T-shirts to Mom’s high-cut swimsuit with a mesh insert.
“Dis’ll look fabulous on you, cher. Très bien.” Monique’s chubby hand parts the curtains, and she shoves a cheetah-print one-piece into Mom’s side. “It’s on trend dis season.”
I adjust a tank top with the outline of Louisiana on it and wait to hear Monique walk away. “Mom,” I whisper, but when she doesn’t answer I say a little louder, “Mom!”
“Is that you, Lou Ann?”
Who else? “Yes.” I pull my braid from the back of the shirt and lean closer. “You don’t have to try on a swimsuit if you don’t want.”
“I got it on one leg already.”
Monique’s hand appears again and pushes a pair of jean shorts at me. “Dis is da last pair of dese cutoffs. Vonda Richard, she called and had me put dese aside for her, but she has a flat bottom like me. Dese are made fo’ a woman with a pretty figure like you. Très bien. Hot hot.”
“Thank you,” Mom and I say at the same time.
I don’t know if I even own jean shorts. I think I gave them up years ago, and so I’m really surprised at how much I like them. The hemline is raw, and the back pockets are distressed enough that they look worn-in. I’m not really a shredded-edge girl, but Mom’s not the only fashion rebel in the family.
“How do dey fit?” Monique asks through the curtain.
“Good.” I look at my butt in the mirror. Really good. “Too bad this is the last pair.”
“Lou Ann?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t hook this thing. I need help.”
I stare at the curtain for several long seconds before I gather the courage to push it open. Mom’s back is to me and she’s holding her hair aside. I quickly hook the ends around her neck and say, “There you go.” She spins around and poses with a hand on her waist, and I fight the urge to throw an arm over my eyes.
“What do you think?” she asks, as if she doesn’t have eyes in her own head.
The suit is cut high on her hips and shows way too much of her Attends. On the other hand, it’s also cut high on the top and is tight enough to keep her boobs in position halfway to her belly button. “It’s one of your favorite animal prints.”
She points to the mesh in back. “How does that part look?”
It could be worse; she could be wearing a bikini. “I think Monique is right. It’s on trend and you look fabulous. Très bien.”
“Good. I could use a swimsuit.”
I want to ask why, but I don’t. At least it’ll match her cheetah shower cap.
“You’re not goin’a believe dis.” Monique shoves a stack of shorts through the curtain. “I just got dese in.”
She’s right. I don’t believe it.
“God provides.”
I seriously doubt God’s in on Monique’s hustle. The only difference between the shorts I’m wearing and the three pairs she’s handed me is that each is a darker shade of denim.
The last things Monique shoves our way are T-shirts with a dancing crawfish and the words “I’m Cray Cray” on the front. I take one look at Mom and she at me in our matching shirts and we crack up. I laugh at her and she laughs at me, and we manage to get dressed without losing it only by not looking at each other.
Monique waits for us at the register, two stacks of clothes beside her. The size of the stacks reminds me that, while I like to support small-business owners, I’m clearly being hustled.
“This has been so much fun.” Mom adds the crawfish shirts to the pile. “I love everything you recommended for me.”
“Merci bien.” I hand over my Visa before Monique can think to shove a preserved alligator head at Mom.
“Goodness gracious! I thought you looked familiar.” Monique looks up from my business credit card. “My sister read your book and got herself a man. Of course, he wasn’t wort’ a darn.”
“That happens.”
“My daughter is Lulu the Love Guru, and she’s a big deal,” Mom says, as if she just remembers my life beyond the confines of her world. She lifts her chin with pride and adds, “She’s very smart. You better believe that.”
“Ahh, thanks, Mom.” The backs of my eyes pinch and I blink back tears. Bragging is Mom’s way of letting me know she’s proud of me. I don’t need her to say the exact words.
“She makes lots and lots of money and got the plumbing fixed so I