Single Sashimi (16 page)

Venus’s mouth dropped open. “Belly dancer? I don’t blame her.”

“It was only
three inches.
Three little inches of midriff.”

“Tcha! It was more like seven or eight.”

“Besides, at least you can go.” Mika looked down, not meeting anyone’s eyes. There was a thread of hurt in her voice that silenced the other girls, as well.

“Your parents won’t let you go?” Venus didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to dealing with drama like this. Her mother’s drama didn’t count—most of the time, that was like spaghetti thrown at a wall. Her mother would hurl all kinds of things at Venus to see what would stick, what would provoke a reaction.

“My mom won’t let me go to any dances.”

“Her mom hates men,” Naomi piped up. “Ow!”

Sarah had smacked her in the arm. “Dummy. You don’t know if Mika wants somebody else to know that.”

“Oh.”

“No, it’s okay.” Mika had that distant look and tone that Venus recognized, trying to pretend the issue wasn’t that important when in reality, it ate at her heart like battery acid. “She’s been like that since Dad left.”

Silence descended among them, surrounded by the cheering of the other kids as Josh and Herman ate themselves to death. The girls fiddled with their earrings, their bracelets, their rings, with stray threads on their fashionable tops, with strands of their hair. What should she say now? Venus’s panic was like a silent scream in the midst of their non-chatter. She didn’t have a clue on how to be warm and fuzzy.

Jenn. Her cousin was always encouraging and sweet and everything Venus was not. She’d pretend to be Jenn. “It’s okay—” She put her hand on Mika’s shoulder.

She shrugged it off. “No, actually, it’s not okay.”

The girls seemed to be all holding their breaths.

“It totally sucks.” Mika spoke in a throbbing whisper. “Sometimes I just hate her for being so unreasonable. And she’s so bitter and selfish and she just doesn’t listen to me.”

Hmm, that sounded familiar.

“And Pastor Lester always says for us to do our best to honor our parents, because that’s the only commandment with a promise attached.”

There it was again. The commandment had popped into her head the past few weeks at random times. “How do you honor a parent you can’t even respect?”

“Exactly!” Mika’s breast heaved.

Venus didn’t want to encourage a griping session, but she also knew she was supposed to have some kind of answer, wasn’t she? After all, she was a youth leader, and she’d read through her Bible twelve times. Shouldn’t she know how to answer her, rather than asking an angst-filled question?

“It’s so hard.” Mika sighed. “And I’ve been trying so hard. But I keep getting into fights with her.”

Venus couldn’t even say she was trying. This fifteen-year-old girl embarrassed her with her passionate heart. Venus’s faith was simply stagnant—she treated her mother the way she’d always treated her.

“Do you still want to go shopping with us tomorrow?” Naomi asked.

“Naomi!” Rachel hissed.

“It’s okay.” Mika sniffled. “I can at least go shopping. It’s one of the few things she’ll let me do.”

Venus doubted Mika’s mom was that restrictive. She had realized in the past few weeks that these girls liked to exaggerate.

“Venus, you want to come with?” Naomi asked.

“Me?” She looked around at their fresh, young faces. “I don’t know a thing about ball dresses.” She hadn’t gone to her own prom, much less any other dance in high school.

“But you’re always dressed nice.” Rachel fingered her Banana Republic blouse.

After that first night at youth group, she’d dressed both for potential mess and with a little more style. Problem was, her closet consisted of suits, workout clothes, and loungewear she’d never walk out of her house with. Her designer jeans had cost several hundred dollars, her tops were mostly separates to go with her suits.

But they must have thought she looked okay. Maybe it was the fact the price tag on her back probably topped these girls’ allowances for an entire year. “I guess…if you guys really want me to.”

“Yes!” Naomi clapped her hands. “You can help us pick out something really sophisticated.”

Maybe all those fashion and gossip mags she loved weren’t just mind candy—she could use the style guides to help these girls look their best.

The one person who really knew fashion was her mother.

No. No no no. She wasn’t even going to consider that. She hadn’t spoken to Mom—or rather, her mom hadn’t spoken to her—since that day at work weeks ago. Mom wouldn’t even want to see her.

No, that wasn’t true. Usually her mother’s moodiness ensured she didn’t hold grudges for very long. If Venus proffered an olive branch, Mom would probably leap at it.

