Pieces of Me Read Free Page B

gala to wear it to.
There’s only one and it’s my size
.
    “You should try that on,” she said.
    Really?
    The salesperson hovering nearby studied me head to toe and grabbed the padded hanger, whisking it toward the fitting lounge. How did she know my size by glancing? That’s talent.
How do you figure out that’s your talent?
    I felt my breath leave my body and my heart thump. Was it possible to fall in love with a dress? “I don’t—” I felt Mother’s enthusiasm deflate as if I was purposefully being difficult. “Sure.”
    Mother beamed and asked the sales associate to help her find a suitable black dress.
    A dressing room large enough to accommodate the football team, and a fainting couch, filled with the gaggle of women. According to them, it was the flecks of Swarovski crystals that made the layers of tulle and chiffon dance. I felt like a shooting star in the magic of space. The material was hand-dyed and hand-stitched.
    There were the right undergarments and height of slipper heels to haggle over—Mother and the team of three sales associates discussed and lobbied and thrust opinions at me. They could have been trading stock futures, or baseball statistics, for all I understood or cared. My heart melted, and I couldn’t stop smiling at myself in the mirror. I was elfin, fairy princess–esque, utterly and completely not myself. I had the slightest of curves in the right places, and my pale skin almost seemed to glow against the fabric.
    I didn’t want to take the dress off, but the attention slowly turned from me to her, as it was bound to do. The retail team worked hard, running and suggesting, making sure we headed toward the counter with every possible piece. The saleswomen blended seemingly back in the racks and nooks around them, as if by magic.
    Mother saw friends and air-kissed over small talk. They suggested quick coffee. I had no desire to sit and try not to look bored out of my mind.
    “I must talk to Cynthia,” Mother told me under her breath, and walked me toward the checkout counter.
    Quick! Come up with a getaway plan
. “I’ve been invited to a Halloween party.” My dress floated as if it were alive. I couldn’t wait to wrap myself in it again and be the girl who wore it. She was interesting and beautiful and noticeable.
    The briefest of shocks flickered in Mother’s eyes before she smoothly replied, “Of course you have. I should have asked what your plans were for tomorrow night. Well then, I’ll speak with my friends and these lovely associates will find you something more appropriate for a Halloween party.” Again the flock flapped forward as if on cue.
    Brilliant
. As much as I hated the idea of having help from strangers while I shopped, it was better than trying to make small talk about people I didn’t know, or care about, with my mother’s frenemies. I saw their expressions—they were vultures clothed in couture. No way were they real friends. Not that I knew what real friends looked, or sounded, like. I didn’t have any of my own to compare.
Call it a gut feeling
.
    “We don’t have to get the dress,” I offered, my heart pangs ignored.
    “Nonsense, I’m sure there will be an upcoming occasion that will be perfection for.”
    I smiled and kissed her on the cheek. She couldn’t cover the surprise and handed me her card. “I’ll see you in about an hour? Take care of those beautiful gowns for us, please,” she instructed.
    I nodded, we all nodded, as Mother squared her shoulders and headed toward the café and her friends. Part of me wondered why she needed to talk to Cynthia and part of me focused on trying to ditch the commissioned help. “I don’t need help—I’m heading down to the juniors’ floor,” I said, and they looked relieved to not leave their department.
    I touched the hem of the wishing-star dress as it disappeared into the fabric bag. I couldn’t wait to wear it again.
    If Mother had known she was buying the dress she’d bury mein, I