He opened his mouth.
I walked away.
Outside, my older daughter paused beside the car and smoothed her dress.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Does this make me look weird?”
The question sounded casual.
That made it hurt more.
I could have immediately told her she looked beautiful.
Instead, I asked,
“Do you like the dress?”
She looked down, then spun once and watched the skirt move around her knees.
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s the answer that matters.”
She smiled and climbed into the car.
Her little sister followed, leaving frosting on the door.
“I look sticky.”
I laughed.
“You definitely do.”
After buckling her in, I walked around to the driver’s side.
My reflection appeared in the dark car window.
For a moment, Max’s old question returned.
“When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”
So I looked.
But this time, I didn’t inspect my waist.
I didn’t turn sideways.
I didn’t wonder what Max would criticize.
I didn’t wonder whether Edward would approve.
I simply looked at myself.
Then my three-year-old yelled from inside the car,
“Mom! Go!”
I smiled, opened the door, and got in.
