Page 35 of Finally Moore
“There is always an occasion, Scarlett. Haven’t I taught you that?”
“Yes, but you also used to say that special events aren’t meant for what’s hidden in your closet and always require something new.”
Mom smiles, knowing I’m right. God forbid we ever wore the same dress twice. Nope, every outfit saw the light of day once, if it was lucky, then it was donated. Which, I admit, was a good feeling. I liked knowing that someone else would get use out of my things even if I couldn’t.
“Amuse your mother.” When I don’t budge, she adds a dramatic, “Pleeeeease.”
“Fine.” I snatch the hanger from her hands and stomp towards the back of the store.
“Thank you,” she calls after me, as if I had a choice.
I enter the first available dressing room and strip down. The bra I’m wearing is all wrong for the swooped cowl that extends almost down to my navel. This is the kind of gown you don’t wear anything underneath, at the risk of something showing through. But for trying it on, undergarments are a necessary evil. It takes a lot of arranging and sucking in, but I’m finally able to pull the tight fabric over all my curves.
I glance in the mirror and am shocked. “Things sure have come a long way,” I say aloud as I take a better look at myself.
There’s not much give to the material but it does have built-in shapewear, which is perfect for me, as the lining was custom designed to snatch your waist without advertising its existence. Plus, the first layer is sewn in, to avoid rolling, and there’s even a bottom flap, so you don’t have to strip naked in a stall every time you have to use the restroom.
As much as I hate to admit it, mostly because this was my mother’s choice, I love this dress on me. Still, though, when am I ever going to wear it?
“Scarlett, let me see,” my mom orders from the other side of the door.
Taking a deep breath and hopefully standing an inch taller, I walk out to where she’s waiting for me. Her eyes flick up and down before she steps forward to perform a proper inspection. My mom spins me around to get a better look at each angle.
“You look beautiful,” she says after a moment of quiet contemplation. And I’m immediately taken aback. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a direct compliment from this woman. Especially not when it comes to my appearance.
“Really?”
“Yes.” She nods, and I smile as my chest fills with an odd warmth.
Is this what they callmotherly love?
“Thank god designers have expanded their sizes.”And there it is.The mother I know has returned with an all-too-familiar vengeance. “Scott,” she calls out. “What do you think?”
“Mom, no, please.” I don’t want him to see how stupid I must look. I mean, it’s a proven fact that dressing room mirrors are angled to make you appear thinner. Like a fucked-up funhouse, where the real horrors are the price tags.
Mom waves me off. “Where is that boy? Scott!”
The man himself magically appears as if he’s been summoned. “Sorry, I was—” His jaw goes slack as he drinks me in. “Fuck.” He scrambles to find words, and I can’t be certain, but I think he wipes away some drool from his chin. “I mean, you look amazing.”
“That’ll be all.” Mom shoos him away.
Scott looks at me confused, and I shrug, unsure what just happened myself. As if he doesn’t know what else to do, he wanders over to a random clothing rack.
“For the most part, men are helpless when it comes to fashion. But the one thing you can count on is their blind reaction. And that, my dear, was a resounding yes,” Mom tells me once Scott is out of earshot.
“How’s everything going? Do you need me to grab something similar or perhaps a different size?” The clerk steps up to check on us, interrupting my train of thought. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the whirlwind of emotions that have hit me over the last few minutes.
“No, this one is perfect,” Mom says as she inspects me from top to bottom for a second time, then looks back to the woman. “What do you have for accessories?”
The clerk’s eyes light up with invisible dollar signs. “You’re in luck. I have just the pieces set aside—they’ll complement that design perfectly.”
“Good. We’ll take one of everything,” she says to the woman before turning to me. “You’re still a size seven in heels?”
I glance down at the price tag hanging just under my arm, and all the blood drains from my face. “Mom,” I whisper harshly. “No.”
As usual, she dismisses my concern with another wave of her manicured hand. “Pull a seven and a seven and a half.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The clerk scurries off, probably in search of something else she can tack on to the bill in hopes of cushioning her commission. Not that I blame her. I’d do the same if I were in her shoes, and it isn’t like my mother doesn’t have the money to spend. But still…