She gave that soft, characteristic laugh she used whenever she thought I was being overly dramatic. “Sweetheart,” she said, “that was a lifetime ago.“
I swallowed hard. “Come to mine. With me.“
The towel she was holding slipped from her fingers. She stared at me as if I had suddenly switched to a foreign language. Then, her lower lip began to tremble. Suddenly, she was weeping so hard she had to sit on the edge of the bed to catch her breath.
“I don’t—I’m not—” she gasped, shielding her face with her hands. “I’m too old. People will stare.“
“They can stare,” I insisted. “You deserve this.“
My stepdad, Mike, heard the commotion and rushed into the room, looking panicked until I explained my request. His eyes went wide, and then he broke into that quiet, proud smile of his. Squeezing my shoulder, he said, “That is the best prom date choice I’ve ever heard.“
Not everyone shared his sentiment. When my stepsister, Brianna, found out, she nearly choked on her Starbucks.
“You’re bringing your mom?” she asked, blinking as if she’d misheard me. “To prom? That’s… actually pathetic.“
I ignored her. Later that day, she tried again, leaning against the kitchen counter while scrolling through her phone. “Seriously, what’s she going to wear? One of her church dresses? You’re going to embarrass yourself.“
I still gave her nothing.
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