XXII

“Charlotte!” Mom yells from the base of the stairs.

Yanking out my headphones from my ears, I roll out of bed and trudge to the top of the stairwell. Mom stands with another person in the foyer. I lean ever so slightly to see their face: it’s Rosemary wearing her usual ankle boots and grin.

I force a smile. This really is not a good time or a good day. “Rose!” I exclaim. I try not to notice the way her face lights up when I use the nickname. “You must be here for the dress. Once second.”

Good, I want it off my hands.

“Alright,” Rosemary says as I retreat back into my bedroom only to, as delicately as I can, grab the garment bag containing the dress and assorted accessories.

There’s a moderate chatter as a return and descend the stairs. Dad talks to Mom from the living room while Rosemary watches and listens to my parents discussing something boring even to her, if the expression on her face says anything.