Page 19 of Sugar Coated Secrets

The dress flares out, snug at the waist, and almost knee length. It feels smooth against my freshly shaved legs. The white cotton thong made me feel like I wasn’t wearing any underwear. The dress was strapless. I couldn’t afford to buy a strapless bra to push up my breasts, but I didn’t need it. Half my breasts were uncovered, and it gave me a sense of confidence. A dreamy feeling filled with excitement ran through me that Ford would find me attractive.

“You look beautiful, Dulce.”

I look at my grandmother’s reflection in the mirror and feel a pang inside my chest. She looks tired. The sky is overcast, and the lights in my bedroom make her look pale like white salamander.

When I was in ninth grade, she was diagnosed with cancer in her lymph nodes. She underwent treatment and went into remission. Now, it is back with a vengeance, wanting to finish the job. Cancer is a bitch. It’s evil. It makes you watch your loved ones die slowly. Treatment gives you hope, but it doesn’t make it easy.

“Thank you, Grandma.”

“Who’s the lucky boy?”

I smile. “Ford Keller.”

“Ford Keller,” she repeats but doesn’t seem surprised for whatever reason. She knows who he is. I mean, who doesn’t? His parents are rich.

I look at myself once again in the mirror, smoothing my dress. I almost declined his invitation when I received the text at 3:30 after school from an unknown number. I didn’t plan on going. I had already told Mary to leave for the day. At first, I wasn’t sure if the invitation was real. When I asked who it was, Ford’s name popped up. My heart beat wildly. Blue eyes swam behind my eyes as my fingers typed the only reply that would make all my dreams come true.Yes.

“Are you sure you will be okay until I come back?”

She waves her hand from her wheelchair. “I’ll be fine,” she says.

She needs the wheelchair because the cancer has metastasized to the bone, and she can’t walk. I bathed her when I got home because she hates when Mary does it, and then I made her dinner—mashed potatoes and meatloaf.

“Are you sure? It was last minute. I could send him a text and tell him I can’t go. I know I told you I wasn’t going.”

“Dulce Webster,” she says with a horrified look. “You will not stand up that boy. He asked, and you accepted. I know you’re nervous, sweetheart. It’s what happens when the guy you have a crush on asks you out.”

I whirl around. “Grandma…”

She sucks her teeth. “You can’t lie to me, Dulce. I see the look in your eye every time someone mentions Ford Keller.” She pushes the button on her refurbished motorized wheelchair, which I found on eBay for half the price, and goes to her room. “Can’t blame you, honey. He’s a looker. I heard he is moving to Europe to race cars. This is your chance, so don’t waste it on an old bird like me. I want to see you happy before I…”

My chest squeezes as she stops herself from finishing the sentence. I know what she was about to say, of course. I know what’s coming, even if we never say it out loud.

She’s dying, and there isn’t shit I can do about it. Except watch her slowly and painfully wither away.

Nothing, but watch her die slowly.

“I don’t want to leave you, Grandma,” I tell her with tears stinging my eyes, knowing I’m not just talking about being apart from her tonight.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” she assures me. “This is the first time I've seen you smile in a long time. This is your night. Prom is one of the most memorable nights in a girl’s life. If your parents could…” She seems to struggle to catch her breath like she always does when she talks about them.

I don’t want to see my grandmother unhappy, so I smile and tell her, “Alright, Grandma. Let’s get you to bed. Ford will be here soon.”

“What time did he say he would pick you up?”

“Seven thirty.”

I don’t want him to see how run down the inside of our house looks. We need new floors and fresh paint. The kitchen is outdated because we updated the bakery to keep business going. All the money we make goes to the mortgage and keeping the lights on. We never have to worry about food because we workwithfood, but there isn’t room for anything else.

I follow her to her room, my late mother’s silver heels making the loose floorboards groan. She pauses near the stairs. “Hold on,” she says and reaches for her phone in her pocket. “Stand over by the staircase,” she says and then coughs.

“Grandma…”

“I need a picture of you in the same spot your mother stood when it was her prom. Make sure you take pictures with Ford.”

I blink back tears, realizing how much this means to her. I stand at the foot of the stairs, smoothing my loose hair and smiling as she snaps the picture.

“Gorgeous,” she says with glassy eyes. “You look so much like your momma.”

---