Page 4 of Pretty Plaything
But I can’t escape from who I am.
“Honey,” my mom says. “You need to come with me for a dress fitting.”
A dress fitting?
Again?
Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in some historical show, except I’m lucky enough that the dresses aren’t those awful gowns with corsets that make it impossible to breathe.
“Do I really need a new dress?” I ask.
“Yes. We might have a few special people over.” The smile on my mom’s face tells me that she’s talking about my potential husband.
“Like who?”
“I don’t know, honey. Your dad didn’t tell me.” She furrows her brow. “Sit up straight. You’re slumping.” Her smile returns. “I found just the right dress that will accentuate your lovely face. We just have to make sure it fits and make a few adjustments. You’ll look wonderful.”
Again, I wish something else mattered more.
Why does it all have to be about my looks? Why won’t anyone appreciate my success in my studies? Or care about the things I can do?
Is my body really the only thing I have to offer?
“Mom, actually, I have an idea for a dress.” I get to my feet and find one of my sketches in a notebook. “It’s my own design, and maybe—”
“Honey, we don’t have time for this. You know I think all your drawings are nice, but you’re a woman now, not a child.”
“My tutor said my designs are really good. There’s an online college course I could take to—”
My mom presses her lips into a tight line, her forehead creasing, the lines around her eyes more prominent. “Once you get married and have children, you won’t have time for those things. Why start something you won’t be able to finish? And what for? You don’t need it.”
“But what if I just want to do it? For me?” My mom’s life has always revolved around my brothers and me.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her doing something for herself or something she enjoys. I don’t even know if she has any hobbies because I’ve only seen her do the things my dad likes.
She watches the movies he likes. She reads the books he has in his library. I don’t think she’s ever chosen anything for herself, without thinking about some purpose her choice might have.
If she chooses a dress for herself, she’ll think about how my father will like it. If she picks a meal our cooks will make, it’ll always be something her family wants.
Maybe I’m just being selfish.
I love my family, and I’m never going to be like normal people. I’ve already missed out on a lot of experiences, like going to an actual school rather than being homeschooled by a tutor, so missing out on a few more shouldn’t matter if my family will be happy.
Maybe my mom’s right.
I should be grateful that I could bring some value to my family at all, not worry about all the things that I can’t have.
The door bursts open, and my brother, Santiago, enters. His dark brown hair is caked with sweat, and his dark eyes are dancing with joy.
“Santi,” my mom says. “Where have you been?”
“Out.” He grins.
“Are you hungry? Should I tell—”
“No, Mom, thanks. I’m just looking for my phone.” He glances around the room. “I left it somewhere. Looks like it’s not here.”
I watch my brother and try really hard not to envy him. He can mostly do whatever he wants and sometimes even go out without any guards.
