Sin City Girl
Half-done hair and makeup couldn’t hide the echo of Jo’s words in my mind.
Our eyes met in the mirror’s reflection, a fleeting moment.
The glow a bride should have on her wedding day wasn’t there, nor did I—who should have been overjoyed for my sister—felt anything but immense guilt.
And what was I supposed to do now? Should I try to convince her to change her mind?
Such a decision couldn’t be made on a whim.
And was I truly the one to blame? Sure, I didn’t want that life, but I hadn’t forced it on her either.
Still, the guilt clung, a tight hand around my throat.
“Have you seen our mother?” Jo suddenly asked the very moment the door swung open and quite energetically, as if she had not partied with us half of the night, she entered the room.
“Good morning, all!”
“Ouch!” Kim winced.
“God!” Chantelle’s throaty voice broke in. “Too loud, Elizabeth.”
“You’ll be thanking me soon. I brought coffee,” she said, holding the door wide open. Seconds later, Dorothy appeared with a tray of mugs and the comforting, rich aroma filled the morning air.
“Mmm, it smells so good!” I murmured, reaching to take mine.
Suddenly Lana, the make-up artist cried, “No!” as she rummaged in her bag for something, then waved brightly coloured straws in front of my eyes. “We must protect the masterpiece!” she declared in her thick Ukrainian accent.
“Um,” I chuckled, taking one, “I see you’ve come prepared.”
“Always!” she sighed dramatically, her features softening as she turned to me. “Now, where were we?” she purred, picking up a fixing spray and gently misting it around my face.
“Elizabeth, you look absolutely radiant!” Francine exclaimed with a playful smirk. “Almost as if you spent the night at a spa…not tossing back tequila shots with the rest of us the whole night.”
“Why, thank you!” she smiled, then added with a short laugh, “I’m the mother of the bride, I have no choice.
” Checking her hair in the mirror, my mother brushed a few locks away and tugged them behind her ears.
Never one to miss a chance to voice her opinion, as soon as our eyes met in reflection, she considered a thought.
I wondered what she’d say. ‘You look lovely,’ perhaps? Or simply acknowledge our talk. But no…
“Is that the shade you’re going with?” she chimed in, her judgmental eyebrow cocked at my ‘Sin City Girl’ cold red lips, as if the colour itself screamed ‘I’m easy’ and not in a good way.
Slightly taken aback at her comment, I was surprised that I was surprised in the first place.
Because there she was, back to her true self, as if yesterday’s conversation never even happened.
Ugh! As if everything said last night meant nothing!
As if telling her that all I wanted was for her to simply be my mother were empty words.
As if her admitting to me about the relationship she hoped we’d have one day was some drunken rambling that didn’t affect me at all.
And yet, here she goes again, spitting her venom at me.
“Um, yeah, Mum,” I retorted, my racing thoughts barely keeping up with my mouth. “I assumed, who knows—” A short, biting laugh escaping me. “—maybe after the wedding I’ll pick up an extra shift at the local Velvet Rope. I heard they tip well for the two-for-one lap dance special.”
Sensing my frustration—since, well, it was practically painted on my face—she swept her gaze towards my dress hanging on the door, then back at me, momentarily trying to recover her tone.
“Well, what I meant…it’s…certainly a bold choice.
” A quick smile touched her lips. “Not the colour I would wear. But I see how…it would work with the dress.”
***
Another half an hour and my hair was an imperfectly messy updo, a few loose waves caressing the sides of my cheeks.
Dressed in my maid of honour pastel green gown, I stood in front of the large mirror, staring at the stunning woman staring right back at me.
The cold red shade of her lips complemented the emerald in her eyes.
Small earrings, nothing gaudy, added a touch of elegance.
God, she looked…beautiful. I looked beautiful.
Though, just out of spite I wished the dress was more scandalous.
Look, Mother, I do belong in a strip club.
I let out a soft chuckle, but a welcoming warmth spread through me, battling the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
I was nervous too. I was yet to speak to Miles.
My eyes swept down my body—an off-the-shoulder, sheath silhouette gown that started just above my breasts and nipped at the waistline, its soft fabric hugging my curves before draping in silk down my legs.
“Hmm,” I breathed deeply. “One more detail.” I retrieved a small box from my closet, revealing a pair of black stiletto heels with delicate ankle straps.
Slipping them onto my feet, I murmured, “Alright, guys, let’s keep me steady today. ”