Page 189 of Ice Darling
Mom darts a look at me and then shakes her head. “No, I-I’m very busy.”
“But I want you to come too,” Gordie says, pouting.
Mom swallows hard. “Maybe next time.”
“Come with us,” I blurt.
Mom’s eyes widen.
Brenda looks between me and Mom with a shocked expression.
Gordie squeezes my hand tightly in celebration. Seeing the excitement on her face, I know I made the right decision.
“Yay! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
I hold her back. “Not without your shoes. Bring your sneakers downstairs. I’ll help you put them on.”
“Okay!”
As Gordie disappears, Mom approaches me. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can make an excuse to leave.”
“Don’t. Gordie wants you here. That’s enough for me.”
Mom studies me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and frankly, I don’t want to know.
“Here they are!” Gordie skates into view, and I bend to one knee, slipping both shoes on her feet.
“Ready to rock and roll?” I ask her.
She grins hard. “Can we take your bike?”
“Absolutely not.” I flick her nose gently.
“Gordie, come here,” Brenda says, reaching out to the little girl. She stoops in front of her and lectures, “Remember to be respectful, and don’t ask for every little thing you see.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gordie says, bobbing her head.
While Brenda gives Gordie more rules to follow, Mom touches my arm hesitantly. “Thank you…for letting me join you.”
“It’s a princess-themed party. You know more about dresses and tiaras than I do. We’ll need your expertise.”
Mom’s lips stretch up, and I sense the edge of relief beneath her words when she says, “Gordie will win best-dressed at that party. I promise you.”
“It’s a party for six-year-olds, Mom. It’s not the Miss America pageant.”
But the wheels in Mom’s head are in motion, and like a train with no brakes, there’s no stopping her.
Before I know it, Mom calls her very deep network of designers, and Mills whisks us away on a forty-minute drive to a custom dressmaker. The shop is squished between two giant industrial warehouses.
“This doesn’t look like the mall,” Gordie says, giving me a confused look.
“Trust me.” Mom winks. “This is much better than anything you can get off the rack.”
Mom leads the way inside, and Gordie has what I can only describe as a heart attack when she sees all the beautiful prom and quinceañera dresses on the mannequins. She races from one dress to the other, oohing and aahing over everything.
Growing up a Davenport, I know a thing or two about fashion. These dresses are made from the finest material and have the kind of sparkle that a contestant from a major beauty pageant franchise would be proud of.
Mom, as expected, is going overboard.
