see her only a handful of times, and only two of those times had
they seen her family. Three meetings and her father looked like he’d lost a son
rather than a practical stranger… or at best an acquaintance.
“Did something happen?” he asked Catherine. “Did you
say—”
Elizabeth cut her husband off and answered for her
daughter. “Sometimes things just run their course.”
It was her relationship or lack thereof that they were
talking about and yet she felt oddly detached from the conversation.
“We’re planning to go out,” her mother announced
suddenly, manning the griddle again. Catherine felt the smells of the kitchen
begin to ply at her appetite greedily.
“On New Year’s Day? Isn’t everything closed?” William
asked.
“You live in the past, old man,” Elizabeth said. “It’s
the beginning of a whole new round of sales. Some of the best of the year are
right now.”
He smirked, knowing that his wife lived for a deal. “Well,
I for one will be right here where I’m meant to be, watching the Mummers Parade
and then Penn State in the Fiesta Bowl, with a little nap thrown in for good
measure.”
Catherine almost drooled with delight at the thought
of that kind of day.
“So long as you’re entertained,” Elizabeth said,
serving the French toast up on a plate, sprinkling confectioners’ sugar on top,
and setting it in front of Catherine. “My daughter and I choose to begin the
year more productively.”
Catherine stifled the groan that attempted to skate
past her lips.
*****
“I think it is perfect. You can wear it to the christening,
to work, out at night. Dress it up. Dress it down,” Elizabeth said, giving it
her essential wardrobe seal of approval as she started up the car. Her mother
was always about versatility. For Catherine’s whole existence in her mother’s care
she had been denied anything that might be deemed as one-time use—i.e. the
stuff she wanted most. All that super trendy stuff that other girls were
wearing—that was in all the cutesy shops—that likely wouldn’t last through one
wash cycle let alone survive the fickleness of the fashion industry—was
considered out of bounds. And when it came to accessorizing, Elizabeth Hemmings
liked strong fundamentals—roughly translated this meant brown leather shoes and
brown leather purses and brown leather belts that wore like iron. No satin or
sequins or colorful pleather for Catherine Marie.
That was probably the reason she was such a clothes-hound
now, gorging herself and bucking the tight-ass budget of her youth ever since,
buying what she wanted, not just what was needed and economical and versatile. Catherine
was magnetically drawn to high-fashion, high-quality, classic styles that she
couldn’t afford. Price was no object and her credit card statements had been
known to prove it. Only Fynn had been able to put a chink in that line of
thinking, not directly, but by putting something else in the way of her fashion
happiness. Himself.
“You didn’t have to buy it for me, Mom,” she said,
relieved that she could finally breathe easy again. Kohl’s had come through
just like her mother had insisted it would, but it also brought on a bad case
of heartsickness. It was like trying to shop with a cinderblock on her chest.
This Kohl’s was identical to the one in Nekoyah that had come through for her
last spring, saving her from looking like a vagabond when she got trapped there
with one change of clothes and an awesome case of bad luck— bad luck that made
me the luckiest girl in the world…. God, I miss him.
“I wanted to. We don’t get to spend time like this
anymore.”
“Well, thank you,” she said carefully, trying not to
read into her mother’s words any deeper to see if she was being blamed for that
fact or if her mother was just stating a fact. See, I am already making
strides in the New Year.
The dress in the trunk really was absolutely perfect.
they seen her family. Three meetings and her father looked like he’d lost a son
rather than a practical stranger… or at best an acquaintance.
“Did something happen?” he asked Catherine. “Did you
say—”
Elizabeth cut her husband off and answered for her
daughter. “Sometimes things just run their course.”
It was her relationship or lack thereof that they were
talking about and yet she felt oddly detached from the conversation.
“We’re planning to go out,” her mother announced
suddenly, manning the griddle again. Catherine felt the smells of the kitchen
begin to ply at her appetite greedily.
“On New Year’s Day? Isn’t everything closed?” William
asked.
“You live in the past, old man,” Elizabeth said. “It’s
the beginning of a whole new round of sales. Some of the best of the year are
right now.”
He smirked, knowing that his wife lived for a deal. “Well,
I for one will be right here where I’m meant to be, watching the Mummers Parade
and then Penn State in the Fiesta Bowl, with a little nap thrown in for good
measure.”
Catherine almost drooled with delight at the thought
of that kind of day.
“So long as you’re entertained,” Elizabeth said,
serving the French toast up on a plate, sprinkling confectioners’ sugar on top,
and setting it in front of Catherine. “My daughter and I choose to begin the
year more productively.”
Catherine stifled the groan that attempted to skate
past her lips.
*****
“I think it is perfect. You can wear it to the christening,
to work, out at night. Dress it up. Dress it down,” Elizabeth said, giving it
her essential wardrobe seal of approval as she started up the car. Her mother
was always about versatility. For Catherine’s whole existence in her mother’s care
she had been denied anything that might be deemed as one-time use—i.e. the
stuff she wanted most. All that super trendy stuff that other girls were
wearing—that was in all the cutesy shops—that likely wouldn’t last through one
wash cycle let alone survive the fickleness of the fashion industry—was
considered out of bounds. And when it came to accessorizing, Elizabeth Hemmings
liked strong fundamentals—roughly translated this meant brown leather shoes and
brown leather purses and brown leather belts that wore like iron. No satin or
sequins or colorful pleather for Catherine Marie.
That was probably the reason she was such a clothes-hound
now, gorging herself and bucking the tight-ass budget of her youth ever since,
buying what she wanted, not just what was needed and economical and versatile. Catherine
was magnetically drawn to high-fashion, high-quality, classic styles that she
couldn’t afford. Price was no object and her credit card statements had been
known to prove it. Only Fynn had been able to put a chink in that line of
thinking, not directly, but by putting something else in the way of her fashion
happiness. Himself.
“You didn’t have to buy it for me, Mom,” she said,
relieved that she could finally breathe easy again. Kohl’s had come through
just like her mother had insisted it would, but it also brought on a bad case
of heartsickness. It was like trying to shop with a cinderblock on her chest.
This Kohl’s was identical to the one in Nekoyah that had come through for her
last spring, saving her from looking like a vagabond when she got trapped there
with one change of clothes and an awesome case of bad luck— bad luck that made
me the luckiest girl in the world…. God, I miss him.
“I wanted to. We don’t get to spend time like this
anymore.”
“Well, thank you,” she said carefully, trying not to
read into her mother’s words any deeper to see if she was being blamed for that
fact or if her mother was just stating a fact. See, I am already making
strides in the New Year.
The dress in the trunk really was absolutely perfect.
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