Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

My mother rushes up to me as the older lady remains back, taking in her
work and looking for any final fixes.
“Clay?” My mom urges me. “What do you think?”
I look down at her, struggling to keep my emotions from bubbling up my
throat. I fold my lips between my teeth, about to burst. She doesn’t care what
I think. She wants me to lie.
“It’s, um…” I choke on the words, a snort escaping. “It’s so beautiful.
I’m speechless.”
And I can’t do it anymore. Laughter pours out of me as I take in the big,
fat hoop skirt monstrosity in the mirror that makes me look like Scarlett
fucking O’Hara, complete with puffed sleeves and some dumbass ruffle
around the waist. I’m tempted to look for the stains of Lavinia’s tears of
laughter all over the dress as she sewed this bullshit.
I hunch over, my stomach tight as I try to rein it in.
My mother glares at me.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, fanning myself. “My emotions are running wild. I’ve
waited so long for this.” I plant my hand to my heart, recovering. “Lavinia,
can you bring me some gloves and a pearl necklace? I need the whole picture.
I’m so excited. Thank you.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle with a tight smile, but she nods, quickly
leaving the room to fetch the accessories.
It’s not technically her fault. My mother approved the design.
The two of us alone, my mother steps up on the riser in front of me and
twists the bodice, jerking it until it’s straight.
“I thought for sure I’d look like a cupcake,” I tell her, trying to catch her
eyes. “Now, I almost wish I could say that I looked like a cupcake. You know
that white stuff that spills out of a heroin addict’s mouth when they’re
overdosing? That’s what I look like.”
She meets my eyes, her blue slightly paler than mine as she continues to
yank at the dress. “You chose your homecoming gown,” she points out. “And
you’ll choose your prom dress. The debutante ball is mine.”
I knew I should’ve gotten this over with two years ago when she wanted
me to.
My body jerks as she situates the dress on me, and I stare over her
shoulder and into the mirror. The back of her blonde head can easily be me in
twenty years.
“You won’t be able to tell me from everyone else,” I say, coming as close