Her Treat
Antonia Cardinale
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Through a series of unfortunate events- that if to be written down would take up an entire novel- I manage to find myself shopping for a Catholic school-appropriate dress to wear to my senior prom. The absolute last thing I wanted to do this weekend was to spend it trapped inside a department store, feeling miserable about myself. But my older sister, Ximena, promised to drive up from SoCal to treat me to boba at the new shop that opened in the same plaza if I humored her. Still not sure how my sister managed to convince Mom to let us go out, but I couldn’t resist the call of perfumy jasmine iced tea with extra sugar boba.
All this suffering could have been easily avoided if my parents just let me rent a suit.
~
Across the store, I notice Ximena rifling through the discount dress rack with a face full of disgust. I can’t help but feel shame that somehow under the fluorescent white light, my sister still looks heavenly. With her long caramel hair that waterfalls around soft shoulders and cherub cheeks, you wouldn’t even notice her lip curled in repulsion at the designers’ crimes against humanity.
Eventually, Ximena finds a few she can tolerate, arranging the less offensive materials over her forearm. The dresses spill to the floor, and the looming possibility of being forced to try every single one weighs over me like a ton of bricks. I attempt to return to my task, hoping it will distract from the dread that comes with the inevitable truth: We’re going to be here for hours.My job is simple enough. Find a nice pair of dress shoes that should also adhere to school guidelines. “Closed toed, heel no taller than 6 inches, in a modest color and good taste,” whatever the fresh hell that means. I’m positive that my efforts are a complete waste of time. Nothing in the aisle stands a chance of living up to Ximena’s impeccable taste. Despite this, I do my best to feign interest in the selection before me and reach out for only the most bedazzled or delicate pairs.
I am a fraud.
I mean I’m sure not all teenage girls dream of spending the better half of an afternoon dress shopping with their older sister. Prom in the movies always looked so fun. No one ever felt sick to their stomach during the makeover montage- unless it was a bad makeover. So, this should be fun… right? I should be elated at the thought of trying on a million dresses and pretending I’m a princess. Or if I can’t be excited, at least neutral.
There’s hardly enough time to shame spiral because before I know it, my sister is making her way across the store to me with a huge grin. Draped in her arms are shimmering seas of indigo and iridescent violet tones. The dresses just barely hover over the carpet that I’m sure hasn’t been vacuumed since the store opened. And that same voice who was planning on renting a suit just a week ago is screaming louder, warning me to run.
At least she remembered my favorite colors.
“Ay Dios Nayeli, ¿Qué diablos pasó aquí? Did you decide on anything?” She huffs while adjusting the fabric settled around her arms and eyeing the fortress of shoeboxes I’ve walled myself into.
“I… um. I liked them all?”
My sister lets out a sigh and drags me towards the back of the store and into an empty fitting room. I awkwardly hover above the bench that’s been designed to hold nothing more than a coin purse and watch her neatly arrange the dresses. Each one is a reminder of how much time I’ve wasted, but Ximena is too talkative for me to properly ruminate.
“Lucky you… you’re nice and tiny. You could fit into pretty much anything but…” She pauses and turns to eye me up and down.
“You know what, never mind. Try this one first.” Ximena shoves one into my hands and scurries out the door to wait for me. I slide it on and allow myself a moment to admire the craftsmanship.
Deep plum chiffon fabric overlaid with a sequined lace tulle that waterfalls just above the floor, giving the illusion that I’m floating. It’s dripping with stars that catch and disperse fractals of department stores’ harsh overhead lights into all colors of the rainbow. Even better, there’s not a single square inch of my skin that isn’t covered. Perfect for prom.
I wonder if I could get away with a sports bra.
But even in the presence of such a beautiful dress, it’s taking every ounce of willpower in me is forcing my soul to remain tethered to my body.
Just smile, you’re supposed to enjoy this. Remember?
I pick at the galaxies inlaid on my sleeves before pushing the door open to showcase the dress with a little twirl.
You really are a fraud.
Ximena’s squeal across the dressing room quickly brings me back to reality. She dusts off the fabric and demands I do two more spins before a final verdict is reached.
