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it was just so difficult not to at least let a smidge of anger at her mother show. Why did Momma have to be so … so …
    Unimaginative?
    Something rebellious had gotten ahold of Annabelle and she couldn’t seem to shake it. She’d tried to bake it away, had gone straight to the kitchen after Nancy’s this morning and produced three dozen perfectly square layer bars and another of those deft-handed pies, but her restlessness hadn’t abated one bit. Her restless hands had plucked this blouse from her closet and her restless fingers had closed up the buttons as though sealing her into a suit of armor.
    What are you trying to prove, stupid girl?
    Donnie’s voice had started to blend with Momma’s. But it didn’t really matter anymore whose words they were. They were the words of doubt. The words of not-good-enough that she’d carried around for years.
    They were the words of fear. And she was just so tired of living in fear.
    I want to be someone significant.
    She wanted to be someone with a mother like Nancy, who had listened and cared enough about the message in a single statement, suggesting to Grady that Annabelle take the team manager job, while right this moment, Annabelle’s own mother could only stare in shock at the sheer blouse that she was wearing, which revealed a shadowy outline of her bra underneath.
    Momma’s imagination was clearly being taxed to its limit.
    Annabelle felt her annoyance taking over and tried to push it back down. She had to tread carefully. “What is it?” She tried to school her voice into sounding calm and unaffected, despite the roiling anger inside.
    Her mother shook her head and said sharply, “Annabelle, I think the lighting in your room is not adequate. Your blouse is—” she lowered her voice to a whisper, as though Deacon Brown was listening in on their conversation all the way from the First Baptist reception room—“ completely transparent. ”
    Oh, honestly. It was not as see-through as that. Admittedly, she should have chosen a better time than the church social to bring out this top, but she’d seen other ladies in church wearing the same fabric and no one had said a thing.
    She’d bought it shortly before her and Donnie’s second anniversary, when their sex life had already started to wane a little and she’d hoped to distract him from his drink long enough to be tempted by her. Not that it had helped.
    But it was Grady who she’d been thinking of when she put it on tonight. Grady, who’d made her feel powerful in her femininity, and who was giving her a chance to prove what she was made of. She had to keep reminding herself of that. She couldn’t let the fear take her over. She had to be brave.
    â€œI don’t think—” she began, but Momma cut her off.
    â€œNo, you didn’t think. This is my house, Annabelle. As long as you’re living here, you’ll respect my sensibilities and not flaunt yourself in such a way. Do you understand?”
    Of course … sometimes there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Pushing her mom on something as minor as clothes could get her kicked out. The message had been clear.
    As soon as she was finally free and standing on her own, living in her own apartment, and choosing her own clothes, she was going to walk around town in pasties and a thong to celebrate.
    Okay, fine. Maybe not. But she would wear a top like this every day if she wanted.
    She knew she wasn’t doing a good job of being an adult about this. An adult would stand up for herself and tell her mother to shove it. But then, that would mean packing her bags and finding another place to sleep tonight, even though she had no money and no friends. Maybe she could ask Nancy, but no way would she involve her neighbor in a family thing unless it was an emergency.
    And this was not an emergency. At least, not one that she couldn’t