Chapter 25 Whatever Makes You Happy
The next day, Marissa appeared in my doorway with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Let’s go shopping,” she said brightly. “Make a whole day of it. Just us girls.”
I studied her face for half a second longer than polite allowed.
“Sure,” I said.
Apple appeared behind her almost immediately, as if she’d been listening the entire time.
“That sounds sooo fun,” she sang. “I seriously need new clothes.”
Of course she did.
The drive to the mall passed in strained cheerfulness. Marissa talked too much, about imaginary sales, about how “nice it would be to reset,” about how important it was to “bond again.”
Apple scrolled on her phone in the backseat, glancing up only to announce stores she had to visit. Sephora. Zara. A boutique she “just knew” would have something perfect.
I watched the city blur past the window and let my thoughts harden like ice.
I hadn’t come for bonding. Money in our house was never unlimited, and if spending it meant Apple couldn’t claim everything by default, then the outing served its purpose. And if I happened to enjoy pulling a few carefully chosen strings along the way, that was a bonus.
I stepped into the first store already knowing how this would go.
Marissa let Apple drag her straight to a display rack.
“Look at this one!” she cried, lifting a sky-blue dress from the hanger and pressing it to her body. “Mom, this would be perfect for my recital.”
Marissa lit up. “Oh sweetheart, yes. That color was made for you.”
Apple vanished into a fitting room within seconds.
Then Marissa noticed me standing a few steps behind.
“Oh! Ashley, you should look around too. Pick anything you like.”
I moved slowly through the store, my fingers trailing across fabric while my eyes tracked my mother’s body language.
Every time I picked something structured, bold, or expensive-looking, she stiffened.
When Apple reemerged and twirled dramatically in the mirror, Marissa gasped like she’d just witnessed a miracle.
“Oh my God,” Marissa gasped. “Apple, you look perfect.”
I cleared my throat.
“I found a few things too.”
I held up three items: a sleek black dress, tailored trousers, and a pale blue blouse.
Marissa’s smile froze for half a second.
“Oh, yes. Of course. Go try them on.”
Inside the fitting room, I changed without hurry. When I stepped back out, the atmosphere shifted.
The black dress hugged me perfectly.
Marissa’s face went still.
“It looks nice,” she said after a moment, carefully. “You look… very grown-up.”
Apple leaned toward her and muttered something sharp under her breath.
I heard it.
Marissa pretended she hadn’t.
A sales associate approached with a professional smile.
“Can I help you ladies find anything?”
Marissa spoke first. “We’re just trying to find flattering pieces.”
The clerk’s gaze slid to me.
“Wow,” she said with natural warmth. “You’ve got great posture and height. I know a few pieces that would look stunning on you.”
Marissa stiffened.
Apple muttered a bit louder this time, “Height doesn’t matter if you’re shaped like a board.”
The clerk froze, then pretended she hadn’t heard.
I still didn’t react.
In the next store, Marissa held up two pairs of jeans.
“One for Ashley,” she said absently. “Apple, come here. This one would really show off your waist.”
Apple preened in front of the mirror.
“Does it make my butt look full?”
Marissa smiled indulgently.
“Men like curves, sweetheart. You’ve got a woman’s figure.”
I wondered, briefly, what it must be like to grow up convinced your body was currency.
Thirty minutes later Apple vanished into a fitting room with an armful of dresses, leaving Marissa and me alone.
I touched the sleeve of a jacket like my attention was elsewhere.
“Oh,” I said lightly, “I almost forgot… I need something for school.”
Marissa glanced up. “For what?”
“Psychology,” I replied. “We’re starting a project on early childhood bonding and attachment styles. We’re supposed to use our own family as a case study.”
She turned back to the rack more carefully than necessary.
“We’re supposed to bring family material. Baby photos. That kind of thing.” I smiled faintly. “I found some of mine last night.”
Her fingers curled subtly around her bag strap.
“I noticed something strange, though,” I added casually. “You’re barely in any of them.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“In most of the pictures, it’s just me. Or me and Dad. The first one where you’re clearly there, I think I was already walking. Like a year old.”
Silence.
Apple laughed from the fitting room. “Mom probably just hated being in photos.”
Marissa managed a smile.
“I was tired,” she said. “First baby, you know how it is.”
“Sure.” I nodded, then added gently, “And Apple’s photos too.”
Marissa turned.
“There aren’t any hospital pictures of her,” I said mildly. “Not one. Weren’t there incubator photos? Medical bracelets? Anything from when she was born premature?”
Her expression tightened.
Apple poked her head out of the curtain. “Mom hates hospitals.”
“I just thought it was odd,” I said, tilting my head. “All her first pictures are already at home. Normal-sized. Pink. Healthy-looking. She doesn’t really look premature at all.”
Silence stretched between racks.
Then Marissa drew a sharp breath.
“That was a terrifying time,” she said softly. “I couldn’t stand seeing her like that. With wires and tubes. I didn’t want to remember her that way.”
I studied her.
“So you didn’t take even one?” I asked neutrally. “Not you. Not Dad. Nothing from the hospital at all?”
“When you think your child might die,” she said slowly, “you don’t reach for a camera.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
It didn’t.
By the time we reached the counter, Marissa was distracted, her mind clearly elsewhere. The clerk rang everything through, dress after dress, Apple’s pile noticeably higher than mine.
Marissa barely reacted until the total flashed on the screen.
She paused, her eyes dropping to the card already waiting in her hand, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Then, as if making a silent decision, she opened her wallet and slid out another card from a narrow inner sleeve, one I had never seen before.
Her fingers tightened around it before she handed it to the clerk.
When she tucked it away again, her eyes flicked to me, and she flinched.
Interesting.
The clerk handed us our bags.
Apple beamed. “Mom, today was perfect.”
Marissa stroked her hair.
“Whatever makes you happy,” she murmured. “Whatever makes my babies happy.”
I smiled faintly.
And memorized everything.