Cupcake

My ankle felt much better after resting and icing it. That was both good and bad. Good because I knew it wasn’t broken, no need for a boot. Bad because it meant I really had no excuse not to go shopping with Ms. Weaver and the girls that Thursday.

The trip wasn’t school-sanctioned or anything. It only lasted an hour, two tops.

But that was more than enough to scar me for life.

As soon as I got home, I walked inside, carrying no bags (that should’ve been Mom’s first clue things hadn’t gone well), and threw myself onto the couch with a groan (clue number two).

“So? How did shopping go?” she asked.

“It was a total disaster,” I muttered.

“Ah, come on.” Mom sounded skeptical as she sat next to my sprawled-out form. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Not bad, Mom—horrific.” I threw an arm over my forehead at the memory. “First, we all meet up—the girls, Ms. Weaver, and me—at the school. Then we carpool over to this street with little shops that specialize in gowns for pageants, prom, homecoming. Makes sense, right?”

Mom nodded for me to go on.

“Then a sales lady comes out, says how beautiful we all are, and asks if we want some mint-flavored water. That was actually quite good.”

“I’m not seeing the problem, Cupcake.”

I held up a hand. “Oh, just wait. I’m getting there,” I said. “Ms. Weaver tells us to peruse the racks, that we can try on anything we like. After a few minutes, though, I notice something strange. There’s nothing in my size.”

“Oh no,” Mom said, covering her mouth with a hand.

“Oh yes. At first, I figured they probably just keep the bigger dresses somewhere else. But when Ms. Weaver asked, the lady told her they don’t carry anything larger than an eight. That there’s no market for plus-sized eveningwear—which hello. I was the proof, standing right in front of her, that there was. But it gets better.”

“I think I detect a hint of sarcasm.”

“You do,” I agreed. “None of the shops carried my size.”

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry,” Mom said.

“So, there I am sitting on a bench, watching everyone else try on dresses and drinking a gallon of mint water to drown my sorrows.”

“Ugh. That had to suck.”

“It did,” I said. “On top of everything, because of the water, I had to pee the whole time.”

Mom smiled as my laugh turned into a sigh.

“The other girls threw me these pitying looks when they thought I couldn’t see.” I shook my head. “And Ms. Weaver kept apologizing to me like it was somehow her fault the world is fat-ist.”

My mother’s brow furrowed. “Fat-ist?”

“Yes, fat-ist,” I declared—then groaned again. “Shopping is the worst.”

Mom rubbed my arm in a soothing way. “It’ll be okay.”

I wished I could share her optimism, but… “I don’t see how. What sucks most is that I still don’t have a dress for Homecoming, and it’s next week.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” She gave my shoulder a pat. “I happen to know a few stores we can check out, ones I’m sure will have your size.”

“You do?” I said hopefully.

She nodded, and I sat up, throwing my arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

“You’re the best. I’m so sorry I blew you off before. I should’ve trusted you all along.”

“Yes, you should have.”

I laughed at that. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you more,” she said, giving me a tight squeeze before sitting back a bit to see my face. “We’ll find you the perfect dress. Never fear. Despite what that saleswoman said, places do sell dresses you’ll love that will love your curves back. Trust me, your mother’s a shopaholic. I feel like I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

Maybe it was the stress of the day, but her words made my throat tight with emotion.

“You know, you’re wrong. I love you more,” I said.

“Not possible,” she said simply. “I have to go to the store to pick up a few things. You going to be okay here?”

I nodded and flopped back on the couch. “Yeah, thanks, Mom. I think I’ll watch a movie while you’re gone.”

After she left, I turned on the TV and pulled up one of the rom-coms I loved, but for whatever reason, the jokes didn’t cheer me up like they usually did. I stopped it five minutes in and switched to a different movie. Or actually, it was a mini-series, but whatever. Period dramas always made me feel better.

This day required a mega-dose of romance. Luckily, I knew just where to turn.

My heart felt lighter even as the opening credits rolled.

Immediately, I was transported into a story that I knew would have a happy ending. I curled up on one side of the couch, wrapped myself in a blanket, and let my troubles drift away. My eyes were glued to the screen when the front door opened about two hours later.

“Hey Mom,” I called. “Mr. Thornton is about to propose to Margaret, one of the swooniest scenes ever—number one being the kiss at the train station, of course. Do you want me to pause it?”

“Hey baby,” Mom said. “No, that’s okay.”

I could hear her moving toward the living room even if I couldn’t see her yet.

“Why is everything done by the BBC better than anything here in the States?” I asked.

“Not sure.”

I hummed. “Maybe it’s the English accents.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Ariel, you have a visitor.”

“Oh?” I asked without looking. “Is it Toni? I was just texting her. She loves North & South almost as much as we do.”

“No, it’s not Toni.”

“Then who—?”

My words cut off the instant I turned around and saw Rhys standing next to my mother. I gave my head a shake, but he stayed right there. Not an illusion, then.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said back. “Well…this is a surprise.”