[Author's Note: Again, I must apologize for the lag. This was a pretty hard chapter to write, and I think you'll see why. Either way, I think it turned out well. But I'll let you all be the judges of that!]
Snow Day
Chapter Twenty-One: Colors
December 6, 6:45 AM, EST
From the bedroom, I hear the hairdryer turn on, and I stride back into the bathroom. "No. No way. You can dry your hair somewhere else; there is not room in here." Maureen sticks her tongue out at me and unplugs the hairdryer. Once she's gone, I busy myself with doing my makeup.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, Maureen reappears and begins her highly specific daily application of red lipstick. "Hey, Mo," I ask out of pure curiosity, "is there a reason you always wear red lipstick?"
She doesn't answer for a surprisingly long time. She sits down on the edge of the bathtub, keeping her eyes focused on the little, silver lipstick tube in her hand. "I, um… April."
I sit next to her and try to place my hand on her back, but she leans away from it and moves farther from me. "Maureen, I- I didn't mean to- You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." She chews her lower lip for a minute and then wrinkles her nose a little, I suppose at the taste of lipstick now in her mouth.
"Really, it started when she was helping me get ready for my first date with Mark." Maureen smiles faintly. "She tried about a thousand colors on me, and finally she tried this one, and she said it was perfect." Her smile grows a little, in spite of the tears welling up in her eyes. I want to comfort her, but I keep my distance because I don't want her to stop now. "It wasn't until after she died that I started wearing it every day, though… Part of it was, I guess, solidarity, or whatever you want to call it. But I'd be lying if I said that was the main reason…"
There is a long silence, and, finally, I risk being the one to break it. "What is the main reason, Maureen?"
"She's the only person who's ever made me feel pretty… maybe even beautiful. My parents… let's just say they weren't the best role models. And we never got along anyway. I think that's why I always got closer with people older than me: I didn't really realize it, but I was always trying to find someone to look up to… April and Collins were the ones who always understood that. April treated me like a little sister: she took care of me." Maureen now has tears running down her face, and I just can't help myself. I slide over toward her and wrap an arm around her. This time she leans into me instead of moving away.
"She was like my sister, Joanne," she chokes out, burying her face in my shoulder. After a few deep breaths, she sits up and begins again: "I guess the main reason I wear it is because sometimes it helps me feel okay about how I look because I know April would like it." She looks up at me. Her eyes are wide and tears slowly leak from their corners.
"You can't see it at all can you?" I ask her.
"See what?"
"How absolutely beautiful you are," I answer, lifting up my free hand to brush away a tear and cup her cheek.
Maureen catches me completely off guard. In less than a second she is storming out of the bathroom. "Just shut up, Joanne! It's not worth lying to me, so just save it for someone naïve enough to believe you!" She punctuates this statement with a slam of the bedroom door. I hear the turning of the lock, followed by nothing but muffled crying.
Figuring I'll give Maureen a few minutes to herself, I walk to the kitchen and pick up the phone. In a moment of pure impulsiveness, I call in sick to work.
After another minute or two, I walk over to the bedroom door. I notice immediately that Maureen's crying sounds different somehow: maybe not louder, but more… pained.
Suddenly, Maureen's letter to Collins flashes through my mind. And all I know is that, somehow, I have to get through that door.