Normal Things (Tate Langdon FanFiction)

Chapter Sixteen:

We'd eaten at Waffle House, celebrating my good health with waffles drowned in maple syrup. Mom had driven me home to help me curl my blue hair until it seemed fit to be twisted up into a chignon, speared through with two decorative hair-sticks.

I was now standing in the bathroom, my makeup pallets spread out over the counter. I stared down at three pallets of eye shadow, trying to picture what I wanted to look like. After a moment, I pushed my eye shadow aside and just opted for a subtle eyeliner-and-mascara approach. Swiping on a quick layer of dark red lipstick, I notice my hand in the mirror. The hand that I'd hit Finny with. It was practically healed; just pink scar tissue even suggesting that anything had happened. I leave the bathroom and make my way to my room.

Mom had hung my dress bag on the back of my bedroom door, my flats neatly positioned underneath it. Now I unzipped the bag and reached inside for my gown. I half-draped it out of its bag and then stepped back, pulling my shirt off skillfully over my head, completely avoiding the Mom-nado I would meet if I ruined my hair she worked for an hour and a half on. Shimmying out of my jeans and unhooking myself from my bra, I pull out my dress and unzip it, stepping into it.

Sliding it up my body, I reach behind me, trying to find the zipper, but to no avail. With a frustrated sigh, I open my door and call for Mom, listening as my voice echoes through the quiet house.

Mom appears moments later.

"What?"

I turn around and bare my back to her, and she chuckles, dragging the zipper up in a swift stroke. I adjust myself and turn to her, smiling. She claps her hands and smiles brightly and leans in to give me a swift hug. She turns and makes her way to her bedroom, talking to herself about a camera and hundreds of pictures and "Tate better be dressed nice or I'll..." I laugh, shake my head, and curl around my bedroom door, slithering my feet into my flats.

I look down at myself, smoothing my hands over my skirt. With a deep breath of little confidence and much anxiety, I make my way out of my room and go into the living room to find Mom unpacking her Canon camera on the couch. She looked up when I came to stand at the foot of the couch and she beamed.

"You look beautiful, Penny."

I blush and the doorbell rings.

I can feel my heart pick up speed and my anxiety burrow deep into my stomach, growing like a sore. I cross my arms over my stomach and Mom gets up to answer the front door when it rings a second time. Mom smiles and ushers Tate into the house.

"Oh my God, Tate, you look so dashing in your suit," Mom cooed, reaching forward to adjust his pin tie and to lightly smooth back his hair.

Tate was wearing a black-and-white tuxedo, a red rose boutonniere stabbed to his lapel with a pin. He was wearing black Converse and had a white half mask clenched nervously in his left hand. When Mom noticed his mask, she lost it, yelling that she would be back and then rushing off.

Tate and I shared a glance and then broke down into giggles and chuckles.

"I'm sorry about her," I said in between laughs. "She's scattered because this is my first Prom." I wipe at my eyes, careful to avoid smearing my makeup, and sigh, smiling. Tate smiled and we both lapsed into quiet, his eyes raking up and down my body, not saying anything. I started to feel uncomfortable, not liking how quiet he was.

Tate was wearing a white dress shirt with a black vest; no tie. I found it surprising the amount of how much I liked him in dressed up.