The Weight of Rain

by Mariah Dietz

  Charleigh rubs a hand across her forehead. “Dammit, I’m doing it again. I’m shit with giving advice, especially here. You guys are all so sweet with your … what do you call them? Word sandwiches? The positives covering a negative thing you all do. It’s bollocks, really, because I think the negative can easily get lost, or more importantly, people don’t hear the positives at all, but whatever. I’m going to do this the British way and just tell you how it is. You need to stop worrying about your mum, and everyone else, and do what’s best for you right now.”

  I watch her eyes that are wide and set on me. There’s an appreciation I’ve always had for Charleigh because she doesn’t feed anyone a line of bullshit. If she doesn’t like you or something you’re doing, she never has a problem stating so. Maybe she’s right—maybe we have gotten so lost in trying to be so nice and protect everyone’s feelings, that we’ve lost sight of how destructive it is to have negativity laced within a compliment. Like having someone insult you and then deliver a laugh so that you’re not positive they’ve really insulted you, or if they are merely joking.

  “That means a lot to me.”

  Charleigh smiles, but it’s reserved, hiding something that I can tell she’s prepared to affront me with, but Mia arrives with a large platter filled with appetizers—Charleigh’s and my favorite way to eat—and her attention is instantly averted.

  “So what’s this mysterious boy of yours like? Are you ever going to introduce him?”

  “He’s coming to the show on Friday with me.”

  “Really?” My curiosity is piqued, and I can tell by her smile that she knows.

  “You’re going to be surprised. He doesn’t look like other guys I’ve dated.” I’ve only met two guys that she dated, and neither left a big enough impression for me to create a class of guys that she likes. All I know is she liked pictures of guys with big biceps, licking them and claiming them like it meant something significant. “He’s perfect though, and he’s funny, and … he’s perfect”

  “I’m glad. I know you wouldn’t settle for less, and you shouldn’t.”

  Charleigh’s smile begins from my words and then transgresses into something personal, like she’s celebrating something only she’s fully aware of. I’m envious of it initially, and then I think of King and feel my own lips curling. I understand what those stolen kisses and soft touches, tucked pieces of hair, inside jokes, and shared knowing smiles equate to. They aren’t something that can be explained because like many things in life, words do not equate.

  “So, I’ve told my mum and dad that I’m staying for another year. They went ballistic initially, but I think they understand now.”

  “Does that change your immigration status?”

  “I’ve applied for my F-1 Visa, which allows me to stay another year after graduating. In that time, I’m hoping I’ll be able to find a job or something that will allow me to stay longer. This one usually goes fairly fast because it’s specialized for students graduating. I’m hoping it comes quickly though. Otherwise, I have to go back, then apply. If they lapse, it gets a lot more complicated.”

  “But you’ve got everything in?”

  She nods, stabbing a large bit of taquito with her fork. “I think this is the right thing. I mean, I love fashion, and I’m hoping I can do something with it, but for now, I think just getting to enjoy life is what I’m supposed to do.”

  “WE’RE late! We’re late! Let’s go!” Allie is barreling down the stairs, garment bags folded over her arms.

  We aren’t late, but I know from previous dressings that on time equates to late to many of these people. I follow her to her car and help load things into the trunk.

  “Where’s Charleigh?” I ask.

  “Meeting us there. Where’s King?”

  “Same.”

  “Are you ready?” Allie asks, smoothing a loose hair back into her braid. For how stressed out she’s been and was just mere moments ago, she seems composed, relaxed—the complete opposite of me. I’m pretty certain if she pays attention long enough, she’ll see that I’m shaking, all of me, like I’m the epicenter of an earthquake. She nods once and opens the driver’s side door. “Let’s go.”

  Once we arrive, we’re led to a large hall filled with stations, dresses, people, and more lights than I have ever seen before in my life.

  “You’re fine,” Allie says. Taking my hand, she pulls me through the room until we reach a spot that has her name taped across a garment rack.

  “What are these if the clothes are already here?” I ask, adding the garment bags we hauled through the crowds.

  “Backups.” She doesn’t even look my way as she responds, straightening the additions and moving to plug in a steamer.

  “What should I do?”

  “Go get a cup of ice.”

  “For what?”

  “You need to start sucking on it.”

  “Why?” My brows draw low in question.

  “It will lower your body temperature and make you stop sweating.” I glance down, wondering if my nerves are visible under my arms. “You aren’t yet, but you will.” With that assurance, I head off in search of ice.