Honor your father and mother.

She’d stopped telling herself to shut up by now because it hadn’t been working. It had also occurred to her that the voice might be God and not just some secret place in her head.

“Can my mom come too?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could change her mind.

The girls looked thoughtful.

“She’s really good at fashion. Better than me. She’d love helping you guys.” And she realized that it was true. Her mother would delight in helping each girl look stunning in just the right dress for her.

“Okay.” Naomi’s eyes were as luminous as Mikimotos. “I could use help because I have such big hips.” She sighed and looked down at her teeny weeny torso.

Venus had never been that small, and never could be, with her bone structure. She wisely looked away before she did something dumb. Like smack her.

“I’d like to meet your mom,” Mika said.

Oh, Lord, I hope this isn’t a mistake.

Meanwhile, at the table, Josh shoved his last bite into his mouth and collapsed onto the floor.

W
hat Mom had lost out on in Venus’s four years in high school, she made up for in two hours at Valley Fair Mall.

After church on Sunday, luckily, a group of boys from the youth group decided to go to the mall. Herman and Drake agreed to go, as well, which helped Venus out because she had no idea how to legally squeeze six girls into her little Beamer.

Valley Fair was packed, as usual, but they found parking. The girls in Drake and Herman’s cars had been instructed to meet them at Tiffany, where Venus arranged to meet her mom. She suspected Mom would arrive early so she could do a little jewelry shopping beforehand. Sure enough, when Venus entered the store with the collected girls, a sales associate had just handed her mother a baby blue bag.

“Hello, darling. I picked up a little something. Want to see?”

The teen girls stopped their awed ogling at the glass cases and suddenly scrambled around them, as if the blue box was a magnet. Venus noted the pained expressions of the sales associates, so she hustled the girls outside the store first.

Mom delighted to show the girls the “little something”—a sapphire and diamond pendant. Venus’s breath caught in her throat and stuck there painfully—not at the sight of the jewelry, but at the fact it probably cost a few thousand dollars and Grandma paid her mom’s Visa bill way too often.

“Now.” Mom put the bauble away. “Let’s get started. This is going to be so much fun!” She beamed at the teens, the very picture of a way hip mother.

What was the point in disillusioning them?

Oh, she shouldn’t be so catty. Mom had been extremely gracious about the invite to shop with six teenage girls. In typical Mom fashion, she’d pretended the argument hadn’t happened. Beautiful in a flowered dress, Mom radiated maternal warmth to the girls. It contrasted the ugly scene Venus anticipated when unresolved things between them would blow up.

Why worry about it now? Mom was happy and in a good mood.

They headed down the mall, but Mom turned into a store only a few shops down from Tiffany. “Let’s start here.” She disappeared inside before Venus could hurry and stop her. Despite her normal languid stride, Mom could book it when doing something she enjoyed.

Venus skirted the few girls between them and lowered her voice. “Mom! This place is too expensive for these girls.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Amadea’s is my favorite shop. I bought that gown for Grandma’s Christmas party here. They’ll find wonderful dresses for their little ball.”

She was doing it again—her “earplug syndrome.” Well, no harm in letting the girls look around. They’d realize they couldn’t afford anything pretty quick and ask to leave.

Naomi and Sarah gave a few soft squeals as they pawed through a few gowns on the rack. Rachel circled a mannequin in a cream duchess satin wedding gown.

Mika held back, her hands behind her, gazing at the gowns hanging from the wall with a look that reminded Venus of…herself. Fifteen years ago, in a shop like this one, with her mother. Mom had dragged Venus along while she tried on dress after dress for some party. Venus had no ball to go to, and a figure too large to wear most of the clothes with any style.

Venus approached the girl and gazed up at a gauze gown. “Too bottom-heavy.”

“What?” Mika looked at her as if she’d just insulted the Queen.

“The dress. It’s made for a woman with an apple shape—or rectangular. See? The belt gives the illusion of a nipped-in waist.”

“I think it’s pretty.”

“Oh, it is. But for you…” She pulled her over to a mannequin with a pale rose bridesmaid gown. “These satin roses”—she pointed to the blooms dotting the off-the-shoulder straps and lining the edge of the V-shaped bodice—“draw the eye toward your face and make your shoulders and bosom look larger.”

