Page 87 of Legally Mine

Denise approached.

"Janette," she said as if she was my mother's friend from school. "Everything in the dressing rooms is ready now. We've got mimosas this morning too."

Janette clapped her hands like a school girl. "Fun!" she said and grasped my hands. "Let's try some things on, shall we?"

And hour later, I was half drunk on champagne at eleven in the morning, wearing a dress that would easily cost more than two months' rent, and standing on a small platform in front of a three-sided mirror at the back of the shop. There was a small mountain of dresses still hanging on our rack, not to mention the various separates Janette had already made me try on. I'd vetoed everything on account of cost.

I felt ridiculous. Janette sat on the couch in front of me, champagne glass in hand as she gabbed with Denise. She'd made a quick choice of a blush-colored dress that was now hanging from a rack by the cash register, waiting to be sent to the in-house tailor for rushed alterations. I, on the other hand, suffered from no such luck under my mother's scrutiny.

"This is insane," I insisted for what felt like the thousandth time. "I am not paying three-thousand dollars for a dress I will wear exactly once."

Janette waved her hand at me, although her nostrils flared slightly. "It doesn't matter, I keep telling you." She cocked her head at me. "What do you think, Denise? I feel like that color washes her out."

Standing beside Janette, Denise nodded in agreement. "She needs a softer green with that skin and hair. The chartreuse isn't doing her any favors."

Janette nodded. "Get the Grecian one, then. The sage color?"

Denise nodded and disappeared into the back of the store. Janette stood up and walked to me, then turned me to face the mirrors, where she looked at me through their reflection.

"Darling," she said evenly. "Please stop."

"Stop what?" I asked petulantly. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Stop protesting every time you try something on. You sound dreadfully poor, and you're embarrassing yourself."

"I am poor, Janette."

"Well, that's not what the trust fund I gave you would indicate. Wasn't it enough to pay for school, and then some? Besides, you're not paying for this; I am."

I stared at the ground, then finally looked back at her through the mirror.

"I'm uncomfortable with this," I said as plainly as I could. "To be frank, Janette, it feels really inappropriate to accept such extravagant gifts from you. We barely know each other."

Janette stood still for a moment, the turned to look at me directly. She set a delicate hand on my shoulder.

"Please let me," she said quietly. "I think we both know it's the very least I can do, considering..." she trailed off, unwilling to finish. We could both easily fill in the blanks.

I'd seen that look before––the one where remorse for all the wrongs she'd done over the years seeped through her normally buoyant face. She had deployed it more than once over the years, usually in order to assuage a sudden burden of guilt. My mother acted like she was full of air, but in reality, she knew just how to manipulate people to ease her own weak moral compass. I was really no better than Dad, who couldn't ever quite say no to her. Not until the very end.

"Okay," I finally relented. "You can buy me a dress. But no matching separates. I'm twenty-six, not seventy-six. Bubbe wears sweater sets, for crying out loud."

Janette blinked, then burst out laughing. "Of course, of course!" she agreed with glee. "But you'll let me pay for the salon too, all right? Oh, darling, we are going to have such fun!"

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