The Breakup Support Group

“They are definitely cute,” Mom says, her voice rising to an uncomfortable level. Her brows draw together, and she gives me a little smile, pretending to be normal. “Does this mean your date is shorter than you are?”

“Oh my God, Mom! You told me you wouldn’t make a big deal about this.”

“I’m not making a big deal. I’m just asking.” Mom shrugs a little too casually and steps around the shoe display, pretending to admire a pair of black leather boots. ?

??You always wore heels with Nate, so I’m just wondering if this guy is shorter.”

Emory is shorter than Nate but taller than I am. He is the perfect height for when you’re standing in front of him gazing into his eyes. “I don’t know,” I lie, placing the shoe back on the display. “I can’t remember.”

“Is it so bad for me to know a little about this guy?” Mom asks. “He’s going to be taking my daughter out, and I’d like to know what kind of guy he is.”

“We’re just friends. He’s not taking me out,” I say, making quotes with my fingers. “And he’s just a normal guy. Not a criminal or anything.”

“Not a criminal. Great! I guess that’s all I need to know,” she says sarcastically as we venture further into the store.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but it’s really not a big deal. Emory is just a friend, and he offered to go with me so I wouldn’t be alone.” My annoyed voice seems to do the trick because she finally drops the subject. We find the formal dresses, and I casually browse around them, not wanting to look too closely until Ciara gets here and can shop with me.

“You would look adorable in this!” Mom says, rushing up to me while holding a pink mini-dress made of sequins. “And it would match those shoes you like.” She holds it by the hanger and presses it against my shoulders.

I peer down at the waves of sparkles and frown. “It’s a little flashy …”

She huffs. “It’s not flashy, it’s dramatic.”

I lift an eyebrow, and she spreads her arms wide. “In a good way. Everyone will know who you are if you wear a dress like this.”

“I don’t want people to know who I am,” I mutter as I flip through more dresses on the racks.

“You never know,” she says flippantly. “You could meet your future husband at this dance. You need to pick a dress that’s good enough to be in your memories when you retell the story.”

“Mom. You need mental help.”

She laughs and puts the flashy dress back on the rack. “I’m just messing with you. I mean technically you could meet your future husband anywhere. Unless you’ve already met him and he’s taking you to the dance?”

“Mom!”

“Sorry,” she says, flashing me her devilish smile. “I’m your mom, I can’t help it. I just want to know more about this boy. Is he cute?”

“Who, Emory?” Ciara appears from around a rack of long evening gowns. Her braided hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and she holds a small cosmetics bag from Sephora. She smiles at me and then looks at my mom. “Oh yeah. He’s gorgeous.” I shoot her a look but she continues, “And trust me, the boy knows it.”

“You had time to stop and buy nail polish?” I ask.

She nods, holding up the bag. “Girl, I always have time for nail polish. They just released two new colors in the fall collection.”

“You should have been here saving me from my mom and her inquisitiveness,” I say, shaking my head. “Some new best friend you are.”

“Oh come on,” Ciara says. “You can tell your mom about Emory. He’s just a friend, remember?”

My eyes go wide, but I can’t think of a quick rebuttal so I just end up shrugging. “Exactly. He’s a friend so who cares what he looks like?”

“We care because he’s freaking hot. Trust me, Mrs. Rush,” Ciara says, winking. “He’s the kind of guy every girl wants to take her to the dance.”

“Ooh, I like this girl.” Mom wraps her hand around Ciara’s arm and walks with her around a rack of dresses. “Tell me more.”

“Don’t tell her anything else,” I warn, grabbing Ciara’s other arm. “She’ll just turn this meaningless friend date into a way bigger thing in her head. Let’s go look at dresses.”

Ciara shops as well as she applies nail polish. After only trying on a few dresses, she has my mom and me in awe outside of the dressing room. Ciara grins as she does another spin in a white sleeveless mini dress with a long sheer fabric outer later that flows down to her ankles. She puts her hands on her hips and gazes into the three-sided mirror, lifting her heels off the purple carpet beneath us.

“I’ll definitely need some tall heels, but I think this dress is perfect.”