“Are you going all fancy?” Kira asked her mother.
The day before, when she had promised to help her pick the perfect outfit and accessories, she had something much simpler in mind. Maybe her mother’s red linen skirt, a white blouse, and a fun beaded necklace. With all the necklaces and bracelets her mother had collected over her seventy years, she could probably open her own shop. Oh well, at least there’d be plenty to choose from. But the tailored suit surprised her.
“Why do you want to wear a suit?” Kira asked, puzzled. “Wouldn’t something more comfortable make more sense?”
“No,” the elderly woman said, shaking her freshly washed dark gray hair. “I don’t want to stand out in a bad way.”
“What are you talking about…” Kira scolded her gently, as if she were speaking to her seven-year-old twin daughters instead of her mother. “No one’s going to stare at you.”
“In a place like that?” her mother shot back. “Just you wait, they’ll be eyeing us from head to toe.”
She tilted her head and let her gaze run over Kira’s outfit.
“I’d really like you to try a bit harder.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“Well, for starters, you’re wearing jeans.”
“And a satin blouse,” Kira added, clearly offended.
“Jeans are still not appropriate for a place like that.”
“Come on, Mom, don’t overthink it.”
“I don’t usually get to afford things like this,” she said, locking eyes with her daughter, full of quiet defiance. “Let me wear whatever makes me feel good.”
Kira’s cheeks flushed with shame.
Was she really arguing with her mom about this? Did it really matter whether she wore a suit? Of course not. Then why was she making such a fuss?
“You’re right,” she said hoarsely. “But I’m sticking with my jeans. Trust me, I won’t be the only one.”
She had always struggled with using a round brush—she never had the patience for it. She was grateful Kira was drying her hair this time. Her daughter handled the brush like a professional hairstylist.
Sure, she had originally wanted a simple Cleopatra-style bob, but Kira talked her into pinning a little ponytail on top with a pretty, decorative clip. Well, this way it did look a bit more special. Less like an old lady.
Kira did her makeup too subtly. She believed bolder makeup no longer suited her mother. No matter—while her daughter popped next door to drop off some misdelivered letters, she would thicken her eyeliner a bit.
Unfortunately, the blouse she had laid out had shrunk in the wash. Or maybe she’d gained a few more pounds—again. She had been eating way too many cherries lately. But what could she do? They were in season now, so sweet, so crisp, so irresistible. Well, she certainly couldn’t resist. The crocheted top would probably feel too warm under the suit jacket, but so what? She only needed to endure it for a few hours. There would probably be air conditioning anyway. Places like that always have it.
And as for the way Kira’s eyes widened when she saw the thick gold chain and matching bracelet—who cared? She wasn’t going to show up looking like someone who could barely afford to be there. Sure, it was her first time setting foot in that place, but so what? She had spent years putting money aside so that if she ever needed it, she wouldn’t have to think twice.
When they told her after the mammogram that they’d found something, it was crystal clear: the time had come. Now, every minute mattered. She would get treatment at a private clinic—that’s exactly what she’d been preparing for all these years. And surely, when you’re worrying about your shitty little life, you’ve earned the right to do it in whatever clothes and makeup make you feel good.