“Charlotte!” Mom yells from the base of the stairs.
Yanking out my headphones from my ears, I roll out of bed and trudge to the top of the stairwell. Mom stands with another person in the foyer. I lean ever so slightly to see their face: it’s Rosemary wearing her usual ankle boots and grin.
I force a smile. This really is not a good time or a good day. “Rose!” I exclaim. I try not to notice the way her face lights up when I use the nickname. “You must be here for the dress. Once second.”
Good, I want it off my hands.
“Alright,” Rosemary says as I retreat back into my bedroom only to, as delicately as I can, grab the garment bag containing the dress and assorted accessories.
There’s a moderate chatter as a return and descend the stairs. Dad talks to Mom from the living room while Rosem
