I stood across from her in the kitchen, clutching the blue school flyer so tightly that the paper had begun to wrinkle beneath my fingers. The final deadline for prom tickets was printed across the top.
I had practiced that conversation all afternoon.
I had planned to sound calm, responsible, and mature. I wasn’t asking for an expensive designer gown. I had already found a simple dress on sale at a department store.
“Mom left money for things like this,” I said quietly.
That finally made Carla look up.
She leaned back against the kitchen counter and laughed as though I had said something childish.
“That money keeps this house running now,” she replied. “And honestly, Lily, no one wants to see you prancing around in some overpriced princess costume.”
Then she dropped her brand-new designer handbag onto the counter.