“Ugh you eat so much, and you still manage to fit into a size 4, I hate you.” Which, if you don’t know Ximena, is code for: “Damn, that was faster than I thought. Forget everything else!”
“Don’t be jealous, Nena. It’s bad for your complexion.” My code for: “Did you check the price tag? There’s no way you found something like this in the ‘discount section.’ Mom is going to kill us!”
“My skin? Leli, if I were you, I’d be worrying about that hair on your lip you got growing in.” My sister waves me off. “Relax, it’s my treat.”
The two of us exchange more playful bickering as we pack up the rejected dresses to put back on the shelves. I’m sure any outsider listening in would think the two of us loathe each other, but Nena is the only person in the entire world who can translate any insult and throw it back at me perfectly. Otherwise, I’m sure we would’ve killed each other by now.
Eventually, we wander back to the shoe section to tidy up the mess we made with our spoils. As we walk, I rub my upper lip with my index and middle finger to an unexpected delight.
Holy crap, there is a lot of hair here!
Ximena notices this, and rolls her eyes, trying to disguise a small frown. I notice her noticing me watching her, and I can’t help but ask-
“What’s wrong?”
“No importa.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, and the two of us start to dismantle the fortress of shoeboxes I left behind.
“So like, your date… Tell me about him. Does he know what he’s getting himself into?” She sets a few boxes down next to me to try on and taps one of the shoe boxes next to me. “Leli, Antes iba en serio. I’ll take you to get waxed after this. You need it.”
“They’ve actually never seen me before, blind date.” I dip my grin in sarcasm before opening the box. “I would rather be put through the rack 10 times before I allow you to pay a stranger to rip off my body hair.”
“¡Mentirosa!” She scolds, shaking her head. “Fine, suit yourself.”
I roll my eyes, hoping it will hide how I am cringing at the selection in front of me. Three-inch reflective silver heels, with bedazzled straps that wrap around your ankle. Honestly, they are a perfect complement to the dress. But the thought of taking off my sneakers to try them on makes me want to peel off my feet
“Ugh, at least try them on before you decide you hate them!” She grabs the left shoe from the box. “¿Qué les pasa a estos? Three years ago, you would’ve loved them!”
I shrug my shoulders and she rolls her eyes and tosses the shoe behind her. The silvery material sparkles through the air, before it lands on the cheap carpet with a ‘thunk.’ I snort, and Nena laughs with me.
“Alright, I got it. Shimmer for the dress only.” She gets up from the floor. “I can let you borrow one of my old pairs when you come over next weekend.”
“You sound like Mom.” I slide back into my sneakers. “I should’ve known you couldn’t afford to buy a dress and shoes. Didn’t you call Dad last week to ask for gas money?”
“Watch it!”
Ximena and I make our way towards the checkout once the mess I made is pretty much back to normal.
“Thank God, it’s almost over! I absolutely despise dress shopping!” I groan, shifting my arms to support the weight of the fabric.
“I had a good time.” Ximena smiles, digging through her purse to find her wallet. A tinge of guilt hits me.
Maybe I should’ve tried harder to find something I liked? That way Nena’s not completely wasting her money.
The guilt is short lived, as I notice us inching closer to the front of the line. And the thoughts of sweet perfumy jasmine tea and sugar boba clouds my better judgement and my inside voice slips past my filter.
“I could’ve just rented a suit like the guys do. That would’ve taken much less time.” I offer, trying my best to corral my mind to the present, and not some alternate reality where my very old-fashioned parents would allow such a thing.
“Ew. Why? This was sooo much easier than when I was your age.”
Two years ago.
“Nothing fit me properly; I looked like a linebacker trying to squeeze into a potato sack.” She picks the skin on her arms and shudders.
“Oh, now you really sound like Mom.”
“I’m being serious!” Nena whines, folding her arms in a huff. “I still have a hard time finding a dress that looks decent on me! And you have it so easy! Everything here looks good on you!”
I drop the fabric onto the checkout belt and bite my tongue, carefully weighing my options to decide if this is worth starting a real argument.
Who cares if “everything looks good” when I hate it?
