It had to be red. Red makes my eyes pop and my pale skin look less like a tragedy and more like art. Rose red. I’m not brave enough to wear the shade called Fire; it looks too much like blood and makes me think of vampires.
Thank God there are only two types of mascara. And as my life is no John Hughes movie, I put the blue colour back in the box and paint my lashes black. Easy.
This time when I catch sight of my reflection, I’m startled for a whole new reason. A better reason. The Norah staring back at me in the mirror looks so different from the Norah that was here before. This Norah looks vaguely normal, alive, not consumed by her mental health.
‘Norah.’ Mom knocks on my door. I jump, lift my wrist, ready to wipe the lipstick from my mouth. I’m not sure why, but I feel like I’m five and she’s about to catch me using her expensive perfume as furniture polish.
‘Nor, are you awake?’
My door opens. She’s coming in and I still haven’t wiped away the red lipstick. It’s bright and I’m worried that if I smudge it across my face, it’ll stain the way cherry soda does. Panic pulls Mom’s mouth open when she looks at my already-made bed and doesn’t see me lazing around on it.
‘Hey,’ she says when she finally finds me, all shock. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m wearing clothes or because I’m sitting at a dressing table I haven’t used since the day it arrived. ‘I thought you’d still be in bed.’
‘I thought you’d be at work,’ I mutter from behind my hand. I wonder if I can get away with sucking the lipstick off. Probably not. She’s shocked, not stupid. Besides, I’d have to google side effects of eating lipstick before I’d feel comfortable swallowing it. Thick lines of worry crease Mom’s brow.
‘I’m taking the day off. What’s with the floating hand?’ She heads into my room, limping. With a wince, she sits down on the bed and straightens out her legs. She’s wearing oversize zebra slippers and I can’t quite make out what’s wrong with her feet.
‘What’s with the limp?’ I say, still hiding my mouth.
‘Nothing much.’ Mom flinches, ever so slightly, but there’s not a lot I don’t see.
‘Your hip hurts?’ I ask. Mom rolls her eyes because my all-seeing anxiety never lets her have secrets for long.
‘I guess I’m having a little trouble putting weight on it today.’
I forget about my mini-makeover, drop my hand and flee to my cell at the side of the bed. ‘We should call the doctor. What if the hospital missed something? What if it’s broken? Did you know people can walk around for years with broken bones? It’s like that doctor said about your wrist – broken bones can set funny and cause years of endless agony.’
‘Gee. Thanks for that, Little Miss Sunshine.’ She snorts. Right. That was perhaps a touch morbid. ‘It really suits you, by the way.’
‘What does?’ I grab hold of my cell. My agony until the sweet release of death drags you under comment might have been morbid, but the concern still stands. I’m getting ready to call a doctor.
‘The lipstick.’
‘Oh.’ I shrug, channelling my embarrassment into scratching off a scab on the side of my thumb. ‘I think I feel silly. I mean, I didn’t when I first put it on, but when you knocked, I wanted to take it off.’
‘Why?’ Mom pats the bed beside her. I slump over, slosh through the murky puddle that is this morning’s can-do attitude, and flop down beside her.
‘I don’t know.’ But I do know, and she knows it, which is why she waits for me to elaborate. ‘Does it look like I’m trying too hard? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to be flashy. And what if he doesn’t like it, or thinks it looks bad? What if—’
‘Stop.’ Mom grabs my shoulders, pushes her face into mine, and eyeballs me. ‘Go back to that second you first put it on. Can you do that?’ I nod, a little too scared to do anything else. She makes me think of one of those angry guys on TV, the ones who try to sell beds at crazy discounted prices.
‘How did you feel? Just you? Nobody else.’
I close my eyes, cast my mind back to the second I saw my reflection. It’s like Gran said, I felt confident. My lips feel slick as they pull into a smile.
‘I felt good.’
‘Then that’s all that matters. You are beautiful, always. You would be beautiful if you got a giant butterfly tattooed across your face. Beauty comes from how you treat people and how you behave. But if a little lipstick makes you smile, then you should wear it and forget what anyone else thinks.’ That’s exactly how she lives. Just ask her closet full of bright colours and crazy patterns.
I open my eyes, give her a hug, kiss her on the cheek, and stamp it with a big red rosebud.
‘Now, about my hip . . .’
‘Right. Call the doctor.’ I unlock the screen of my phone.
‘Hold your horses, sweetie,’ she whinnies at me. ‘I don’t need a doctor. I had it X-rayed at the hospital. It’s not broken, just badly bruised. So you can quit worrying about the bones setting out of shape.’ I’m still ready to call a doctor. Bruising means bleeding.