Donovan:What the hell did you do to your face?
A charmer that one.
Nolan:You look lovely no matter what you do, but I prefer your everyday look.
Uh huh. Very diplomatic of you.
Nolan:Felix wants me to tell you that pretty girl doesn’t need makeup.
That’s good, since I have no idea how to put this stuff on. Less is going to have to be more for a while.
Connor:Look better w/o it
Even his texts are brief and to the point.
Kaleb:With your features and the natural glow of your complexion, I find the cosmetics detract more than they enhance, but it doesn’t really matter what we think. If it makes you happy, that’s all that’s important.
Thank you, but yeah, I hate it too.
Donovan:There’s no way she likes it. She looks like a drag queen.
And I’m vindicated!
Me:He’s right. Was attacked by sales person in Bloomingdale's. Needed to share the horror.
“Your new friends?” Mildred asks over my buzzing phone.
I smile and shove my phone into my back pocket. “Yeah, it’s them. Their consensus is I look better without makeup, and Donovan agrees with me that I look like a drag queen.”
“He said that?” she replies, shocked.
I chuckle and pull my phone back out so I can show her the texts. “Donovan is a straightforward and uh, honest kind of person.”
Mildred adjusts the straps of her chic Coach bag on her shoulder and takes my offered phone. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs with mirth scrolling through the messages then hands me back my phone. “Your friends seem nice, though I see what you mean about Donovan.” She pauses. “Are all your new friends boys?”
I chew on my lip, tasting the gross waxy lipstick, and pull at the sleeves of my Arizona State University hoodie. “Yeah,” I reply with hesitation. “Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not,” she quickly amends with a gentle smile. “As long as they’re kind and supportive people, that’s all that matters to me. I simply meant that sometimes it’s nice to have girlfriends for things too, like shopping for one. I’m enjoying spending time with you like this, but I know teenagers don’t…”
“Actually,” I interrupt, “I’m glad I’m here with you. I…” My heart picks up speed, as I approach dangerous territory. Even talking mundane things of my past hurts. “I didn’t really have friends before coming here, girls or otherwise, so I don’t know how to, I don’t know, be a teenage girl?” I groan. “That sounds dumb. I just mean shopping, gossiping, and all the other teenage girl clichés, they’re completely out of my wheelhouse.”
“Oh, darling,” she pulls me into her arms, and it’s another exercise in relaxing my muscles. “You are a teenage girl. There are no rules on how to be one, youareone. Even if you hate shopping, wear nothing but jeans and t-shirts, find gossiping abhorrent, and never wear a stitch of makeup, it doesn’t make you any less a girl.”
My head rests against the purse free shoulder, and I can smell the soft scent of roses. Slowly, I wrap my arms around her waist and fight hard against the tears that are making the world a blurry mess. It feels so stupid to get all emotional for essentially being told it’s okay to just be me, but no one has ever told me that. All I’ve known is that I’m broken--wrong in a way I don’t know how to fix. Acceptance is a concept I’ve never experienced until recently.
Finally, I remember I’m in a damn mall and should probably be saving these Hallmark moments for later.What is it with Mildred dropping emotional bombs in inappropriate times and locations? I thought Brits were all about a stiff upper lip.I pull away and run a finger under my eyes to catch any renegade tears, and it comes back with black smudges.Right, clown makeup still on face.
My aunt smiles with watery eyes. “How about we head to the loo and wipe all that off your face? I have some makeup wipes in my bag.”
I sniff. “Yeah, that would be good. Melting clown is not a look I think many can pull off.”
We both laugh, a wet but friendly sound, and head towards the escalator. I love escalators, because all I have to do is stand there and hold the railing. This small difference is all that’s needed to keep my anxiety in check.
When we get to the bathroom, it takes two of the wipes to get all the crap off my face. I think I’m going to stick to my plan of eyeliner and mascara for a while. Reconsidered the lipstick when I found glitter pink all over my front teeth. Even with my face ruddy from all the scrubbing, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see plain me.
“So for party clothes, perhaps you may be more comfortable in something somewhat more subdued,” Mildred advises when we leave the restroom. “A nice blouse, jeans, and a pretty pair of boots?”
“As long as the boots don’t have heels,” I insist. “I know I’m short, but I’ll be a whole lot shorter when face planted into the ground.”
