Perfect Girl - Weebly

City to Odessa—the time it’s supposed to take when you’re
not terrified that a deranged insect will fly in the window—
she looks like she just stepped out of a salon. She smells
heavenly, too. Her breath is sweet, like she uses expensive
custom-made mouthwash. Natural mouthwash, each jadegreen
peppermint leaf squeezed just for her. Tipping my
head up she says, “Your eyes are stunning, Ruthie. That’s the
deepest blue I’ve ever seen.”
A giggle escapes my throat like a dainty cough.
“And your red hair . . . do you have any idea how much
women pay to reproduce that color?”
My eyelashes flutter. I’m not kidding, they flutter.
“It’s been much too long.” Aunt Marty takes me into
her arms and holds me close. I melt into the soft fabric of
her white linen shirt. I shut my eyes and imagine passing
straight through her body, implanting her soul into mine on
the way out.
“The grease on your sausages is congealing,” Mom calls
from the kitchen. “Who’s at the door?”
I hear the scuffle of my mother’s footsteps. Oh God, she’s
wearing her inside shoes.
“Here we go,” Aunt Marty says, pulling away from me.
“Brace yourself for Hurricane Fay.”
Mortified, I see that my mother is still in her bathrobe.
The ugly plaid one she’s had for a gazillion years.
“Look who dropped by,” I say, my voice barely audible.
“Hello, Fay,” Aunt Marty says.
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