Mika giggled. “The only thing that could make my boobs bigger is a water bra.”

A saleswoman coughed behind her. Oh, no. Was she going to scold them for fingering the merchandise? Venus turned, head high and gaze icy, ready for a setdown, but she relaxed as she realized the woman’s open smile enveloped Mika. “What would look really good on you is this.” She pointed to a gown on the wall, a stunning beaded halter top gown with flowing lines draping down.

Mika sighed.

“When you get married,” the saleswoman whispered, “you’ll look great in something like this. The beads draw the eye, and you don’t have to wear a water bra to keep it up.” She winked.

Venus couldn’t stop the smile cracking her cheeks as Mika drank in that gown. It was a sight to—

She stopped and stared at another gown on a mannequin next to it. “Is that a Marchesa?”

The saleswoman glanced up, her dark eyes sparkling. “We just got that in.”

The cream gown had the signature romantic lines of sinuous fabric, but with ruby gems along the shoulders, in a delicate pattern at the waist, running down the skirt in narrowing swirls. The soft fabric and the twisting design would compliment Venus’s hourglass figure.

Sure. If she had a few thousand dollars to burn.

“Try it on.” Mika tugged at Venus’s sleeve.

“No.” She glanced up at the girls, who had stopped their window shopping and now stood around in a cluster in the middle of the store. The other sale associates, less friendly than this one, had gathered near the back of the store, shooting
Begone, you infidels!
looks at the teens, while an older woman chatted with her mother at the far corner. “Let’s go somewhere you guys can afford.”

She walked over and tapped Mom’s shoulder. “We’re going to another store.”

Startled eyes met hers. “Why?”

“I told you already, Mom. These teenage girls can’t afford these dresses.”
Please, God, help her to get it this time. I don’t want to get into an argument with her right here in the middle of Amadea’s Boutique.

Mom laughed, a tinkling sound that usually spelled doom for Venus in some way or another. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy their dresses for them.”

“Mom!” Venus started at her own sharp tone, then lowered her voice. “That’s inappropriate. You don’t even know their parents. They won’t accept that.” And Grandma would fly through the roof at the Visa bill.

Storm clouds gathered in Mom’s gaze, but Venus sparked some lightning in her own. “We’re leaving now. You can stay if you want.” Venus whirled away. “Come on, chickies.”

She thought she heard a collective sigh of relief from the sale associates near the back, but didn’t stop to freeze them with a White Witch glance the way she wanted to. She needed to get the girls out before Mom got it into her head to verbally promise them dresses without their parents’ approval.

They paused outside Amadea’s, where her mother hustled up. “You didn’t have to get snippy.”

Venus met her with a neutral gaze to mask her burning desire to strangle her. “Sorry, Mother. Let’s go, girls.”

Jessica McClintock had a better selection for their pocketbooks, and louder colors to appeal to their more youthful tastes. The girls darted from rack to rack, squealing over fabrics, designs, and nuances of shade, and Mom darted and squealed right along with them (well, okay, Mom didn’t exactly squeal, but her coos were close enough).

Mika tried on a few dresses, but the brighter the gown, the more depressed she seemed. Venus wavered between asking her what was wrong and letting her deal with it on her own. In Mika’s place, Venus knew she would want to mourn in peace, but other girls might not. She already knew she wasn’t like most women, but she also didn’t have a clue what another woman would do.

Mom finally made the decision for her. She sidled up to Venus and whispered, “Mika seems a little down, dear.”

“Her mom won’t let her go to the Monster’s Ball with the other girls.”

“Oh, that’s terrible. Why don’t you go talk to her? And if trying on dresses makes her feel worse, take her out to some other shops. Jewelry shops are always good.” Mom’s smoky purple eyeshadow had creased with the concern in her eyes.

That was a great idea. There was a small crystal jewelry shop with pretty but inexpensive pieces just down the way. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll do that. I’m…I’m glad you’re here.” Otherwise, Venus might have wasted time vacillating over what to do.

Her mother’s smile rivaled the rhinestones in the girls’ gowns, and she patted Venus’s arm. Then in a flash, her attention turned back to Sarah, who had exited the dressing room with a slinky emerald satin number.

