“You should get some of those jean-legging things. Then you wouldn't have to.”
I narrow my eyes. “I refuse to subject myself to jeggings.”
She picks up a pillow and swats me with it. “Suit yourself. We need to get you out and doing something. Something that doesn't involve sitting around and moping about a boy.”
“I'm not moping about a boy.”
I'm totally moping about a boy.
She pulls a thread off the pillow. “Well, the definition of boy is debatable, but still. You need sunlight and other people.” I hate how right she is. I'd let myself get sucked into being around Peter, and blamed it all on the Claiming. But I'm still my own person. Only my blood belonged to Peter. And maybe a few other pieces of me. Like my heart.
“Got anything on your list?” She squints her eyes and taps her chin.
“Well, there is one little thing.” She holds up on finger and crosses her eyes as she looks at it.
“What's that?”
She points the finger at me. “You, my dear, are going to learn how to put on lipstick and eyeliner like a pro.”
“I don't wear make-up.” Mascara didn't count. Anyone could do mascara.
“Someday you might want to. It's a useful skill to have.” She takes my arm, and I have no choice but to comply. Not that it's going to be torture, exactly. I wear make-up sometimes, but I'd never managed that effortless look that so many girls pulled off. I sigh and get my ass off the couch.
To my mother's vanity table we go. It's in the corner of her bedroom, right across from the treadmill my father bought but never uses. The vanity is white and peach to match the rest of the décor, and complete with a frilly white chair she pushes me into. I stare at the array of bottles and jars and containers and pens and pencils. Intimidating. Tex had tried to get me to line my eyes, but I'd been too afraid of poking myself or getting an eye disease. The words, It is always darkest before the dawn, hover on the wall. I look away from them.
“Okay, so the first thing to do is pick what kind of liner you want to use.” She holds out three options. A pencil, crayon-looking thing, and liquid.
“Which is the easiest?” I say.
“The pencil.”
“I'll go with that.” She pulls off the cap with a pop and tells me to close my eyes. The pencil is cold as she drags it across my eye, stopping every now and then to check her work. Her hand is so steady, I can't imagine I'm going to be able to duplicate it.
When she's done, I check out my eye. It looks so large compared to the un-lined eye. Huge and green and secretive. The kind of girl who would be able to flirt with Peter and make him want her. In other words, a girl who wasn't me. Mom hands me the pencil. I lean closer to the mirror and give it a shot.
I do my best, only poking myself in the eye twice. My lines are jagged and the pencil doesn't move as smoothly for me as it does for my mother. Still, I get it looking okay.
Then she brings out her tube of berry-colored lipstick and cranks it out. She applies it to her own lips first, and then hands it to me. For some reason it doesn't look the same on my lips as it does on hers. We both pucker and laugh at our reflections. The lipstick is a little too dark for me, but the eyeliner works. I wonder if Peter will like it. I hope so.
“There you go. All grown up. My little girl.” She puts her arms around my shoulders and squeezes. I'm bathed in her lilac scent.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
I wave my hand to indicate my face. “For showing me this. Even though I'm probably not going to use it, except on prom or something.”
“I hope I'm here for prom.” Her hands flutter in my hair, piling it up in the back.
What is she talking about? Prom is only a month away. “Why wouldn't you be?”
“Because this isn't an exact science. There is no way to predict when it will happen. I think I'll know.” She twists my hair up and pulls a few curls out.
“Is it soon?” My smoky eyes widen in the mirror. I didn't want to ask the question, but it popped out anyway.
“Not too soon.” She kisses the top of my head and lets my hair go so it puddles on my shoulders. “You still need to learn how to french braid. That's something we'll tackle soon, okay?” I nod, wishing I could wipe all the make-up off. Actually, I wish I could rub everything off. Rub my skin and my identity and build myself into someone else. It's not the first time I've wished it and it won't be the last.
“I'm sorry about yesterday,” I say again, worrying at the lace on the edge of the chair. I still can't forgive myself for making her sick. Even though I know I didn't. Cancer made her sick.
“Sorry for telling me the truth? It is better to tell the truth than regret a lie.”
“I've never heard that one.”
She puts the eyeliner back in its place on her make-up tray. “I made it up.”
“I should probably write that one down.” I should write all of them down. So I never forget.
“Don't worry, ma fleur. You won't forget. I promise.” She kisses my forehead and looks at both of us in the mirror. I stare at her face and look back at my own. She's so beautiful, even when she's being ravaged by cancer. It could never take that away from her.
Chapter Five
Peter
Ava is quiet tonight. Usually, it means she is thinking about something intensely. Through our connection, I can sense her unsettled thoughts. They rattle and jar me.
She has something on her face. Make-up. It looks different on her. Widens her eyes and makes them like green beams of light that stare out of a fog-filled night. She is both more herself and less herself. I am not sure if I like it.
“What did you do to your eyes?” Her hands fly to her face, as if there is something wrong with it.
She feels around her eyes with her fingers for a moment. “What? Oh, my mom taught me how to use eyeliner. I forgot to take it off. It looks bad.” An unpleasant feeling flies through her for a moment. She moves to get up. I take her arm to stop her from doing something foolish.
“No, it doesn't. It is different.”
“Different, bad?” Her eyes widen and she blinks rapidly. Worried that I don't like it.
“Different, different. Your eyes are just as green. There is simply more emphasis on them.” I try to word it the correct way. From being around Ava and listening to her friend Texas, I have found that certain girls are easily offended when it comes to their appearance. Ava doesn't seem to be, but I did not want to take the chance that I could upset her. I do not like it when she is upset. It makes me upset, and then she gets more upset. It is a cycle I do not want to start.