“Careful, Jen!”
Advertisement
She snorted. “Yeah, right. Whatever.” She dug out a wrinkled mint dress and shoved it at me. “Lia needs this steamed by tonight. And don’t burn anything, she’ll freak.”
“Got it.”
Jen’s gaze lingered on the covered project, but then she shrugged and left.
When her footsteps faded, I pulled back the blanket and smiled at the stitches. Dad would’ve called it “stealth sewing.”
“Lia needs this steamed by tonight.”
Advertisement
***
Three nights before prom, I stuck myself with the needle again, hard. A bead of blood welled up on my finger, staining the inside hem. For a moment, staring at the crooked seams, I thought about giving up.
But I didn’t.
When I slipped the finished dress on and faced the mirror, I didn’t see a maid or a shadow. I saw my dad’s jacket, my stitches, my story.
***
The night of prom, the whole house was in chaos. Camila was already in the kitchen, sipping her second cup of coffee, tapping her nails against her mug like a metronome.
I thought about giving up.
Advertisement
She didn’t even look up when I walked by.
“Chelsea, did you iron Lia’s dress?” she barked, eyes still on her phone.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered quietly, folding dish towels. I could smell burnt toast and Lia’s perfume battling in the air.
Lia breezed in, waving her phone and holding her sparkling clutch. “Jen, where’s my lip gloss? The gold one. You promised not to touch it!” Her voice echoed down the hallway.
Jen came stomping out in her heels, every step a threat to the tiles. “I didn’t take your stupid lip gloss. Why do you always blame me?”
“Chelsea, did you iron Lia’s dress?”
Advertisement
“Because you always do! Mom, tell her —”
Camila cut in, “Both of you, enough. Chelsea, did you clean up the living room? There are crumbs everywhere.”
“I did it after breakfast,” I said, wishing I could disappear.
Leave a Comment