Food, Cats, and Being Lazy

One day, I was in my bedroom when Paige came barging in with a bunch of clothes draped over her arms and still attached to hangers.

“Okay, makeover time,” she said excitedly.

I was flipping through a new cookbook my mom got me. Ever since she found out I could cook, she let me make dinner once a week and kept buying me cookbooks she found at Costco. She also no longer complained about me watching Food Network so much. Whenever she caught me watching it, she’d just ask me what I was learning and drop hints about what she wanted me to cook next. She also said she’d pay me to make cupcakes for her next candle party. It was probably the first time in my life she was being supportive of my interests.

“I don’t want a makeover,” I told Paige. She dropped all her clothes onto the end of my bed anyway.

“It’s not a permanent makeover. I’m not going to cut your hair or anything. We’re just going to try on dresses and do makeup and stuff.”

“None of your dresses fit me. I’m shorter and fatter than you.”

“They’ll fit. Now come here.” I set the book aside and groaned. Then she stood up and forced me to sit at my little vanity table.

My parents got us both vanities when we first got our own rooms. My mom said that her mom had one when she was little, and it was where she did all her makeup. So she always had this idea in her mind that girls should have them. Paige’s was actually covered in makeup and hair products, and she used it to get ready every day. Mine had a dead plant on it and a bunch of junk I’d tossed aside and forgot about. She cleared everything off and put her hands on my shoulders as I scowled at the mirror.

“Okay, I was thinking last night that your hair would look super cute if you straightened it out. I know you don’t like to because it takes too long. But I’m bored so let’s just have fun, okay?” I grumbled in response.

She got her hair straightener from her room and brought it back to my vanity. So I read my cookbook while she played Barbie doll with me. I didn’t know where the sudden interest came from. I didn’t have the body type for dress up. Not since we were little and our mom let us play with her clothes.

When she was done with my hair, she clipped my bangs aside with a little clip and told me to look up. It was shiny and nice, but the cut was all wrong. Maybe if it was cut differently, it wouldn’t look so bad. It was starting to grow out. So even straight, it just grew out instead of down. But she seemed satisfied with it anyway. So she turned me around to do my makeup. And that part sucked because I couldn’t see my cookbook while she poked at my face. And she even demanded to pluck my eyebrows. Then she said I could keep her tweezers because she wouldn’t let me grow them back out.

When she was done with that, she forced me to turn around and face the mirror again. And I wasn’t sure I liked what I saw. I looked just like Paige. Just with rounder cheeks, a metal mouth, and a bad haircut.

But she wasn’t done. She painted my nails next. She chose teal because she said it was totally me. I liked the idea of painted nails, but I always thought my hands were too pudgy for it to be cute. But she said it looked adorable and let me try on some of her rings, insisting that my hands weren’t pudgy and if I called them that again, she would slap me.

I was nervous about trying on her dresses because I was so sure none of them would fit. The first one was pink with spaghetti straps and a little belt made of sequins. It frilled out at the waist like a fairy dress and didn’t even reach my knees. I could barely squeeze into the top of it, and it didn’t sit right because there was no zipper. I hated the fat around my knees and my arms. I hated the way the dress made my tummy poke out.

“So?” she said as I looked myself over.

“I look like a fat Tinkerbell.” She groaned and motioned for me to take it off.

When I finally managed to struggle out of the pink dress, she had me try on a brown one. It fit better because it cinched at the boobs and not the waist. It had a gold clasp and was made out of the same fabric as the pink one. It just wasn’t nearly as bright and flashy. Plus, it tied behind my neck and actually reached my knees.

“This one is really pretty,” I said when she let me look myself over. But she frowned.

“I don’t like this one. It makes you look older.”

“I want to look older.”

“Brown isn’t your color. It’s too dark and moody. You’re very bright and colorful.” She motioned for me to take it off. So I got it off and handed it back over. “Black is still dark and moody, but this dress looks good on everyone. It’s like the sisterhood of the traveling dress. Here.” It had spaghetti straps too, but a much higher neckline, so my lack of boobs didn’t matter. It didn’t have any flashy clasps or sequin belts and actually reached all the way to my knees. And she was right. It was tight enough to smooth everything out instead of making everything bulge.

“Very Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she decided.