“You know, any girl would kill for your body. I don’t understand why you hate it so much.” Ximena’s words feel like a weight on my chest when I realize the translation for what she’s saying.
How do you expect to be happy with yourself, if you won’t even try looking like a girl?
My heart rushes like I’ve been caught in a lie after finishing a marathon while my brain flips through every interaction between us today. The comment about mustache hair, the shoes, the over-the-top dresses, now my body…
All bets are off.
“Why do you have to be such a bitch, all the time?”
I huff out of the store, pushing past the customers in front of us and seethe in the parking lot.
What? She started it!
Time feels like an ouroboros while I pace back and forth between the cars under the sun. In my anger, I barely notice how sweat pools into the dips of my body. I have too much pride to admit to my sister that I am trying! I’m trying so hard! I’m trying to like how the dress fits over the curves of my waist, or the stupid bedazzled matching shoes that she’ll probably dig up from her closet when I visit her next. I’m already out of my comfort zone going to prom in the first place!
You can’t tell me that I’m not trying!
Eventually, Nena finds me. She doesn’t have the dress, only a frown carved with disappointment. Instead of walking back to her boyfriend’s truck to take me home, she heads toward the boba shop. With morbid curiosity, and truthfully, boba still on the brain, I trail behind her.
When we enter, we’re greeted by the hardest working employee in the room. A tower fan plugged into the wall next to the front counter. Ximena shoos me off to find an empty seat while she goes to look for someone to take our order. I slide into the couch in the back corner and try to focus on counting the tiles on the floor while I wait.
When she’s done, Nena takes a seat next to me. My sister hands me an unearned iced jasmine milk tea with extra sugar boba and a purple straw. The cup is already dripping with condensation, nearly slipping through my fingers. I break the plastic seal and attempt to enjoy the treat anyway.
“I don’t get why you like that so much.” She scrunches her nose at me. “Tea never tastes as good as the slushies. Even if you ask for extra sweetener, they always skimp out.”
I scoff.
“You refuse to enjoy anything that requires you to think, that’s why you get the artificial stuff.”
I take another sip, and chew on the pearls, watching her carefully. Ximena rolls her eyes, but her smile is starting to creep back in.
“You’re right, I just like sweet stuff. I think if you’re gonna spend $8 on any drink, it should at least be sweet.” She sets her cup on our table that is littered with remnants of past patrons and thinks for a minute.
“You know, Leli, everyone’s got an opinion on boba. Mamá might tell you to skip it all together, so you watch your figure. Or your favorite older sister,” She winks. “Would say to try the sweetest slushie on the menu and ask for double sugar.”
“Uh huh… right.” I imagine that I’m looking at my sister as if she’s sprouted another head. But she doesn’t seem to care.
“I guess, in the end, what we think about boba doesn’t matter, all that matters is if you like it.” She shrugs, and goes in for another sip, which I realize is her translation for: “You like what you like, dress how you dress. I was just trying to do something nice.”
“I know.” I fold my arms and lean back in my seat.
“Good.” Nena affirms with a cheesy smile.
An awkward silence hangs between the two of us. Luckily, it’s easy to avoid eye contact since my sister grabs her phone like it’s a life preserver and starts scrolling. Soon enough, we’re both settled down, until Nena clears her throat to get my attention.
“I found a few places that rent tuxes for cheap, if you want?” The hesitation in her voice taints the air.
“Is it still ‘your treat?’” I raise my eyebrows and keep my arms folded together tightly. “Are you sure?”
My sister rolls her eyes and grabs her purse and keys.
“Duh.”
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Antonia Cardinale is a Bay Area born, Fresno raised, queer writer, editor, and artist. They are in their final year of Fresno State’s MFA program. Her fiction work is primarily young adult focused, with motifs of challenging religious and cultural expectations, LGBTQ+ celebration, self acceptance, and family ties. She was recently published in Flies, Cockroaches, and Poets’ 26th volume. For more information, you can visit her website: https://antoniacardinale.carrd.co/.
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Posted in Pride: June '26 and tagged in #boudin, #fiction, Fiction