" This will never do!" My mother said pointed an accusing finger at me.

"Mom!"

One of my favorite vintage T-shirts, from a pixies tour in the eighties, hung from her clenched fists.

"Do you own anything beautiful?" She shook the offending T-shirt at me.

"Define beautiful," I returned.

I swallowed a groan, searching for and clothes I particulary wanted to protect, and sat on top of my Rebublicans for voldemort hoodie.

" Lace? silk? cashmere?" Naomi asked. " Anything that isn't denim or cotton?"

She twisted the Pixies shirt in her hands and I cringed.

" Do you know that Emily was here today?" Her eyes moved over the bed, assessing the pile of clothes.

"Dad said that," I replied quietly, but inside I was screaming. I stroked my fingers along the rope of hair that hung over my shoulder, lifted the ed, and caught it between y teeth.

My mother pursed her lips and dropped the T-shirt so she could exract my fingers from the twisted hair. Then she sighed, took a seat on the bed just behind me and pulled the elastic from the end of the braid.

" And this hair." She combed out the waves with her fingers.

" Why you bind it up all the time is beyond me." 

"There's too much," I said " It gets in the way."