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Yes, there is more to life, like love and art and creativity and passion and a lot of big things I hope I’ll eventually experience, but there’s also the promise of being a newer, better you once you discover the perfect article of clothing or random accessory that suddenly perks up the way everyone sees you. I hope that isn’t superficial because I feel it deeper than it sounds.
    It’s very rock and a hard place. Guilt and a shopping spree. Fear and the new Fall lines. If I were a character in a musical, there would totally be a song devoted to my current inner conflict.
    “It, um, I guess it all looks okay to me,” I say. “If that’s fine with you.”
    “Well.” She holds open the coffee shop door for me so we can walk back to her car. “You need it.”
    In less than twenty-four hours I’ve really begun to hate the word need .
    The Grove turns out to be a mall that’s all outside in the warm sunshine. I want to hate it for being so ridiculously L.A., especially since my mother clearly does, given her cursing about the crowded parking garage and the swarms of people. It’s nice, though.
    I figure my mother won’t be thrilled about shopping, but she stays with me, carries all my possibilities to the dressing room, and even offers up opinions when I’m not sure (“too weird” and “a-fucking-dorable” are my favorites). She doesn’t flinch at all at prices even though I do, a lot. Obviously Reece Malcolm does okay, money-wise.
    Not like that automatically makes it okay. It would be different if she wanted to instead of feeling like she has to. Yeah, I’m staring at my reflection in the fitting room mirror, looking better than usual in clothes I love that I haven’t had to seek out on the clearance rack. Yeah, my mother—of all people—is offering up opinions like we’re in on this together. But it’s like a pretend good day, since I have to block everything else out of my mind just to sort of enjoy it (okay, to totally enjoy it).
    We carry the shopping bags to her car but walk back so we can eat lunch at the Farmer’s Market, which looks more like a regular food court to me, just outdoors. We both get Mexican and manage to find an open table in the crowd.
    “Thank you, seriously, so much for everything,” I say, munching on some chips sans salsa. Spicy things worry me. “You totally didn’t have to do so much.”
    She shrugs as she takes a huge bite of an enchilada. “You needed things.”
    Of course I’m baiting her to get the response I want. I’m happy to do this for you or You deserve all of this or even I have a lot to make up for . I want to be mad at her for not saying any of that, but obviously I know she isn’t happy to be doing this and that I don’t deserve so much and maybe she has a lot to make up for but mothers who only show up when they’re legally required to won’t see it that way.
    “Do you need to do anything to prepare for your audition on Monday?” she asks.
    “I guess it’d be nice to do some vocal warm-ups,” I say. “But you don’t have a piano, so I’ll be fine.”
    “Hmmm.” She digs her phone out of her bag. “I do have friends with pianos, though. Let me see what I can do.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    She’s already calling. “Hey, it’s me. Are you free tomorrow? No, I wondered if Devan could use your music room. Auditions Monday for school. Right. I’m aware. Fan -tastic, we’ll see you then.”
    She clicks her phone off and tosses it back into her bag. “You’re set.”
    “It’s really okay?”
    “I hate to put any pressure on you, but competition seems pretty cutthroat at New City. You should have every possible advantage.”
    I shrug, trying to look modest. “I usually do pretty well in auditions. It’s, like, my one skill.”
    “And, like , a good one to have,” she says. “Whereas I make terrible first impressions, and am therefore lucky to have a career where they don’t matter.”
    It’s the first thing she’s said