Good Enough(70)

“What?” I question her.

“Why are you trying on dresses?”

“I was asked to the prom.” I admit.

“It’s so blue… there’s so much blue. Take it off. You look like a whale, and don’t lie to me. You know no one seriously asked you to the prom.” She walks out closing the door behind her.

I lean against the wall, close my eyes and shed a single tear. I couldn’t bring myself to put on another dress after that. I was so ruined by what my mother said I ended up cancelling my prom plans with Jonathan. I stayed home that night while the rest of my classmates celebrated at the prom.

My senior year, while visiting with my grandmother for the Easter holiday my cousin Derek was talking about his prom plans. My grandmother turned to me and asked if I had found a dress yet. My mother chimed in with a hearty laugh and said, “No one is going to ask her. There’s no need for a dress.”

I ran out of the room in tears.

Shaking my head from those painful thoughts of my past, a wave of nausea comes over me with the thought of having my mother there while I try on wedding dresses. Right now, it all comes down to the money. I need to call Lily and fess up my dilemma. She’ll be able to think this situation through.

Just as I had hoped, she did. Her first response was, “She has treated you badly since you were thirteen years old, Hillary. She is not your mother. She is just your birth person. Unfortunately, you need her to get the dress you deserve. You and I both know she’s only doing it so she can play the mother of the bride role. I got your back Hil’. I won’t let her do or say anything to ruin your first dress shopping experience.”

I’ve tried on three wedding dresses so far at Fairytales and no luck. My birth person has been present but quiet. I’m not sure if Lily said anything to her while I first stepped into the bridal room, but if she did its working.

“Okay, Hillary. Here is dress number four.” Janet the owner of Fairytales says as she comes back in to the room with a big smile on her face. Janet is a tiny Italian woman close to my birth person’s age. Carefully, stepping around me in her nude pumps and tight black leather pants she holds up the dress for me to look at.

There’s not much to the dress and I think that’s why I find myself smiling while I stare at it. I’m not looking for fancy. I’m looking for just right.

This dress is an off white satin ball gown that has a beautifully draped, strapless bodice, split-front overlay, adorned with ornate lace detail. “The A-line silhouette creates curves in all the right places,” Janet adds as she puffs out a breath to get her big, poofy Italian hair out of her face.

As Janet helps me out of the main room to the platform with multiple mirrors I check out the reaction on Lily’s face. She’s smiling wide. My birth person next to her just has her head tilted to the side like she’s trying to figure out what she’s looking at. Whatever!

I step up on the platform, my back to Janet, Lily and my birth person. I can feel my eyes start to well up with tears. I try to hold them back so no one sees. I’ve always related tears with weakness, watching my mother cry over everything and at every moment. I don’t want to be like her at all, so I have to reign in my emotions.

I can see Lily’s face through the mirror I’m facing. She’s still smiling. I’m smiling. I see Janet out of the corner of my eye and she’s smiling. I turn around and Lily stands up.

“You like it. I can tell. You didn’t smile wearing any of the other dresses and you’re smiling now,” she says walking towards me.

“I do like it,” I admit, still smiling. I turn to the mirror to get a side view. “Holy crap! My boobs look like torpedoes!”

Janet barks out a laugh. “You don’t have the proper bra on right now, don’t worry. I’ll make sure your boobs look top notch.”

My birth person is still sitting on the couch not saying a word.

“What do you say, Theresa? She looks great.” Lily says, to the ‘oh-so-quiet-mother-of-the-bride.’

“If this is what you want, I will pay for it,” she responds.

Biting my tongue at her shitty attitude I turn to Janet and say, “this is the dress I want.”





“You piece of shit!”



June 3, 2003

JAMESON IS UPSTAIRS SLEEPING and I’m in the kitchen cooking dinner ready to collapse on the floor from an exhausting workday and an over worked brain. The only thing keeping me going is the intoxicating aroma of the chicken stir-fry on the stove. The sizzling sound of the chicken and smell of the freshly cut peppers and onions puts a smile to my face. As soon as I notice the water has started boiling for the rice the phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Marcie. I quickly contemplate not answering, but since I’m not sure if Jameson remembered to shut the ringer off on the phone in our bedroom I immediately pick up, not wanting to wake him.