Page 21 of Bring me Back

My costumes always had a purpose. I’d never indulged in making something simply because. Fabric costed money; sewing required time. But sometimes I had the urge to start something simply because I wanted to make it real.

My dream dress was a collection of things I missed, things I was. Memories of mom, trinkets of our lives together before she was taken from me. We used to collect shells at the beach, and my sketches always started with a skirt bottom full of attached shells. I traced a gown with a big enough diameter to keep me from others. A large circumference of fabric pooling at all sides like the waves. I thought about colors, but only the most delicate, almost like it was faded by time.

A soft curve to my breast because I liked them full and round. Draped fabric over my arms because I wished they were stronger. Fake lightness, the type of fabric which can flow, but is rough to the touch.Linen, canvas, cotton.

I lost track of time as I sketched the dress I might have never sewed but as I tiptoed to my room at six in the morning the next day, I couldn’t stop asking myself, why couldn’t I have something that beautiful?

The next thing I knew, Dad’s head poked through the bedroom’s door. “Bug?”

I turned around, yawning. I probably slept less than two hours.

“Will you come to church with me?”

My heart was light, so I smiled and nodded.

I got dressed, feeling tired, but I wanted to accompany Dad. He was raised in church, and so was Mom. I had fragmented memories in the pew, and drinking tea after a sermon. I remembered my mother’s nicest flowery dress and the treats I got at Torres’ after each service. It was while thinking about Mom, that I put a nice dress on, fixed my hair and hoped to make her proud.

An hour later, I was listening to Father O’Neil talk about the prodigal son. I smiled to Dad when he arched an eyebrow in my direction, delighted by the coincidence.

This good daughter, to home, returns.

Father O’Neil insisted it was all forgiven, but maybe that was where he and I disagreed.

I never felt true pressure on being the perfect daughter. People barely remembered I was Preston White’s kid and when they ever made the connection, it was never expected of me to be anything but flawed.

I talked less than the other girls. I looked differently too, even now that my Filipino features weren’t as prominent as when I was little; anyone could tell I wasn’t Bluehaven through and through. I missed looking like Mom.

When the service was finished, Dad guided me out of the church, raising a hand to acquaintances, telling them how great it was to have me home. At front, we were part of many conversations. I prided myself on chuckling and raising my eyebrows at the right cues.

“Oh, Preston, they told me your daughter was back. I couldn’t believe it. I thought she was promised to make it big in the city.”

The manicured hand held Dad’s forearm and took him from a conversation. We both turned to find Sharon Campbell and her picture-perfect smile. Delilah Campbell stood just beside her, with a little smile on her lips like the good girl she was.

Dad blinked, startled by that conversation starter. He wasn’t used to backhanded comments like the one Sharon just threw our way.

“She’s back.” His hand came to my shoulder. “I missed my daughter, so I’m happy.”

I liked that he didn’t explain why I was back. I didn’t owe them anything. I left because I was accepted into a good school and I came back because I was free to do so.

Sharon’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “My Katie’s still out there. She’s done amazing, of course. You remember Katie, don’t you, Hallie? Were you friends?”

Delilah stifled a laugh. I frowned at them both. I didn’t want to talk about Katie, especially in front of Dad. But I didn’t have the chance to stir the conversation, Dad did for me.

“Is she working?”

“She’s a nurse.” Sharon clicked her tongue. “It’s a lot of work. But you know Katie, anything to help others.”

There was a pause, but I didn’t laugh. I didn’t move or react. I didn’t tell that Katie Campbell was the last person who should’ve been a nurse.

“That’s great for her.” I smiled brightly instead.

The blond women weren’t happy, but I learned a long time ago nothing would make a bully happy. Years ago, I let Katie have everything. She owned the school; she owned the beach. She took me from extra-curricular activities when she was interested in them and didn’t want to see my face around. I always gave in. I never fought back, not once. It was a war already won, and I couldn’t understand why they were still trying to stab someone who was already down.

Dad heard his name being called and promptly turned after giving an apologetic smile to Sharon. I probably should have followed him, but I didn’t. I stood in front of them in my nicest lavender dress and sensible heels. My hair brushed back, soft and shiny, but it didn’t matter how pretty I thought I looked when I left the house. I could tell the Campbells weren’t impressed.

“Fashion, isn’t it?” Sharon asked. “Is what you’ve done to yourself?”

What I’ve done to myself?Like an accident or something? I had no idea why someone would phrase it that way, and I fought the urge to break eye contact. I refused to look weak.

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