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Max stood there, looking down at me as I sat on the floor, wearing my dress for tonight.
I was all dressed up in the black silk dress that reached the floor when I stood up. It was sleeveless, with only thin straps hooked over my shoulders. It had a belt around the waist, and a slit in the fabric going all the way up to my hips.
My hair was curled, work done by my mother, and it hung around my face. She had done my makeup too.
I hated it.
"I'm not going out there." I told Max. "Not looking like this."
"Looking like what? Beautiful?"
I glared up at him, and he laughed, tugging at his black dress pants before crouching down in front of me.
"It's just for tonight, Maves, and it's for a good course. A course that stands close to you."
I sighed and dropped my head back against my bed.
"This isn't me." I said, gesturing towards the dress and the makeup on my face. "I don't wear silk, and whenever I do wear a dress, I like for it to be more... everyday wear."
"I know." Max laughed softly. "But you look really fucking beautiful, and you know how this goes. It's tradition. The one to turn eighteen is the face of the party."
"Yeah but I didn't realise that until it was time!" I exclaimed. "I've watched my brothers do this every single time, and for the first time, it's a daughter's turn to show up and be celebrated by family, friends and strangers."
"So?"
"So... my brothers didn't have to get all glammed up. They throw on a suit and brush their hair back, and then they're ready. Why do we have to dress up like this? I don't want to be wearing a silk dress and heels and makeup and my hair done. I want to be me."
A moment of silence passed between us, before knuckles came down on my open bedroom door.
"Everything okay in here?" My dad's voice had me shutting my eyes tightly, and Max straightened up.
"I think she's having stage fright." He said. "Or is it performance anxiety in this case?"
I looked up at him and he looked genuinely confused, no idea which one fitted this scenario.
"Mavis?" Dad asked softly, and I looked back, over my bed to where he stood at my door.
His hands were shoved into the pockets of his black trousers, and he didn't wear the jacket over his white dress shirt. But he wore a black tie.
It was his best suit.
"I'm fine, dad." I sighed and turned back around, staring at my outstretched legs.
