“But you look like a bag lady, Dani. We’re going to have to buy you a new coat to go with your dress.” My mom gives me a critical look.
“I’ve had a stressful day. I’m not dress shopping. My nerves can’t handle it.”
“Vivienne informed me that you’re going to be Graham’s date. This is your coming out in high society.”
“It’s a weeknight charity fundraiser. I’m not stepping out into Regency England.”
“You never went to prom.” My mom tries to fix my hair.
“Yeah, because Colette pulled a mean trick and paid that guy to ask me out, and then he never showed up.”
“It was a mistake. You and Colette are best friends,” Mom chides me. “Don’t gossip and spread rumors about her. She apologized, didn’t she?”
“It wasn’t a real apology, Aunt Linda,” Piper says, bouncing in her boots to stay warm. “And she didn’t mean it, and she’s repeated the behavior.”
“Nonsense. Don’t be catty, girls. It’s not a good look.”
Behind my mom, Piper rolls her eyes.
“When you get married to your billionaire, don’t invite that ho to your wedding,” Gran tells me. “Now look here. Your mom is trying to take you to some overpriced boutiques, but I know a gal who runs a thrift store.”
“Dani cannot wear a used dress.” My mom is horrified.
“Everyone is doing pre-loved now, Aunt Linda.”
“Not in this family.”
“Well, your husband’s trust fund ain’t covering a ball gown.” Gran crosses her arms.
“We can see what Uncle Hank digs up at Costco.” Piper snickers.
“Your father is very excited about the ball.” My mom shakes her head.
“It’s just a fundraiser,” I remind them. “It’s not Cinderella meeting the prince.”
“Because she’s already got him bagged and tagged!” Gran whoops.
“You’re being too loud, Mother,” Mom hisses.
Gran sticks her tongue out.
“Graham gave me his credit card to buy a dress.” I pull it out.
“Hell yeah! We’re blowing this out!” Gran crows, grabbing it and holding it aloft. “I bet it doesn’t have a limit.”
“We can’t just run up the bill,” I fret.
“He said you have to look nice,” Piper reminds me.
My mom plucks the credit card out of my hand. “We’re going to Bergdorf.”
Bergdorf Goodman isbusy for a weeknight. Unfortunately.
Shopping with my mother is the eighth circle of hell, and our toxic mother-daughter dynamic is ten times worse to endure when there are witnesses.
“Just humor your mother and try on the white dress, Dani.”
“Mom!” I scream as she throws open the dressing room door while I’m mid-struggle trying to wedge myself into a blue dress that has zero stretch. “It’s not a wedding, Mom.”