“Mika.” Venus took her aside. “I’m going to the jeweler’s a few stores down. Want to come with?” She almost didn’t recognize herself—a few weeks in the youth group, and she sounded fifteen.

Mika’s face lit up like a Swarovski figurine. “Sure.”

They spent a few minutes looking at crystal earrings and necklaces set in gold and silver filigree. A little too antique-y for Venus, and apparently for Mika too—she flitted through the shop once and then stood by the open door, ready to leave whenever Venus was.

Once outside, Mika headed back the way they’d come. “Can we go back to that one store? With the wedding dresses?”

“The super expensive one? Why?”

“Do you think they’d let me try on that dress?” Her footsteps faltered. “They’re awful snobby…”

“Not that one girl.” Venus grabbed Mika’s arm and pulled her along. “Let’s do it.” And maybe she’d get up the courage to slip into that Marchesa.

The saleswoman from before greeted them as they entered. “Hi there. I didn’t introduce myself before—I’m Jasmine. I was hoping you’d come back to try on those dresses.”

A few of the other sale associates hung back near the dressing room doors with neutral expressions but half-lidded eyes. Venus shoved a poker down her spine and stared them down the way Audrey Hepburn would put a peon in his place in
Roman Holiday.
“We’d love to.”

Jasmine collected the beaded halter top gown she’d pointed out before. Mika looked like she’d rip the dress from Jasmine’s hand, until she realized the saleswoman was waiting for her to enter the dressing room.

She emerged timidly, like a little girl playing dress-up. Venus gasped. The dress was a little too large for her, and a bit too long, but Jasmine pinned the back for her and then spun her in front of the large mirrors.

Mika had aged five, ten years. Lucy Liu couldn’t look more stunning in the rose-kissed cream dress, glittering with crystal beads. The halter and the flowing skirt gave more balance to her small chest and wider hips, making her body blossom.

Mika stared at her image, then screamed.

Venus and Jasmine laughed, although Venus glanced out the open doorway of the shop and saw a few passer-bys peer inside. One tired looking mother smiled at the sight of Mika lifting her skirts and twirling like Cinderella.

Venus had never cared much for dresses—she liked stiletto heels for the height and power they gave her, but she always wore pants powersuits and slacks, which straightened her curves. Skirts made her feel weak and too
feminine
. Now, watching Mika—her shoulders straighter, her chest lifted, her neck elongated and as delicate as a Lladró figurine—Venus was reminded of the mysterious world of feminine beauty, its allure, and the inner confidence it gave. Mika, in a beautiful dress, had seen and fully realized the beauty in herself—inside and out.

Venus, on the other hand, had only the outward beauty. She wasn’t beautiful inside, she’d never been beautiful inside—even in her younger days, she’d been aggressive and hard-nosed. Now, she was aggressive, hard-nosed, and bitter.

She liked not being chubby and invisible anymore—she had vowed never to be invisible and overlooked ever again. But at the same time, a part of her despised the fact that she desired and liked something so shallow as her own physical appeal. Also, her new body hadn’t done the miracles for her career that she thought it would—men took her less seriously, not more.

Which was why she sat on the couch to the side of the mirrors, watching Mika model like a superstar, rather than jumping into that Marchesa dress the way she wanted to. As if making her outsides look beautiful and feminine was somehow wrong.

A soft rustle, the
tink
of crystal beads, and Jasmine appeared at her side holding the dress she’d been trying not to think about. “Did you want to try this on?”

It shimmered. Venus drooled over every Marchesa gown in her fashion magazines. So strange to love a design team known for their enchantress styles, dreamy fabrics and colors, when she herself held tight to straight, simple lines and dark colors in her work clothes.

As if putting on this dress would somehow change who she was.

How ridiculous. And she looked completely idiotic sitting here, refusing to try on a confection in satin and crystal when her fifteen-year-old charge pranced around in a six-thousand-dollar wedding dress she was too young to buy.

She stepped into the dressing room, and Jasmine followed to help fasten the complicated tapes and tug at the fabric so it draped correctly. Venus kept her back to the mirror. Not for drama, but because the less time she spent looking at herself, the less vain she imagined herself to be. She swept out of the dressing room to the mirrors.