly parted. Reclaiming something is such a foreign concept to Mebel that it takes some time for her brain to break it down into digestible pieces and absorb it. Mebel hasn’t been called a bitch very many times in her life for two reasons: the first being that it’s not a word commonly used in Indonesian culture, and the second being that pleasing people, and men in particular, has been so ingrained in her that she would never be capable of angering a man so badly that he would call her such a name. All Henk ever had to do was say, “I don’t like that,” or worse, “Why are you like this?” and Mebel would hit the brakes on whatever she was doing and do a desperate backpedal. Put quite simply, Mebel has never been considered a bitch, not because she isn’t one, but because she is too well muzzled to be one. And she used to think it was a good thing, that she was always inoffensive to the men around her, but what if it’s…not?
“Did we break her?” Bella says softly to Gemma.
“Mebs? You okay, babe?”
Mebel takes a deep breath and gives herself a small shake of the head. “You young people have many funny ideas,” she says.
“Have more wine,” Bella says, “then you won’t find our ideas so weird.”
Chuckling, Mebel takes another sip. She is disconcerted not just because of the whole concept of reclaiming slurs, but also by the realization that these young people are teaching her something. In Chinese culture, this would be unthinkable. Age is a hierarchy, and the older you get, the more respect you garner just by way of your age. Anything an elder says to a younger person is worth its weight in gold, even if what the elder says is: “Know what would be a good idea? Changing your name to Princess Underpants.” Conversely, anything a younger person says to their elder is worthless and can be immediately forgotten, like a fart in the wind. And now here are these youngsters, younger even than Mebel’s own son, and they’re saying things that, really, Mebel should dismiss out of hand because these girls are barely out of their teens, but the things they’re saying actually make sense, unfortunately. What is the world coming to when people under the age of fifty can speak sense and demand respect?
“Show us your outfit for tonight,” Gemma says, clapping with girlish excitement.
As always, Gemma’s effervescent joy is contagious. Mebel feels it infecting her as she pulls her outfit out of her closet, and for a moment, she chastises herself for being childish, but then she dismisses the self-consciousness. Maybe it’s the wine. Whatever it is, Mebel wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world, standing in her dorm room that is barely big enough to fit the three of them, drinking cheap sparkling wine, and poring over outfits with these two girls.
“Ohhh, Mebs,” Gemma breathes. “That is divine.”
“Mebs, has anyone told you that you are one posh broad?” Bella says.
Mebel preens. She has a feeling that “broad,” like “bitch,” is a reclaimed word. They are reclaiming a lot of things tonight. There is a moment of silence as they all admire her outfit. It is a sleeveless A-line dress from Fendi, with a demure high collar. The fabric, which is made of silk crepe satin, feels like water to the touch and shimmers liquidly under the light. The dress itself ends above the knees, and Mebel is pairing it with knee-high Louboutin boots and gold hoop earrings, as well as a patterned scarf from Hermès.
“To think,” Gemma says, “we came here to help you get ready, but you clearly do not need us!”
“We’re always needed,” Bella says.
“That’s true.” Gemma pats the dress lovingly. “Okay, let’s do your hair and makeup, then you can get dressed. Look what I brought.” She turns around and lifts a bag from the table. “Ta-da! My makeup kit.”
Mebel looks down as Gemma unzips the bag, brandishing the messiest collection of half-used makeup. “Oh no,” she says.
“No?” Gemma looks like Mebel has just kicked her puppy.
“I’m sorry,” Mebel says, “but later I will get pink eye from using your makeup.”
Bella bursts out laughing as Gemma pouts. “I keep my stuff clean!” Gemma cries.
Both Bella and Mebel give her a look. Then Mebel says, “I show you my makeup set.” With that, she opens the drawer at her dressing table, and the two girls gasp in awe.
“Oh my gosh, it’s like a Pinterest photo,” Gemma says.
Bella reaches out and caresses the neatly arranged rows ofmakeup with admiration. “Chanel, Dior, Shiseido, La Mer…wow, none of this is from Boots.” They both stare at the collection with such intensity that Mebel has to clear her throat to get their attention.
