“It’s definitely bigger than that,” she says. “You broke ground for equality.”
“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh. “It’s, like, at least one step less than that? That sounds so huge and serious. I think people are just excited to get to do something new.”
“And people like you,” she says.
“She’s real popular,” Dad says. “And she’s nice, not like the popular kids when I was in school. They were a real bunch of assholes.”
“Dad,” I say, but I like knowing that’s how he sees me.
“What’s your dress like?” Diane asks. Diane somehow always says the exact right thing.
“I don’t actually have one yet—”
“Kat,” she says in a tone like I just super casually said I murdered someone. Then she bursts into laughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d react so strongly.”
“I know, I know. I just haven’t seen anything I like a lot, and I don’t have that much to spend—”
Dad sighs heavily. “You should have said something. I don’t know what dresses cost!”
“No, it’s not that. There was, like, this super perfect dress for James at Bloomingdale’s, so I gave her some of my cash, and—and it really doesn’t matter. I can find something.”
“I might be overstepping but . . . I’m great at finding dresses,” Diane says.
“Please!” I say without thinking about it. Then I feel my brain trying to catch up, so it’s like I set off running from it. “I totally need help. I’m gonna, like, look at these photos when I’m old, and it’ll be so sad if I don’t have the perfect dress.”
This is how I end up at The Grove after school the next day with my dad’s girlfriend. I don’t think anything about getting to know Diane is hurting Mom’s memory, but sometimes I still think about it. If Mom could see me flipping through racks of clothing with this woman when obviously ideally it would be with her . . . I don’t know how she would feel.
I guess I don’t totally know how I feel, either. It’s a lot of emotions all at once and so I’m trying to focus on the ones that are good.
“Thanks for letting me take you.” Diane piles another dress on top of the stack in my arms. It sort of seems like I don’t have much of a say over what I’m trying on today, but that might be for the best. I need the best dress I’ve ever worn in my life, and Diane is pretty much the best-dressed grown-up I’ve ever met.
“What did you wear to prom?” I ask her.
“Kat, I don’t mind telling you that it was pretty spectacular.” Diane laughs. “It was black satin but it had a large—and also shiny—white bow around my shoulders, centered in front. My dad said, ‘you look like a present’ and he did not mean that as a compliment. Though I felt ridiculously sophisticated.”
“Oh my god, it sounds totally amazing,” I say, even though I find that I can’t remember what Mom’s prom dress looked like. I focus on picturing Diane’s instead. “Was your date super dreamy?”
She laughs even harder. “Oh, I thought so at the time. I bet your photos with Quinn will age better than mine did, though.”
She takes her phone out of her bag and checks the screen. “Your dad’s nervous about how this is going.”
“He’s, like, always nervous about something, I swear. Please tell him everything is great and he has nothing to worry about at all.”
She smiles at me. “Charlie’s lucky to have a daughter who worries so much.”
“I don’t worry! I’m pretty chill,” I say. Ugh, you pretty much cancel out being chill by saying you’re chill, don’t you? How can I convince Diane I’m not some kind of stressed-out high-maintenance nightmare?
I text her, even though it’s started to feel weird just randomly reaching out to her. I don’t have to scroll up that much to see how it used to be, practically a nonstop conversation with no start or stop, just pauses for sleep and, occasionally, school. Once we messaged only in GIFs for nearly forty-eight hours before I cracked and asked her for help with our trig homework. And even then it was only because I couldn’t find GIFs that represented the hypotenuse clearly.
I frown at my phone. James! Of course you know what I mean. Why are we being this way and acting like we don’t have a million things to say to each other? Maybe I’m the worst one, because normally I say everything, and yet now I’m holding back, too.
“Everything all right?” Diane asks me.
I shove my phone back into my bag. “Totally. Of course. Should I try on some of these three dozen dresses you’ve picked out?”
“Let’s not exaggerate, Kat, I’m sure there’s no more than a dozen,” she says, with a smile. “A baker’s dozen at most.”
I head into a fitting room and slip the first dress over my head. It’s a really beautiful shade of yellow but somehow on me it looks like a banana. In a sparkly dress, I feel like a disco ball and, somehow, not in a good way. In black, all I can see is how I looked at Mom’s funeral, and it hits me that maybe I haven’t even worn a black dress since. Who wants to look like one of the worst days of your life?
“How’s it going?” Diane asks from the other side of the door. “You’re quiet in there.”
“So far everything’s stupid,” I say.
“I was actually hoping you’d say that,” she says, and slides a hanger over the door. “I know that it’s not up to me, but I’m pretty sure this one’s exactly the right dress.”
It’s a shimmery and vibrant shade of pink, and when I slip it on I’m not a banana or in mourning. I feel like a girl who could make history.
I step out to let Diane see, and her face lights up. I feel such a huge urge to have Mom there that I can’t stop it.
I’m crying in freaking Nordstrom.
“Hey.” Diane really gently rubs my shoulder. “Can I do anything?”
I shake my head, though it sends tears and snot flying in all directions. Even wearing the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, I’m so freaking gross. “I hope this isn’t, like, a really offensive thing to say, but . . .”
“You miss your mom? Honey, of course you do,” she says.
“I mean, you have way better taste in dresses, I think?” I laugh through my snot and tears. “But, like, I wish I could feel this for, like, the last freaking time. Every new thing it’s like it all starts again.”
We’re quiet for a few moments.
“This is the dress, though . . . right?” Diane asks, and I burst into shocked laughter.
“Oh my god, obviously!” I throw my arms around her without even thinking about it. “Thank you for finding it.”
She hugs me back in such a genuine real way. It’s funny to feel so lucky and so unlucky at the same time.
Once I’m back in my regular clothes, I check my phone to see no follow-up from James but a GIF of two otters holding hands from Quinn.
While I’m replying to Quinn (OMG the cutest!!!!), Diane’s carrying the dress away from me. “What are you doing?”