  As I stand in front of the mirror—my hair and makeup completed by Charleigh—I realize Allie was never harnessing her talents; she was unleashing them, stepping outside of all comfort zones to create something that is beyond imaginable. I feel nervous to touch the first dress, let alone wear it. How will I move without possibly harming it? Even a crease seems tragic to this beautiful piece.

  “You can’t sit or eat or drink, and please don’t sweat.”

  I look to Allie and feel the temperature in the room rise by ten degrees.

  “Here’s another ice cube,” Charleigh says, offering me a plastic spoon. They’ve been dropping them into my mouth to prevent me from ruining my lipstick.

  “Don’t lock your knees. You want to remember to lean forward with your chest, chin up, and weight on your toes,” Allie instructs as her fingers trail the dress, seeking any slight imperfections that we all know don’t exist.

  I recite the instructions twice more in my head while keeping my arms propped out like a doll, another measure to prevent sweating.

  “Alright, Lo, you’ve got to get in line,” Allie says, grabbing the bottle of hair spray. She’s sprayed me down from head to toe already, and still she does it again.

  We walk—me stiff, them relaxed—to where others are starting to get in order. People with headpieces that link from their ear to walkie talkies are checking sheets, instructing us on where to go.

  “You’re going to do great. Take a couple of deep breaths and just look to the bottom right when you get out there. They’re all waiting for you.” Charleigh gently squeezes my hand, holding on until I feel my nerves start to subside.

  The lights are bright, heating me like a dozen suns shining on me. They also make it nearly impossible to decipher anyone’s face. I’m fairly certain the crowd is loudest on the right, and I reckon it’s where King and the group are sitting, but I can’t pause long enough to confirm it. I recite the tips again in my head. My face is cool with my chin tilted up, my chest forward, my weight balanced on my toes in a pair of shoes that I will do a celebratory burial for once this is over, and my knees are slightly bent as I make a final pose at the end of the runway where a sea of cameras are pointed toward me.

  I feel slightly guilty for feeling exhilarated by the energy that is pumping through me as I descend the back stairs and head to where my next dress is waiting for me along with Charleigh, Allie, and two girls I’ve never met that strip me like a doll. I’ve been saying looks don’t count, numbers are irrelevant, yet I’m parading around like they do. Still, this is such a huge step for Allie that I try to forget about the thoughts until later and ignore the fact that people are seeing me in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear, and let them work their magic.

  Five times I walk down the stage that thankfully seemed shorter with each pass. I was never able to pick out M
ercedes, or even King from the crowd, but I don’t doubt for a second that they missed the show.

  “You were amazing!” Allie cries, flinging her arms around me when I step backstage. “You rocked every single dress.”

  “I should. You made them to fit me.”

  Charleigh grins, but Allie is so lost in a blissful happiness that is preventing her from taking in much of anything at the moment.

  They strip me once again and I dress in my own clothes that feel loose and light in contrast to the dresses. I roll my shoulders, appreciating the range of motion being restored, and my feet sigh as they slide into a pair of ballet flats. Allie has vanished, whisked away to go take a bow along with the other designers and their professor who managed to give me the tightest of smiles before my last trip down the runway.

  “Loooooo!”

  I look up and see Mercedes running at me with a bouquet of red roses fisted in her hand. She launches into my arms from a foot back and hugs me so tightly it catches my breath. Charleigh smiles, and it tells me how happy she is for me and the close relationship that Mercedes and I have built and will always share.

  “You were so beautiful!” she cries as Summer steps up behind her with a matching smile. “They won’t let any boys back here,” Mercedes continues, then looks to her left. “But there’s already…”

  “They’re with the design teams,” Charleigh quickly explains as two men brush past us. They had, I watched as they applied makeup like artists with a paintbrush.

  Mercedes doesn’t care. She’s already peering around at the models and dresses, loving the commotion and energy that is still filling the room.

  “Your mom thinks you’re going to be the next big thing,” Mercedes chirps. “I think she’s right.”

  “My mom?” I don’t mean for the question to be verbal, but they all look at me, Charleigh sucking in a deep breath to confirm she knew she was out there. I’m glad she didn’t tell me; it would have made me obsess over everything, which is likely the reason she didn’t.

  “She’s waiting with Kash and King,” Summer says, her voice even and her face careful, like she’s expecting a reaction.

