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Authors: Brooke Moss
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bathroom.
It was the morning of brunch, and I was wearing black-and-fuchsia plaid pants, a black blouse, and a hot-pink beret pulled over my hair, which I’d teased into a Gidget-style flip. I glanced down at my clothes. “Ugh. I hope so. I had no idea what to wear.”
“You look like you’re going to play golf,” Kim said, coming around the corner with a steaming mug of coffee in hand.
“I do?” Gulping, I started to unbutton the blouse. “What else should I wear? This is the most conservative thing I could find.”
“No, don’t change.” She waved a hand casually. “The golf getup is good. Rich people love golf.”
I fingered the chunky plastic bracelets around my wrist. “I don’t know…”
I wish I’d told Gabe no when he asked me to go to this brunch. Damn him and his “do it for me” method of manipulation. Apparently Alicia Von Longorial’s father owned a bunch of the facilities that the City of Portland used to house trucks and equipment, her mother owned a specialty shop downtown, and they’d lived in a big house in a wealthy suburb. She’d come from money, and from the few friends I’d seen already, so did most of her bridesmaids. I was definitely going to stick out.
“Here, put some of this on.” Kim handed me a tube of pink lipstick.
I obeyed. “You sure it’s not too much?”
We both observed the finished product in the bathroom mirror. “No way, man. It completes the look,” she said proudly. “It’s cool.”
Betsy shuffled up in her slippers and stood on my other side. “What I wouldn’t do for those eyelashes, Violet.”
“Or the lips,” Kim lamented, taking a swig of her coffee.
I examined my face in the mirror. Had I not been wearing a pink beret and matching lipstick, I would have been staring at my mother’s face. I’d grown up watching men fall all over themselves, vying for her attention. It wasn’t until I’d lost all of my baby fat during high school that I’d discovered how much I resembled her. Hazel eyes rimmed in naturally dark lashes and plump lips that resembled a red bow.
Of course, it was that face, and the hourglass figure that accompanied it, that’d attracted the boys’ attention in high school. In the years since, I became more comfortable hiding behind funky makeup, hair, and clothes, than I was au naturale . Seattle was the type of place where you could work in a tax office sandwiched between a nerd in a three-piece suit and a girl with a six-inch mohawk, and nobody would so much as bat an eye. I was more at home in costume than I was walking around with Leandra Cohen’s perfect face and golden hair.
I snapped the lid back onto the lipstick and turned away from their stares. “If you want to ogle someone, call my mom. She loves that crap.”
Kim snorted into her coffee. “Yeah, she does. The last time she was over, she asked me four times if I liked her new hairdo.”
I pulled my coat on, glad that the focus was off me once again. “All right, you two. I’m out of here.”
Betsy yawned. “Have a good time at brunch.”
“Have something super expensive for me,” Kim called, settling herself on the couch. “We won’t be here when you get back.”
Betsy’s eyes danced behind her glasses. “We’re going to an improvisational dance workshop for Valentine’s Day.”
I tried to stifle my laugh as I let myself out of the apartment. “Wow. Sounds…incredible.”
“I’m picking up on some sarcasm,” Kim bellowed, just as I pulled the door shut behind me.
I chuckled as I started down the stairs. Even an improvisational dance workshop could beat spending Valentine’s Day in a stuffy restaurant with women I didn’t know.
…
“Oh, look, she’s here.” Alicia’s voice floated across the dining room, and I raised my arm to wave. My shiny combat boots squeaked loudly on the marble floor as I walked.
I was hideously out of place.
“Yoo-hoo, we’re over here.” When Alicia wiggled her fingers at me in a cheerful
It was the morning of brunch, and I was wearing black-and-fuchsia plaid pants, a black blouse, and a hot-pink beret pulled over my hair, which I’d teased into a Gidget-style flip. I glanced down at my clothes. “Ugh. I hope so. I had no idea what to wear.”
“You look like you’re going to play golf,” Kim said, coming around the corner with a steaming mug of coffee in hand.
“I do?” Gulping, I started to unbutton the blouse. “What else should I wear? This is the most conservative thing I could find.”
“No, don’t change.” She waved a hand casually. “The golf getup is good. Rich people love golf.”
I fingered the chunky plastic bracelets around my wrist. “I don’t know…”
I wish I’d told Gabe no when he asked me to go to this brunch. Damn him and his “do it for me” method of manipulation. Apparently Alicia Von Longorial’s father owned a bunch of the facilities that the City of Portland used to house trucks and equipment, her mother owned a specialty shop downtown, and they’d lived in a big house in a wealthy suburb. She’d come from money, and from the few friends I’d seen already, so did most of her bridesmaids. I was definitely going to stick out.
“Here, put some of this on.” Kim handed me a tube of pink lipstick.
I obeyed. “You sure it’s not too much?”
We both observed the finished product in the bathroom mirror. “No way, man. It completes the look,” she said proudly. “It’s cool.”
Betsy shuffled up in her slippers and stood on my other side. “What I wouldn’t do for those eyelashes, Violet.”
“Or the lips,” Kim lamented, taking a swig of her coffee.
I examined my face in the mirror. Had I not been wearing a pink beret and matching lipstick, I would have been staring at my mother’s face. I’d grown up watching men fall all over themselves, vying for her attention. It wasn’t until I’d lost all of my baby fat during high school that I’d discovered how much I resembled her. Hazel eyes rimmed in naturally dark lashes and plump lips that resembled a red bow.
Of course, it was that face, and the hourglass figure that accompanied it, that’d attracted the boys’ attention in high school. In the years since, I became more comfortable hiding behind funky makeup, hair, and clothes, than I was au naturale . Seattle was the type of place where you could work in a tax office sandwiched between a nerd in a three-piece suit and a girl with a six-inch mohawk, and nobody would so much as bat an eye. I was more at home in costume than I was walking around with Leandra Cohen’s perfect face and golden hair.
I snapped the lid back onto the lipstick and turned away from their stares. “If you want to ogle someone, call my mom. She loves that crap.”
Kim snorted into her coffee. “Yeah, she does. The last time she was over, she asked me four times if I liked her new hairdo.”
I pulled my coat on, glad that the focus was off me once again. “All right, you two. I’m out of here.”
Betsy yawned. “Have a good time at brunch.”
“Have something super expensive for me,” Kim called, settling herself on the couch. “We won’t be here when you get back.”
Betsy’s eyes danced behind her glasses. “We’re going to an improvisational dance workshop for Valentine’s Day.”
I tried to stifle my laugh as I let myself out of the apartment. “Wow. Sounds…incredible.”
“I’m picking up on some sarcasm,” Kim bellowed, just as I pulled the door shut behind me.
I chuckled as I started down the stairs. Even an improvisational dance workshop could beat spending Valentine’s Day in a stuffy restaurant with women I didn’t know.
…
“Oh, look, she’s here.” Alicia’s voice floated across the dining room, and I raised my arm to wave. My shiny combat boots squeaked loudly on the marble floor as I walked.
I was hideously out of place.
“Yoo-hoo, we’re over here.” When Alicia wiggled her fingers at me in a cheerful
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