The Better to Hold You - By Alisa Sheckley Page 0,27
therapy, then.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a flat gift box, wrapped in shiny purple paper. “Here. This is for you. You probably won't like it, but I saw it and thought, That would look fantastic on Abra.”
I opened the box and pulled out a deep black and purple crushed velvet gown with lots of corset-type laces and hanging sleeves, the kind of thing Morgan le Fay might have worn for a dark faerie's night out. “Wow,” I said. “It's … amazing.”
“Handmade. But you'll never wear it.”
“It's just—I don't really have anywhere to wear it to, really …”
“Try it on.”
“Now?”
“Go on, Abra, make your mother happy.”
I took off my shirt.
“And the bra. You can't wear a bra with that.”
I took off my bra.
“Look at those breasts! Why you wear a bra at all is beyond me.”
I slipped the dress on over my khakis and turned around. “What do you think?” I felt ready for Halloween.
“Wait a minute.” My mother tugged the dress down until the sleeves exposed half my shoulder and the neckline barely covered my nipples. “There. Take a look at that.”
I went into the bathroom just as a cat stalked out of a litter box, and looked in the mirror. White skin, long dark hair, breasts about to fall out: I looked like a gypsy wench. “Thank you so much for my present,” I said, over my shoulder.
“Don't expect Hunter to compliment you on it. Your husband prefers you when you look like a little nun, Abra, or hadn't you noticed?”
I had forgotten how perceptive my mother could be. Maybe she might have something to say that would help me out.
I followed her back into the kitchen, pulling the dress over my head. “Mom. I have something I want to say to you.”
“I knew it. You're strung out about this. Listen, Abra, Grania is the best thing that has happened to me in years, and I won't have you waltzing in here and handing down judgments.”
“Mom.” Just as the dress came off my head, leaving me naked from the waist up, Grania appeared. She didn't so much as look at me as I yanked the fabric up over my breasts.
“Piper, we talked about this.”
“I'm not having her insulting our relationship.”
Grania turned to me as I pretended to be unself-conscious about putting my brassiere back on. “I'm sorry if this was a bad time. I told her not to do this on your birthday.” She held out a vial. “And I brought the nasal fluid.”
“Thanks,” I said, but my mother, a professional scene-stealer, would not be gainsaid.
“She's over twenty-one, and if you would just take the time to get to know her, you'd see that—”
“Mom. I don't care about Grania. I'm glad you're happy. I wanted to talk with you about something else.”
My mother's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What is it? Is it Hunter?”
I glanced over at Grania, who held up her hands as if in surrender. “Hey, I'll leave you guys to it. Just let me know about Pimpernell, okay? I love that little guy.”
When we were alone again, my mother said, “So? What's the bastard done now?”
“He cheated on me, Mom.”
She held out her arms, and I came into them. “How did you find out? Did he lose interest in sex? Or was he suddenly more interested?”
“Mo-om,” I said, embarrassed.
“More interested, I see.”
I pulled back so I could look in my mother's all-too-knowing eyes. “The thing is, I asked if he loves this other woman, and he said … he said, ‘Probably not in the way you mean.' “ I collapsed into my mother's meaty shoulder, sobbing. She smelled of smoke, which reminded me of Hunter.
“Typical. He screws another woman, and instantly plays it so you're the one on tenterhooks. Oh, Abra, when are you ever going to take a stand in your marriage?”
I sniffled, knowing she was right, knowing I was being weak and pathetic. “I just don't want to lose him,” I admitted. “Do you have a tissue?”
“Here.”
I blew my nose. “I don't know what to do, Mom.”
“Well, Abra, I just hope you're not going to catch some disease from that man. Because in my day, men just fucked you over when they slept around. Now, they can kill you with it.”
Trust my mother to find the one thing to make me feel worse. “I'll have to go get tested, I guess.” A great chunk of despair forced its way up my chest and throat, emerging as a sort of broken moan.