Perfect Girl - Weebly

about your birth.”
“What have you lied to me about?”
My mother’s left eyebrow shoots up. I set my jaw defiantly.
She takes a deep breath and says, “I never lied. I just
never told you the whole truth.”
“About what?”
“About the day you were born.”
A jolt of electricity zaps my chest.
“Fay!”
At that exact moment, Mrs. Latanza, President of the
Odessa Homeowner’s Association, enters our yard through
the back gate. Her yellow hair is pushed back by a floral
headband and hairsprayed into a flip. My whole life, I’ve
never seen her in pants. Today, true to form, she wears a
belted gingham dress with white pumps.
“I thought I heard voices back here,” she says.
“Peg.” Mom eyes her suspiciously.
Mrs. Latanza says, “Betty Fannerife told me Martha was
in town, but I had no idea what she was up to!”
Mom leans down and pinches back more cilantro.
“Is this a major renovation?” Mrs. Latanza asks, hopeful.
Mom says, “I have no idea what it is.”
“Martha looks fabulous, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. Fabulous.” My mom’s fingernails, I notice, are
totally green.
Glancing at the open gate, I barely conceal my impatience
79