“We’re going to a wedding, not a funeral! Look happy.” She told me as she put on mascara, her face inches away from the mirrior.
I sat on her bed watching her waiting for my turn in front of the mirror. I was happy. But did she remember the way she spoke to me minutes ago?
“Don’t wear your hair like that. Those shoes don’t look well with that dress. You’re going to put on make-up, right?”
Sure, I was happy to go to the wedding. It was just hard to be happy sitting in the same room as her.