Page 51 of The Invitation
“I don’t knowwhat Eloise will do about this,” Mom says from inside the dressing room. “I don’t even think she has his name.”
I turn the page of my book and sigh.
Halcyon is one of the nicest boutiques in Nashville, and my mother has no business shopping here. But did that stop her from twisting my arm to accompany her on a try-on excursion of outfits she can’t afford? No. No, it didn’t. I could’ve put my foot down and stayed home, but that would’ve given me too much time to think.
And God knows I’ve thought it through a million times.
“I’m sure she’ll figure it out,” I say, forcing my mind away from my date with Ripley and back to the task at hand—saving my mother from spending money she doesn’t have on clothes she doesn’t need. “Don’t fall in love with the black dress. You don’t need it.”
“You’re so negative.”
“I’m realistic. I saw the price tag.”
“Let’s not rule anything out until we see it on me.”
I roll my eyes and curl up in the oversized orange chair in the corner. Then I go back to my book.
Halcyon’s private fitting areas are divine. Each pod, as they call them, has a sitting area, dressing room, and a stocked refreshment center with fancy seltzer waters and various snacks. And it’s quiet. If a personal shopping assistant didn’t check on you every ten minutes, I might try to hang out here. It gives bougie library vibes without a kids’ play center. It doesn’t get much better than this.
“I told Eloise that burning was never good, but she’s in her fifties. She should know that,” Mom says.
“Sounds like she fucked around and found out.”
“Georgia! Mind your mouth. We’re in public.”
I set my book on my lap and laugh. “You’re talking about one of your friends contracting a burning sensation from a college-aged kid in Florida, and I can’t say the word fuck?”
“Not in public.” She groans. “This zipper is too tight.”
“I told you to size up.”
She gasps. “I’m not a size ten, Georgia Faith.”
“It’s just a number. Besides, every fabric and every designer are different. An eight isn’t always an eight.”
“If I were your size, maybe I would say that, too. But I’m not. Have a little empathy.”
I sigh and go back to my book. Just as I get to the part I’ve been waiting for—when the hero realizes she’s always been the one for him—the dressing room door flings open.
“Have you been listening to me?” Mom asks, fixing an earring.
“Honestly? No.”
She runs her hands down the little black dress and turns to a full-length mirror. “I don’t know why you brought a book, anyway.”
“I’m trying to feel things, Mom.”
She grins over her shoulder. “If you’d take my advice and start using men for what they’re good for, you could feel a lot of things.”
“Seriously, Mother?”
“Maybe you need to go to Charity Club with me. We can give you some pointers.”
I snort. “With all due respect, I prefer my sexual encounters not to include burning sensations.”
“That’s just Eloise. Now come here and help me zip this thing up.”
I stand and make my way to my mom.
