Page 190 of Ice Darling
“Juanita”—Mom presses air kisses to the elderly Hispanic woman’s cheeks—“thank you so much for fitting us in. I know you’re busy.”
“For you, Sasha, anything.” Juanita notices me and exclaims, “Oh, wow. Is this Cordelia? She looks exactly like?—”
Mom interrupts, “Juanita,thisis our friend, Gordie.” Not losing her smile for a moment, Mom gestures to the little girl. “She’s our VIP client today.”
“Hi.” Gordie waves and then ducks behind my leg.
“Hello, cutie.”
“Gordie has an important event to attend,” Mom says, strutting forward like she owns the shop—which she very well could. Fingers slipping through the dresses on the rack, Mom says, “We’re thinking something with a thick strap and fitted at the waist with a poofy skirt. Tulle, maybe? Lots of sparkles. Come here, Gordie.”
Gordie runs to my mother who brings a cloth to her and analyzes her with narrowed eyes. “I see. You’re more of a cool tone. Perhaps something blue, Juanita?”
“I like pink,” Gordie says.
Mom looks down at her. “Make that pink. But something soft, not harsh. Do you have anything that could fit the criteria?”
“I believe we might. Though we don’t have many selections. I create for a more mature client.”
“Don’t be modest. I have all faith those magic fingers can make this work.”
Mom moves to another rack, and clearly, she’s taken full command of the room. It feels like I’m a child again, getting dragged along with her and Gwen to prepare for a pageant.
Mom and Gwen spoke an entirely different language back then, and I’d always been miserable tagging along and feeling forgotten. But now, watching Mom help Gordie, I don’t feel miserable at all. Instead, I’m very,verygrateful. Gordie’s smiling and excited. Which makes this all worthwhile.
Was that my problem back then? Was I so caught up in my own feelings of jealousy and inadequacy that I couldn’t get out of my own head and be happy for my sister?
“Cordelia, what do you think?” Mom beckons me closer.
I approach them. There are fabric rolls lined up neatly on spokes and three rows of sewing machines manned by women who smile and nod at us.
“I was thinking a style like this one,” Mom says, lifting a pink dress with a big skirt. “But I also like this one.” She lifts up another dress with an even bigger skirt. “What do you think?”
I squint. “I mean…they’re sparkly…”
“I meant color-wise.” Mom puts one of the dresses against Gordie’s chin. “Come this way so you can look in the mirror, sweetheart.”
Gordie happily trudges along, and Mom keeps the dress tucked against her chin.
“Hm? See?”
I tilt my head. “It looks exactly the same.”
Mom’s jaw drops. “No,nodear. This is Tuscan pink, and this one is coral. They’re vastly different colors.”
“I like this one,” Gordie says, tapping the first dress. “This one feels scratchy.”
“Perfect! I love a girl who knows what she wants. Juanita?”
“I’ve got a sample right here.” Juanita slips a dress into Mom’s hands without her having to explain.
Mom steers Gordie toward the dressing room. “Princess, do me a favor and head right in there to put this on. Do you know how to dress yourself, or do you need Delia to help you?”
Gordie lifts her chin. “I can do it.”
Despite her brave words, Gordie soon calls for help from inside the dressing room.
“Coming!” I yell.
