Pieces of Me Read Free Page A

down the half-size house salads in front of us. Hers without dressing and mine with a barely there vinaigrette. I saw Mother’s half sneer as I dripped the dressing over the lettuce. The plate was barely larger than a teacup saucer, and there were maybe six bites of produce, total. We never lingered over dessert, not even birthday cakes, and heaven forbid we have a substantial lunch. My mother wasn’t fat, but by all memory I’d never seen her indulge in anything fatty, or hearty, for that matter. It was as if she was so tightly controlled that any given bite might mean the whole of her soul unraveling.
    A dozen deep breaths later, she offered a new topic. “I have my book club meeting Monday night.” She spoke while cutting a lettuce leaf into sixteen tiny pieces. One so small it barely stayed on a single fork tine long enough to make it into her mouth.
    Grab and hold on
. “Oh? What’s the book?”
    She blotted her lips with the napkin and finished chewing. I almost counted along with her. Sixteen chews, then swallow. She’d tried to instill this magical number in me from toddler time on. “Some novel about friends and divorces. It got wonderful reviews on Amazon.”
    “You didn’t read it?” I knew she hadn’t. She didn’t read. Shewent to book club for the gossip and the wine. She left the reading to online reviewers. I highly doubted anyone in her club actually read the book itself.
Ever
.
    “No time. You know how busy I am.”
    I nodded, trying to keep my mouth full. I didn’t want to hear about weight creeping in when I wasn’t watching.
Ninja calories
.
    Mother shooed away the dessert tray and set her credit card on the table without even checking the bill. “Shall we go find a lovely outfit for us?” She seemed relieved to move again.
    We hadn’t been inside the city’s oldest, and most notable, department store ten minutes before she tried to make me into her, one piece of clothing at a time.
    “This would look lovely on you.” Mother held up a pair of slacks and a beige blouse that had the personality of a uniform and the ability to insult no one. Of course, they cost more than most car payments, and we were two floors from any department my peers might frequent. Was money the reason my parents split? All Father talked about was saving, and Mother seemed to shop as her hobby.
    “Hmm.” I was noncommittal.
What do I say? She’s trying. Right?
    “Something else, then?” She set them back and shooed away a salesperson. She oohed and aahed over a tweed pantsuit and a silk blouse that looked like variations on the theme of her closet. We worked our way around the floor until we were within eyesight of the special-occasion section. Sequins and ruffles, shiny jewels sparkled against midnight draping on mannequins with ballerina proportions. Something eager must have shown on my face, because Mother picked up on my expression and nudged me closer to the gowns.
Maybe she hopes we can bond over sparkles?
    “I need a suitable dress for the Art Museum Gala. I have one I can wear, but I’d rather get a new piece of fabulous.” Mother shared this as if I knew about all of her social events, as if I was invited to any.
    “The black and white gala?” I winced, hoping it wasn’t the masquerade- or the ocean-themed.
    “Something black, I think.” She nodded.
    I tried to appear interested but felt a pull away from the artfully displayed but interchangeable little black dresses and toward a creation the color of clear sunlit sky. I’d never seen anything like it. Layers of every shade of blue blended together and floated like clouds; just a hint of glimmer, like the first stars in the evening sky, hinted that there was something spectacular to come around the bend.
    “Oh my.” Mother stopped behind me. Her sigh danced the hairs on the back of my neck and sent a shiver down my spine.
    I waited for her to make a comment about it being garish, or too much, or pointing out that I didn’t have any