"Now Rachel, go change and get ready to go."
I turned towards Candice as Rachel left the room and slowly revealed what was about to happen," Candice . . . right now . . . we . . . are going . . . to . . . the salon to get your hair done."
I waited for her reaction and she looked absolutely petrified as she stared at me.
She then quickly began to protest, "Bu-but, I've never been out of the house dressed up like this, before."
"What do you mean, 'dressed up'," I replied. "These are your normal clothes, for now, and for the whole summer. You can quit saying you are dressed up as a girl, because to us, you are a girl not 'dressed up like one.' Besides, no one will ever recognize you. You really are that passable and pretty. I think you need to see that . . . Come here."
I led her over to the dresser and she stood to face the mirror. Standing behind her, I placed my hands on her shoulders.
"Do you see what I see," I asked stroking her hair.
Candice shrugged, not knowing exactly what I meant.
"Look at the person in the mirror. Where's Raymond? I don't see any traces of him at all. I only see a girl staring back at us, a pretty girl, a Candice."
Rachel walked back into the room just soon enough to hear what I was telling Candice and she agreed with me. "You really are passable, lil sis. Hey, you need shoes and I know just the pair you should wear. Hold on."
She lifted the edge of the comforter and picked up a pair of open-toed slingbacks with chunky three-quarter inch heels from under the edge of the bed. "Yeah, this pair right here."
Rachel knelt down in front of Candice and helped her put her feet in the shoes and then buckled the straps for her.
"You know what else she needs," Rachel asked, looking up at me. "A mani/pedi. These slingbacks would look great with french-tipped toes peeking out."
"Well Candice," I announced. "add a mani/pedi to your list of experiences soon to happen."
When Rachel stood back up, I pulled out my phone and took several photos of Candice.
I then glanced at the smartwatch on my wrist.
"Right on time," I announced. "Now grab your bag . . . the clutch hanging on the back of your closet door. We've got to go. You have an appointment to get to."
On the way to the door, I let Candice know, in no uncertain terms, just how important it was that she cooperate in the salon and not give the ladies any reason to think she was anything other than a young lady. I reminded her how I could have the photos I just took, up on social media in a heartbeat.
YOU ARE READING
torn hose: a mother's story
ChickLitHi, my name is Lori, and I'm a thirty-six-year-old mother of two teenagers. I was married when they were both born, but unfortunately, ours has been a one parent household for the past eight years. My husband died and I haven't remarried. My oldes...