“I was thinking Jacky O.” She nodded.

“Very stylish. I think if we pinned your hair back and you wore some pearl earrings, you could totally pull this off.” I nodded.

“Yeah, too bad I have no reason to ever wear a dress. Or the shoes.”

“Shoes! Oh my God, how could I forget? I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of my room, and I could hear her thumping around in her closet. Then she came running back with a pair of black wedges. “I got ones with buckles and wedges because I know you don’t know how to walk in them yet. That way, you don’t fall on your face.” She dropped them to the floor and yanked my foot up.

“Are you sure they’ll fit me?” I asked.

“We wear the same size.”

“We do?”

“Yeah, I borrowed your Chucks for PE once, remember? When I forgot my sneakers?”

“That was two years ago.”

“Yeah, and we both haven’t grown out of our shoes since then, have we?”

“I see your point.”

The shoe slid on perfectly. She buckled it for me and then did the same with the other one. I wanted to point out that I could put my own shoes on, but she seemed happy to do it, and I wasn’t trying to kill her vibes or anything. She stood back up and smoothed herself over as I looked at myself in the mirror.

“Wow,” she said. And I could tell she meant it. “Look at your butt.”

“I’m afraid to.”

“It looks fabulous. I wish I had a butt like that.” I wanted to slap her. I might have if she wasn’t being so nice to me. She grabbed ahold of my shoulders again and turned me so I could see my own butt. “You have a booty. I don’t have one. Do you realize how much it sucks to have a flat ass? Look at that? Juicy booty.”

“Gross.”

“Flaunt what you’ve got, girl. Your booty is awesome.”

“Um—thanks, I guess.” The doorbell rang, and she gasped.

“Oh my Gosh, I almost forgot! Come here.” She yanked my arms and dragged me toward the door, but I teetered on my new height and tripped in the hallway. She wasn’t fazed by it. She just yanked me back upright and pulled me toward the stairs.

“Slow down. I’m going to break my neck,” I said.

“You’ll be fine.” Unfortunately, my mom was already answering the door while we were coming down. And it was—Vincent. She got me to the bottom and then grabbed my shoulders to force me to face him. “Look what I did!” she exclaimed. Like she was presenting him with a macaroni necklace in kindergarten. I grimaced.

“Oh, honey. You look lovely,” my mom said, hand immediately smoothing my hair.

“Err—thanks.”

“But stop slouching.”

“I’m really uncomfortable.”

“Why?” Paige asked, letting me go. “You look beautiful. She has a cute butt, Mom. Did you know she had a cute butt under those baggy jeans all this time?”

“She gets it from your dad’s side of the family,” my mom informed her. Vincent was just watching with an almost vacant expression. But there was a hint of amusement in his eyes when we made eye contact. He was trying not to smile. I wanted to slap him.

“Can we stop talking about my butt in front of Vincent?” I asked.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Paige said. I held onto my arms nervously. “I’ll be right back. I have to go get my bag.”

“Oh, honey. I almost forgot. Can you swing by the post office and mail this package for me on your way?” My mom followed after her.

“Sure.” I stood there feeling like an idiot. I didn’t want to move just in case Vincent saw my “booty.” His eyebrows rose, and he smiled.

“Playing dress-up?” he asked.

“Shut up. She made me.” He nodded.

“You look nice. I mean—I really like your hair when it’s curly, but it’s not bad. You just look really uncomfortable.” I nodded again.

“That’s because I am. Are you taking Paige to an appointment?”

“Yeah, a checkup.”

“Cool.”

“She’s really happy that you’ve been so nice to her lately,” he said quietly. I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“She thought you hated her. She said it means a lot that you’re being so supportive. She doesn’t really have a lot of people on her side at the moment.”

“Oh—well—it’s my job. She’s my sister.”

“Yeah, but do you think she would do the same for you?” I shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe.” No. Definitely not. Not in a million years. He just nodded as if he knew what I was thinking.

“Well—you look nice. For someone very uncomfortable.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Paige asked as she returned with her bag and my mom’s package. “I’m really proud. At least now we know what you’re going to wear to Homecoming. Bye.” Then she pulled Vincent out of the door before I could ask, “What? Homecoming? I’m not going to Homecoming.”