Chapter Seventeen

March 1993

Mandy swung her feet back and forth as she sat on a stool at the kitchen island after school, having some juice and a new kind of animal crackers Mom had picked up earlier that day for her—which tasted more like cookies, but Mandy wasn't going to say anything. "During free time we didn't get to play in the dress-up corner because Brandon and his friends hogged it." She rolled her eyes.

"Well, maybe you'll get your chance tomorrow," Mom said before taking a sip from her coffee mug. "Sharing is caring. Isn't that what you always say?"

Mandy frowned. "I guess." Mom didn't understand. She and Isa had a plan today that involved dressing up like princesses, and Brandon and his friends absolutely did not share even though Mandy asked them repeatedly.

Mom set her mug down with a clink against the stone countertop. "I know what you need," she said. "Mommy-daughter date night."

Mandy practically bounced out of her seat. "Tonight?"

"Yep. Daddy had to take a work trip, so that just leaves you and me. And I think we may need to get dressed up for it. What do you say?"

Mandy was already off her stool. "I'm going to wear my pink dress," she called out as she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Mommy-daughter date night was Mandy's favorite. Not because Daddy wasn't home but because they could do whatever they wanted. Like once they had dessert before dinner. Another time they went and had a real tea party with little sandwiches that didn't have any crusts on them. And another time they went to a place with big giant chairs, and someone painted their nails. Mandy watched as the lady put little dots of white paint on her toes and turned them into flowers—it was so cool. Mommy-daughter date night always meant something fun.

Mandy got her favorite pink dress out from her closet—the one she was allowed to wear only for "special occasions"—and slipped it on. Next, she found her ruffliest socks and her shoes with the rainbow glitter. She didn't even move or complain when Mom brushed her knotted hair and pulled it back into a single braid. Then she sat patiently on Mom's bed while she got ready. Mom always took a lot longer than Mandy to get dressed.

Mom stood at the mirror in the bathroom applying her makeup. "Not until you're older," was what she had told Mandy a few months ago when she asked if she could wear some too.

The brushes Mom used weren't like the ones Mandy painted with. Hers were dry and stiff, but Mom's had supersoft bristles that painted on her face. How cool was that? Mom was so precise—her hand so steady as she blended and powdered and used special pencils that Mandy was not allowed to use on paper after that one time she did. When Mom colored with Mandy, she was always good at staying in the lines—probably because she had so much practice doing this. It was like its own kind of art—a kind Mandy couldn't wait to learn herself.

"I think tonight calls for a little eye shadow. What do you think?" Mom had turned around and waved one of those brushes in the air.

Mandy nodded as she climbed off the bed and headed into the bathroom.

Mom picked her up and sat her on the counter, where Mandy held perfectly still and closed her eyes. Then that soft brush swept across Mandy's lids—it tickled a little, but she didn't laugh. "All done," Mom said.

Mandy carefully opened her eyes and spun toward the mirror. Her eyelids shimmered—the color of a peach if it had been dusted with fine glitter.

"Do you want a little lipstick too?"

This was Mandy's lucky day. Mommy-daughter date night. Eye shadow. And lipstick. "Yes, please." She carefully turned back while Mom made Mandy's lips a pale pink.

Mandy studied herself in the mirror, turning her head back and forth, watching her eyelids sparkle while Mom put all her makeup away.

Mom stood next to Mandy, looking at her in the mirror. They had the same blonde hair, but Mandy's eyes were brown like Daddy's, not blue like Mom's. "Now, I want you to know that you don't need to wear makeup to make you beautiful. You are already beautiful no matter what. Don't let anyone tell you different. Do you understand?"

Mandy turned, wrapping her arms around Mom's neck in a big hug. "You're beautiful too, Mommy."

Mom hugged Mandy back, picking her up off the counter and spinning her around before setting her back on the floor. "We better hurry, the show starts soon." Mom held out her hand.

Mandy took it. Tonight was going to be so fun.

First, they went to the movies and saw Aladdin , where they got the biggest tub of popcorn with extra butter, and Mandy was mesmerized when Jasmine and Aladdin rode a carpet and sang about a Whole New World. Mandy really wanted a flying carpet—or at least to ride one once.

Even though they snacked on popcorn, afterward Mom wanted to get some "real food," she called it, so they walked hand in hand down the busy street.

"I want to be Jasmine for Halloween," she told Mom.

"Oh, okay. I think we still have a little time though, just in case you change your mind."

Mandy wouldn't be changing her mind. "I want silky blue pants and a blue shirt just like hers."

"We will see what we can do." That was Mom code for she would think about it, but Mandy wasn't going to argue. She'd have plenty of time to convince Mom it was a good idea.

There were lots of people out that night, holding hands just like Mom and Mandy. Mostly adults—like how Mom and Dad would hold hands when they all went out together sometimes.

They stopped at the corner to wait for the little green man to tell them it was safe to walk. Mandy's feet were starting to hurt. "How much farther is it?"

"We're almost there," Mom said.

Mandy glanced around. Maybe there was another place they could eat that was closer. Behind her two men ducked down an alley where they stood toe to toe for a moment—smiles on their faces. One man leaned into the other, and they quickly kissed before spilling back onto the sidewalk with all the people, laughing like one of them had just told a joke, not like they had just done what they did.

"Mommy—"

"It's our turn." Mom tugged on Mandy's hand.

As soon as they crossed the street, Mom told the lady at the little stand that there were two of them, and they were quickly seated.

"What do you think you want to eat?" Mom asked as she studied her menu.

Mandy's menu wasn't as big as Mom's, and there was nowhere for her to color on hers, but Mandy wasn't thinking about the menu or food. "Why were those men kissing?"

Mom peeked over her menu and glanced around. "What men?"

"The ones in the alley. Why were they kissing?"

Mom set her menu down. "People kiss when they love each other. Like Aladdin and Jasmine."

Mandy scrunched her eyebrows. "Like you and Daddy?"

"Yes."

That made sense. Well, kind of. "So, two boys can love each other?"

Mom nodded. "Yes."

"Can two girls love each other?"

"They can." Mom nodded again.

Mandy glanced around at all the people in the restaurant, and then at the people walking outside. "Why don't they hold hands then?"

"They do sometimes," Mom said. "There's no wrong way to love someone. Sometimes that means holding hands and kissing, and sometimes it doesn't."

Mandy kissed Mom and Dad. And her grandparents would kiss her when she saw them, and she would kiss them back. Mandy held hands with Mom on mommy-daughter date night, and sometimes she and Isa held hands when they played at school, but she didn't know about wanting to do that with anyone else. So she was glad she didn't have to if she didn't want to. "Can I have noodles with butter?" she asked.

"You can have whatever you want," Mom said. "I love you."

"I love you too." Mandy picked up her crayon. "Will you help me find the pretzel?" she asked. Mom was really good at finding all the things in the hidden picture puzzles.

"Let me figure out what I'm going to eat first, and then I'll help, okay?"

"I got the baseball bat." Mandy circled the bat and crossed it off from the list of pictures she was supposed to find.

"Nice job," Mom said. "Do you think you'll have room for tiramisu tonight?"

"Uh, yeah." Mandy always had room for tiramisu.