57

My Christmas present from Mom was a mod trapeze dress in purple, blue, and gray paisley. When I’d tried it on the next day, I thought she’d have to return it for a bigger size. But when she saw me in it, she’d clapped her hands and declared it perfect, even if it was halfway up my thigh.

“You’ll wear tights with it,” she’d said. “It will be fine.”

“Are you sure?” I’d asked.

“Of course.” She’d motioned with her finger that she wanted me to twirl around. “That’s how all the girls wear them these days.”

“But I don’t have any place to wear it.” I spun for her. “It wouldn’t pass at church.”

“Well, you can wear it to the party,” she’d said. “Now, let’s figure out what we’re going to do with your hair.”

All week she paged through magazines, trying to decide how she would do my hair and what kind of makeup she’d need to best make the blue of my eyes stand out from behind my glasses. The way she went on, I feared I’d end up with Raquel Welch’s enormous hair, Twiggy’s buggy eyes, and perfectly drawn-on I Love Lucy lips.

“I don’t want to look like I’m wearing a costume,” I told her. “I want him to actually recognize me.”

“Of course he will,” Mom said. “You have to trust me.”

“Just please don’t give me a bouffant.”

She sighed and shook her head. “So picky.”

After making me wear cucumbers on my eyes for half an hour, sit under a hot dryer with rollers in my hair, and absolutely suffocating me with at least a can’s worth of hairspray, Mom declared me nearly ready for the party.

“Now we just need to do your makeup,” she said. “Sit here.”

She pulled the kitchen step stool so it was under the ceiling light.

“Don’t make it very heavy, please,” I said, sitting.

“Oh, shush.” She opened her case of rouge, lipstick, mascara, and such. “Take off your glasses and shut your eyes.”

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” I put my glasses on the counter and tilted my face toward her, eyes closed. “I thought men didn’t care about makeup.”

“They don’t,” she said. “But if I do this right, he won’t even know you’re wearing any. Now stop fluttering your eyelids so I can get it even.”

Relieved that she wouldn’t go over the top, I relaxed. “Is it silly that I’m nervous?”

“Not at all.” She was so close to me I could feel her breath on my face when she talked. “He’s a nice young man.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” She dabbed at the outside corner of my eye with her soft fingertip. “It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t worried about you being with him, though.”

“Why?” I opened my one eye that she wasn’t currently working on.

“Well, sweetie, it would be so difficult, him being black and you white. Even now with how some things have changed.” She looked in my open eye. “You aren’t making this easy for me, you know.”

“Sorry.” I shut my eye.

“When I was your age, there was a couple that got married.” She went back to brushing on eye shadow. “She was black and he was white. They had a few kids together and it was very hard on those children.”

“That was the forties, Mom.”

“You do know that wasn’t so long ago, don’t you?” she asked. “I always worried about those children. I worried that they didn’t know what they were. If they were black or white.”

“I’m just going to a party with David,” I said. “It doesn’t mean we’re going to get married.”

“I know that. And I want you to have a wonderful time.” She sighed. “I just want your life to be easy.”

I opened both of my eyes to see her digging through her makeup case, her lips pushed together tightly.

“Who said that life was supposed to be easy?” I asked.

“Well, then, I want your life to be easier than mine has been.”

“Mom, so far my life has been pretty great,” I said. “Mostly because you worked hard to make sure it was.”

“I really am a fantastic mother.” She winked at me. “I like David. He’s sweet to you and he’s got nice manners. And if I had to choose between him and Walt . . .”

“Mom, no,” I interrupted. “You know that was nothing.”

“Oh, all right.” She shook her head. “Just close your eyes so I can finish up.”

I didn’t argue with her and I tried to keep my face as still as possible so she could finish up. The powdery smell of the blush and the pasty texture of the lipstick made me think of the times when she’d let me play at her vanity when I was little.

“It’s so nice to have a daughter,” Mom said, as if reading the memory from my mind. “I always wanted a little girl. Did you know that?”

“No,” I answered.

“I can’t imagine God giving me a better one than you.” She touched my cheek with her cool hand. “Now, don’t you dare cry. You’ll put streaks in your foundation.”