shimmer on you.â She kept having to smush her wrist to her cheeks to smear off some runaway tears.
Usually, youâd rather touch a slug than to see your own mom get all weepy-eyed, but it feels kind of nice when itâs because sheâs been missing you so bad.
âLand sakes,â she said. âThat Alabama pollen has already got my allergies going, donât it?â
I couldnât remember my mom ever having allergies before, but as she dabbed and dabbed again, something else caught my attention real quick. Something that shimmered tons more than eye shadow. It was my momâs charm bracelet all crammed full of new charms, way more crowded than I remembered it being. A palm tree, a beach ball, a dolphin. It looked like her little Cass-head silhouette charm was squished between a seahorse and a sailboat.
Just about the time I finished studying the charms, Mom did the last swipe of shadow on my lid and reached over to open up a special side compartment of the pink box.
âIâve got something here that you might want to have, Cass. It may still be a little big on you, but it seems fitting to go ahead and pass it on to someone whoâs well on her way to being another smilinâ face to help clean up the place.â From the little chamber, she pulled out something that needed to be unfolded in five directions before I could tell what it was. When she laid the airbrushed tank top across my lap, it felt like sheâd covered me in a quilt made of fifty satiny first-place ribbons that I myself had won.
Without hesitation, I slipped the top over my shirt as quickly as I could and tugged the creases out as Mom looked on in a speechless, achy-proud sort of way.
âThank you, Mom. I love it,â I said.
âYou ladies just about ready?â Dad called from the kitchen.
Mom took one last moment to puff her whole face with some powdery pinkness before collapsing the beauty box and latching it shut.
âYouâre welcome,â she said to me as I stared in the mirror at my new shirt, the bright loops and swooshes of its lettering almost glowing.
âHello?â Dad called again.
Mom and I found Dad standing at the kitchen sink with the faucet going, like he did a hundred times a day, waiting for the water to heat up.
âThe flat tire is good as new,â he said, flashing us ten little crescent moons of grime crammed up under his fingernails. âBut now I need to degrease before the party.â
If a thing about my mom is sheâs always wishing, then a thing about my dad is heâs always washing. Always scrubbing off some mulchy, meaty evidence of the dayâs work. Every new bar of soap we ever opened was worn down to a sliver in record time.
âCass and I were just discussing the finer points of rescuing in style,â said Mom, scooting back a chair for me and one for herself at the same time. She propped an ankle across her knee to shake loose the gravel trapped between her sandal fruits.
âI noticed the nice new duds,â Dad said. âBut whatâs with the foo-foo stuff on your face, Cass?â
My dad wears an Itâs a dirty job but somebodyâs got to do it ball cap that has white waves of dried-up sweat salt on it. Mine and Momâs airbrushed tank top would want nothing to do with that hat.
âOh, just a little something I shared from my beauty boxâ¦I mean, our beauty box,â Mom said, giving me a wink. âWeâd have offered you some too, Douglas, but you just donât seem the goldenrod and chartreuse type.â
Dad looked perplexed, so I closed my eyes to show him better.
âMy new favorite colors,â I said.
âI see.â Dad stooped and splashed some water on his face. âDonât you think youâre maybe a little young for that stuff?â
âMom was just telling me some things about being a rescuer,â I said, feeling a sudden need to change the subject.
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