“Not that way, Mrs Mower,” Maria says. I tilt my phone on the dresser so she can have a better view of what Mum is doing to my hair. “A little more to the side will be perfect.”
Since Maria won’t be here, she insisted on being part of the process. I sense her frustration when Mum lets my hair down against her instructions. It tumbles down in waves over my shoulders to frame my face.
“Well... You don’t look so bad.”
“She doesn’t look bad at all,” Mum retorts.
I laugh. These two. They cannot agree on the same thing. Mum thinks she knows what’s best for her daughter. Maria thinks she knows what’s best for her best friend who also happens to be in her age group. I flip my hair over my shoulder, loving the effects of the curling iron.
Mum pins the hair to one side and sets the curling iron down. “I love it,” I tell her and she grins. Maria rolls her eyes. “I love you too, bestie.”
Her frown disappears and her game face is back on. “What’s the colour of your gown?”