I’m sitting at the venue Jo and I booked for the fundraiser benefit, waiting for the caterer to meet me so we can go over the menu, when my phone buzzes.
JO: You need to go shopping.
EVIE: Because you hate my clothes?
JO: Because you need a new dress for the benefit. Something short and black.
EVIE: I was thinking I would wear my silver one again.
JO: Exactly. That dress has seen better days. You need to go shopping. Let’s go Friday.
Ugh. I hate that Jo is right. That silver dress is the last connection I’ve had with my old life. I’m pretty sure when Mama bought me that dress, it cost more than all of my current wardrobe piled together. But just because it was expensive back then, doesn’t mean it still looks expensive now—unless peplum dresses that have shrunk a few too many sizes in the dryer have suddenly come back in style.
EVIE: Fine. You win. I’ll buy a new dress. But it has to be from somewhere that I can use a 20% off coupon.
JO: No way, missy. You haven’t let me buy you anything all year. This is my treat.
That’s true, too. Jo is always trying to buy me things, but I don’t let her. I can’t exactly be a pioneer, forging my own path in life, if I’m constantly letting someone go in front of me and whack down all the weeds. I have to do it. I have to get my hands dirty.
But since this night is really important for our company, and I have invited quite an impressive list of people that I’m hoping will give us loads of money
, I decide to give in this once and let her spoil me.
EVIE: If I let you buy me a dress, does that mean I have to let you pick it too? Because anytime you dress me up, I end up looking less like a lady and more like a lady of the night.
JO: *Pretty Woman gif*
EVIE: Does that mean yes?
JO: *Another Pretty Woman gif*
EVIE: You’re hopeless.
JO: And you’re more prudish than my Grandma Sue.
EVIE: I love you.
JO: I love you too.
I hear the door to the venue open, and I look up with a smile on my face. My smile immediately falls at the sight of my caterer walking beside my mama, as buddy-buddy as I’ve ever seen two people. They are laughing about something, and Mama gives the caterer a playful smack across the arm. “Monica, you’re so bad. I had no idea that you were capable of being so conniving.”
The woman beams at Mama. “That’s only because you’ve never harassed my servers and then tried to get out of paying me for my services.”
What in the name of Sam Hill is my mama doing here with my caterer?
I stand up with an angry scowl on my face. “Mama, what are you doing here?”
“Now, is that any way to greet your mother?” She’s smiling like she does when she’s trying to fool everyone around us into thinking we’re a happy, do-anything-for-each-other family. We’re not. And honestly, I’m so done pretending.
I cross my arms. “How do you two know each other?”
Poor Monica sees my face and starts looking worried. She takes a small step back to let my mother take the lead. “Did you not know? I’ve been using Monica’s catering company for years. She provides the most delicious food for all of the Powder Society’s functions.”
I want to groan. Of course I picked the one caterer in town that was tied to Melony Jones.
“I think it’s safe to say that I did not know that.” Or else I would not have used her. “But how did you know we were meeting today?”
Mama smiles a syrupy sweet smile to Monica over her shoulder. “Will you give us a minute, Mon?” Mon! Bleh. Excuse me while I go fire my caterer immediately.