That Friday night she rushed to be ready for her “date” with Michael Dunn. She felt like a teenager, her mother hovering, making suggestions, what she should wear. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“Mom. I think I know what’s in my closet.”
“I was just saying that you never wear dresses.”
“I’m not going to some goddamned senior prom. I don’t need a dress.” She was busy consulting her wardrobe for something that appeased Esther and yet would leave her with some sense that she and not Esther made the decision. She sifted through the skirts and found the flouncy one that looked like a peasant skirt. The short-sleeved little white sweater stretched across her breasts and was the best bet with the multi-colored Mexican skirt.
“Don’t you have something a little more comfortable?” Esther was eyeing Molly’s snug sweater.
Molly finished brushing her hair, finished with the lipstick and eye makeup and shot a look at Esther. “Mom. It is what it is.”
Esther sat down heavily on the bed and appraised her daughter. “I guess that’s the way, so informal.”
“I’m going up to L.A. for chrissakes, to a cavern of a place for some quasi-Christian singing and prayer. It will be dark and no one will give a damn.”
“Nice talk.” Esther must have had a delayed reaction to her daughter’s words because she answered now, “Christian?”
“Nothing to worry about. No one tries to recruit, least of all me.” She dragged her fingers through her hair one more time, and it was shiny and all golden highlights and it felt good. She looked at her watch. “It’s late. He’ll be here.”
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