Sisterhood 1: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares

Author:Ann Brashares
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780375890291
Publisher: Random House Digital
Published: 2002-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

“Barbara, you know my daughter, Krista,” Lydia said to the dressmaker on Tuesday afternoon.

Krista smiled delightfully.

Lydia gestured toward Carmen. “And this is my . . .” She paused. Carmen knew Lydia was working herself up to say stepdaughter, like Al called Krista, but she backed down. “This is Carmen.”

“Lydia's my stepmother,” Carmen clarified, just to be obnoxious.

Barbara wore her blond hair in a perfect bell-shaped bob. Her teeth, when she smiled, were a wall of white. Big and fake, Carmen concluded.

Barbara stared at Carmen. Carmen's hair was in a messy wad at the back. Her red tank top was soaked with sweat. “This is Albert's daughter?” she asked with obvious surprise, looking to Lydia instead of Carmen for verification.

“This is Albert's daughter,” Carmen answered for herself.

Barbara wanted to backtrack. After all, Albert was paying the bills. “It's just that you . . . you must take after your mother,” she said, as though that were diplomatic.

“I do,” Carmen confirmed. “My mother is Puerto Rican. She speaks with an accent. She says a rosary.”

Nobody seemed to pick up on her sauciness. The invisible girl.

“She has her father's aptitude for math,” Lydia argued faintly, as though in her heart she didn't believe Carmen was related to Albert at all.

Carmen felt like smacking her.

“Well, let's get on with the fitting,” Barbara suggested, setting an armful of plastic garment bags down on Lydia's bed. Lydia and Albert's bed. “Krista, let's try yours first.”

“Oh, oh, can we look at Mama's first?” Krista begged. She literally pressed her hands together wistfully.

Carmen disappeared into an upholstered chair by the wall as Lydia proudly donned what looked to be at least seventy yards of shiny white fabric. Carmen thought it was frankly embarrassing for a woman over forty with two teenage children to wear a big puffy white thing at her wedding. The bodice was fitted, and the cap sleeves showed a whole lot of over-forty arm.

“Mama, you are gorgeous. You are a vision. I'm going to cry,” Krista gushed without actually crying.

Carmen realized she was tapping her foot against the glassy wood floor, and she made herself stop.

Next, sweet, miniature, pale Krista tried on a pink-purple taffeta gown. Carmen could only pray her dress would not be identical to this one.

Krista's had to be taken in a little at the waist. “Oooh,” said Krista, laughing, as Barbara cinched and pinned. The dress was heinous, but on colorless, curveless Krista it worked as well as it could.

Now it was Carmen's turn. Even though she was invisible, pulling the identical, stiff, shiny, too-small dress over her damp skin was miserable and humiliating. She couldn't look at anyone. She couldn't look at herself in the mirror. She didn't want the picture living in her memory for the rest of her life.

Barbara appraised her with critical eyes. “Oh my. Well, this is going to need some work.” She went right to Carmen's hips and pulled the unfinished seams open. “Yes, we'll have to take this way out. I'm not sure I have enough fabric.

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