Page 16 of Dear Pink

“Will it be MasterCard or Visa today?”

“Uhh. Neither. I need time to evaluate this purchase.” Recover from this nightmare is more like it. I feel pimples forming already. “Just the clear Lipglass. Nothing else.”

“But to recreate this style, I urge you to get it all. I’ll write everything on a slip of paper so you can duplicate my masterpiece in the morning. No problem.”

“Don’t,” I blurt a little too loud. “I’m good. The clear gloss and nothing else.”

“Okay. Fine.” He selects the tube from a drawer and rings the purchase up silently.

I hand over a wad of cash and race out of the store. I cross my fingers, toes, and legs in the hope no one sees me before I get to my car. I look like Pennywise.

Later that night, cozy in my pj’s at home, I wash my face and apply the clear Lipglass. In the bathroom mirror, my complexion isn’t blotchy, and my cheeks have enough color. I’m perfect just the way I am.

Chapter 4 - Gabe

I circle the block for the fifth time before parking in front of the neighbor’s house and stare at our family house across the street. Every single light is on, which isn’t necessarily suspicious because my mother doesn’t like a dark house, but Giovanna parked her Prius in the driveway, and thatissuspicious. As a marketing guru for Burton & Baker, she never gets off work before seven. She lives and breathes social media. I stop and survey the house again. Why is her car here?

I scan the street and catch a nosey neighbor watching me, but none of my other sisters are here. Something smells fishy. My sisters travel in a pack. I lock the car and climb the concrete stairs. When I arrive at the porch, my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Gina. “Hey. I'm coming inside. What’s up?”

“It’s an ambush, Gabe. Run. Run fast.”

“What? I can’t hear you. Why are you whispering?”

“Don’t come in. Turn around and leave.”

Before I ask her to repeat herself, the front door swings open and my mother stands with her hands on her hips dressed for company. Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. Did I forget a birthday?

“You’re late,” she says.

“Late for what? Spaghetti and mussels?” If she’s wearing her pearls and her black Eileen Fisher dress, I suspect dinner is chicken marsala and steamed artichokes. She only dresses in her special clothes for graduations, weddings, and funerals.

My mother yanks on the sleeve of my sweatshirt in irritation. “I told you to shower before coming over tonight.”

“I did.”

“You’re in gym shorts and an old college sweatshirt.”

“Since when do I wear dress pants for family dinner?”

“There’s no harm in dressing nice sometimes.”

“Gina called me from upstairs. She said to run for the hills, and you're wearing your special occasion dress. What’s going on, Ma?”

“It’s no matter. You’re gorgeous in anything you wear.” She hugs me tight. “Come in.”

“Hey, big brother.” Gina leans over the balcony railing. “I told you to leave.”

“You should have called much earlier and been more specific. What’s going on?”

“Enough, you two,” my mother says. “Gina, don’t you have calculus homework?”

Gina blows me a kiss like I’m a soldier going off to war instead of to the kitchen. “Good luck with Tonya. You’re gonna need it,” she says as if she’ll never see me again.

I stop short. “Ma, who’s Tonya?”

My mother clamps her lips shut.

“Ma?”

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