He didn’t say anything. He only kept looking at me as if he hadn’t seen me in less clothing plenty of times, even thought that made me sound like a nudist. I twitched. “What? I dress up sometimes. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s.” I pulled on the hem of the light dress that almost reached my knees… if I hunched over and yanked.
His gaze slid back up to my face after watching me fiddle with the skirt and he blinked, slow, slow, slow. “You have make-up on.”
“I wear make-up.” Not much but enough.
“No heels?” He glanced at my feet, which were in a pair of black suede ankle boots my parents had bought me for my birthday a couple years ago.
“Trust me, you’d end up spending the night peeling me off the floor or laughing when I walk around like a newborn baby giraffe.” I smiled at him.
His eyes flicked up to mine and a small smile cracked the corners of his mouth. “You’re good at everything.”
I snorted. “I wish. I’ll make you a list later at all the things I’m horrible at.” I grabbed my purse off the corner of the bed and pulled it over my head. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” he answered, dropping his gaze to the scooped neckline of my dress for a split second.
I had freckles on my chest, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen those before.
I pushed the acknowledgment of him staring out of my head and drew in a breath to relax. That morning, he’d woken up when I’d been half-naked again, only wearing a sports bra and underwear, and he hadn’t said a word as I pulled the rest of my clothes on. Sure I could have gone into the bathroom to change, but I kept the same thought in my head that I had from the beginning. I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I accepted my body as it was and if I started acting all goofy about it now, well, that just looked stupid.
I wasn’t out to impress anyone.
Plus, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen better—and hopefully worse—before.
Whatever.
I felt good, and I didn’t care how much crap I was about to get from everyone that enjoyed teasing me just because they could.
Sure enough we found my parents, Ceci and her friend in the living room waiting for us. It was my dad that made the first crack when he saw me.
In a dress shirt, slacks and dress shoes, he must have forgotten he’d been acting like a timid little bear around the German because he immediately nudged my mom with his elbow. “Look, it’s a Christmas miracle. Sal put on real clothes.”
I exaggerated a laugh, making a face at him at the same time. “Funny.”
My mom came forward and squeezed my shoulder. “Look at how pretty you look when you wear a dress. If you dress like this more often, maybe you’d find a boyfriend again.No?”
Once upon a time, her comment would have really hurt my feelings. Actually, she’d said the same thing to me in the past at least a dozen times. If I dressed differently, if I put some effort into my appearance, if I didn’t play soccer, maybe I’d find someone…
Someone who didn’t know me at all could only love me if I was half myself.
I forced a smile onto my face and patted my mom’s arm, ignoring the intense gaze coming from Kulti. “Maybe one day, Ma.”
“I’m just telling you because I love you,” she said in Spanish, picking up on how her comment irritated me. “You’re just as pretty as any other girl, Sal.”
“You’re all ugly. I’m hungry, let’s go,” Dad said with a clap of his hands, his face too cheerful.
He knew. He knew how much Mom’s comments bothered me. Maybe they didn’t piss me off or make me cry, but they bothered me. The fact she was saying it in front of my friend didn’t help.
Staying in place, I smiled at my sister and her friend as they followed my parents out the door. Ceci hadn’t said a word to me, and I didn’t want to start crap with her tonight. I gritted my teeth and tamped down my emotions. Today was about my dad, not about my mom or Ceci.
Since we wouldn’t all fit into my mom’s sedan, Kulti and I drove separately. It was the same restaurant we’d gone to for the last three years so I knew exactly where we were heading.
I had barely turned the ignition and driven to the corner of the block when the German spoke up. “I don’t like the way your mother speaks to you.”
My head snapped over to look at his face.
He on the other hand, was busy facing forward. “Why do you let her belittle you in that way?”
“I…” I turned back to face out the windshield and tried to tell myself that this moment was real. “She’s my mom. I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her that her opinion doesn’t matter —“