She shakes her head. “She didn’t give me a chance,” she whispers. “I walk in and she’s all like you’re not wearing that, and what am I supposed to say?” One corner of her mouth twitches in an attempt to smile. “Gee, Mom, what was I thinking? Let me go change.”
“Tell her Evie bought it for you,” I suggest. She’ll see why Caitlin wants to wear it, then, and any protest will dissolve in guilt.
But Caitlin wipes her face, smudging eyeliner into two lines that give her cat’s eyes, and declares, “I ain’t telling her shit! This is my fucking dress, I’ll wear it if I want to.”
Somehow I don’t think I will be able to convince her otherwise. Lowering her voice, she mumbles, “Evie said she liked this color on me.”
“It’s very pretty,” I agree. I can’t think of anything else to say. 50: Getting Ready to Go