MAYA
I walked a step behind Mom like the perfect, obedient daughter I was supposed to be, my pink skirt swishing softly around my thighs with every step.
The white crocheted top I’d designed myself felt suddenly too delicate, too revealing under the bright chandeliers of Mrs. Handerson’s mansion. The kitty party was in full swing with soft classical music, the clink of champagne flutes, the murmur of high-society women and their perfectly groomed daughters filling the air.
Mom was in her element. She greeted every woman with that warm, elegant smile of hers, air-kissing cheeks and laughing lightly. “Mrs. Levit, you look radiant! And is this your daughter Rebeca? Maya, come say hello,” Mom called, pulling me forward.
I smiled politely, extending my hand. “Hi, Rabeca. Nice to meet you.
