Forever Yours

Parking Lot Conversations [7]

7. Parking Lot Conversations

Maureen

"Cara, are you ready yet?" I called down the hall.

When silence was my only answer, I crossed my arms.

"We're an hour late," I yelled, in an attempt to get a response. No answer. Cara's bedroom was just four rooms down from mine, so I knew that she had heard me.

She was still primping, presumably.

I blew out a gusty breath and went back to my bedroom. I had the air conditioning blasting: the leather dress I wore was not made for the Californian summer heat. I kicked off my heels once I had safely shut my door behind me and threw my clutch onto a chair. There was no telling when Cara would be done; might as well get comfy.

Sprawling out on my bed, I lazily flicked through channels on the television. Some movie with Ewan McGregor and Cameron Diaz was playing and I perked up. Tossing the remote control to the side, I grabbed a pillow and jammed it beneath my head, curling my legs under. The credits were just beginning to roll and I sighed comfortably. I couldn't help it that this was my idea of the perfect Saturday.

The door suddenly swung open and I moaned.

"Why'd you have to show up now?"

Cara smiled, "I'm ready."

"Apparently." I blew out an angry breath, switching off the TV screen. Dragging myself up, I looked her over, briefly silenced. "Wow, Cara... you look amazing."

And she did. Whereas my dress was black and strapless and ended around my knees, hers was short and electric blue - a chic cocktail number with teeny spaghetti straps. The skirt resembled a tutu with multiple layers of black and blue beaded lace. Her hair was down and curly and her eyes were all done up.

"You like it? It's not too short?" She pulled the skirt out, studying it pensively.

"You're one centimeter shy of inappropriate but don't be alarmed, you're safe."

"What are we, in the eighteenth century? 'You're one centimeter shy of inappropriate but don't be alarmed, you're safe.' What is that?"

"Proper speech." I said, miffed.

"You were born in the wrong century."

I fixed her with a look - and then changed course, smiling airily. "You're just jealous," I said, leaning over to pick up my heels. She rolled her eyes.

"Right. Well, your outfit certainly isn't Pride and Prejudice material," she said, eyeing my dress. "That dress is stunning. Where did you get it?"

"Found it in my closet."

"It's gorgeous. You ready to go?"

"Yeah..." I said reluctantly, retrieving my purse and heels. Cara grinned and sashayed out the door, deliberately ignoring my frown.

We went downstairs and my mother was waiting at the foot of the staircase, smiling hesitantly. She was wearing a beautiful cream colored dress and matching jacket and her dark auburn hair was pulled up in a chignon and diamonds twinkled at her ears and throat. She looked us up and down and smiled, shaking her head.

"You girls look beautiful but those dresses are only borderline approvable," she commented, raising her eyebrows. Cara made a face and I sighed.

"Do you want us to change?" I asked resignedly. Cara opened her mouth to protest but I held up a hand to stop her.