what happens after sunset | ✓

nine

NOTE: this is a basic reference! remember that his eyes are green, his hair is black, and his suit is black ;)

⋆   d r e s s s h o p p i n g & s t a r t l i n g r e v e l a t i o n s ⋆

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habromania (n.)
delusions of happiness

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     MY MOTHER IS singing to herself in the kitchen again this Saturday morning. The events of last night replay in my mind for the fiftieth time as I descend the stairs. After a very awkward interaction with both of my parents, Jordan made a not-so graceful exit. I gave a half hearted explanation as to why there was a boy in the house at eleven pm before slipping upstairs. But, I already know I am going to be asked more questions by my mother.

     "Good morning sweetheart," she says too sweetly, handing me a plate of waffles dripping in syrup. I prepare myself, knowing what is coming.

     "Are you sure there's nothing going on with that boy that was here last night?", she asks after a few seconds, a spark in her cerulean eyes.

     "No, mom," I sigh, "we're just friends."

     "So you're not going to homecoming with him tonight? You're going alone again?", she asks, a mix of sadness and disappointment shimmering in her eyes. Hating the look on her face, I decide to tell her truth.

      "We're going together," I quip hesitantly, and seeing her face automatically light up, I add, "as friends." She deflates but the look is gone.

     "Do you have a dress?", she questions, already knowing that I was planning on pulling an old one out of my closet.

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     Two hours later, I find myself halfway through a large stack of dresses in a fitting room. I grumble to myself, wondering why I ever let my mother drag me here.

      Because you wanted to spend time with her, Andy.

      "Are you ready, honey?", I hear the lilt of her soft southern accent outside the door. I sigh, twirling around in front of the mirror with another dress that just doesn't seem to work. I open the door and she agrees, murmuring something about the waistline, and I retreat back into the room. I grab the next one, a flash of burgundy eliciting a glimmer of hope that this one will be perfect. I put it on, feeling it hug my waist, dip low on the chest, and stop mid thigh. I automatically know that this is the one. It is just my style, simplistic and elegant.

I step out and hear my mother's gasp of approval as I twirl for her, cherishing her glee.

"Oh, darling," she sighs wistfully, "you look lovely." We both agree that this is it and pay before stopping to get lunch at a small cafe down the street from the dress shop.

"Are you excited for tonight?", she breathes excitedly, lifting her sandwich daintily. It's surprisingly not hard to feign enthusiasm, considering the nervousness already fluttering around my stomach. We have a nice chat for an hour or so, happiness bubbling up inside me like the fizzy champagne I tried once on my seventeenth birthday. I soak up every second I have with her like sunshine on a cold day. We finally head home, and I start getting ready.

After I shower and blow dry my hair into its natural soft waves, I put on a light layer of makeup consisting of gold and bronze eyeshadow, filled in eyebrows, and a red lip. I opt for contacts, the first time I've worn them since last year's junior prom. After spritzing on some perfume, I pull out some strappy silver heels from the back of my closet, and I'm ready to go. I descend the stairs, almost tripping because I never wear heels. I'm greeted by my mother's dancing eyes and my father's proud ones.