  Without asking her to, Charleigh takes my hand and leads us out to the hall that is filled with people. We don’t have to go far. A hand catches my arm and within seconds I smell King in the air, moving around me as he advances, and then I’m wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

  He’s silent, or my thoughts and the crowd are too loud. I’m not sure. I don’t hold on to him for long. I need to see that she’s actually here, introducing herself to my friends as my mother.

  It’s not just her; my brother, Josh, is standing on her other side, clearly uncomfortable and reproachful of the situation. I don’t know how to greet either of them because I don’t call her Mom, not to her face. “Hey.” My voice is quiet and strained, and I resent her being here more than I thought possible. I feel like they’re intruding on this moment and time with my friends.

  “Lo, you looked like a natural up there!” Kash says, awkwardly wrapping an arm around my side that King isn’t still pressed against. “You seriously killed it! Summer has some awesome shots! I know you don’t draw yourself, but you have to do at least one.”

  “Let’s go to dinner! We have to talk about things!” my mom says. I look over her once more. She looks heavier, but she’s trying to disguise it with a busily patterned skirt and black blouse that looks stark in contrast to her light skin that matches my own. Her hair is maintained at the same dark shade it always has been, nearly raven, and her eyes are too green, enhanced by contacts. I don’t look anything like my mother aside from our shared skin tone and shape of our hands, something few people would ever notice. I don’t look like my father either, nor my brother. They all have the dark hair and varying shades of green eyes. They’re also all slightly shorter than me, even my dad. It’s never bothered me. We are as different inside as we are physically. And because we’ve spent so little time together, I doubt we share even a single mannerism.

  “You’re always sexy,” King whispers in my ear as we move to the exit. “Always.”

  I’m glad so many people drove because it gives me three excuses not to ride with my mom and brother, and ultimately, I choose to ride with Charleigh and her boyfriend, Brandon, who does look surprisingly young.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I just thought—”

  I wave a hand dismissively. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have distracted me.”

  “We don’t have to go.”

  I’ve never told Charleigh much about my mom. The sordid details of our past are so meager and infrequent that I know what others’ thoughts are when I share them. Still, she seems to recognize my discomfort, and always has when it has anything to do with her.

  “It’s okay. She never sticks around for long anyway.”

  “You were awesome out there, Lauren. Focus on that. You were so beautiful and confident. Everyone was watching you out there.”

  “I don’t want to model.”

  Charleigh swings her head to look at me twice and then releases a deep breath. “That’s what she wants? Why you’re bothered? Just tell her no.”

  “Watch how well that goes.”

  She turns to look at me as she slides the key from the ignition, but I’m ready to get this over with. I slide out of the car and find King waiting for me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and with the tightness of his grip, I can tell he knows something is off.

  “So, King, I was reading an article about you online that says you’re starting to compete just like your brother, Kash,” my mom says as soon as pleasantries are completed again, following another round of compliments from my friends. I wish Allie were here to accept some of them, but she had other plans with her family.

  “I am,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He’s dressed in a pair of dark slacks and an olive-toned shirt that is once again rolled to his elbows. I think he feels suffocated in them, and the small gesture somehow makes him feel less restricted. The small gauge in his left ear catches the light, dancing across the starched tablecloth. I don’t stare at him long because my brother is on his other side, and he has been staring at me with a look of disdain that I refuse to acknowledge.

  “What kind of span is one generally able to compete? I noticed many in the field are in their teens.”

  My back bristles. She has always known how to take the upper hand in a conversation.

  King’s hand tightens around mine and then tightens even more, bringing me to look at him. I’m expecting to see the fury I’m feeling in his expression, but he’s relaxed, his eyes looking lazy, his lips twitching with a grin. “That depends on so many variables; there really isn’t a clear answer.” He wets his lips with his tongue, and leans further against his chair, looking almost relaxed. “I plan to do it until I’m either tired of it or it’s not a safe risk.”

  “Is it ever a safe risk?” she asks.

  I can only see King’s profile, but I’m certain he’s sharing my favorite smile with her. It angers me even more. “Without risk, you will never find reward.”

  “Death is a reward?” Josh asks.

  King’s head turns slightly away, but his thumb strokes along mine, silently assuring me. “Only for some.”

  I glance to Mercedes, seeing her eyebrows are raised over wide eyes that are volleying between King and Josh.

  “I assume you travel a lot with the profession,” my mom continues.

  King threads his fingers through mine, stretching and then clamping around my hand that continues to flex with irritation. “Some.”

  Her response is a smile that’s tainted with malevolence.

  “It’s really great to meet you guys. Lauren has become very dear to us all.” Apparently Charleigh senses the malice also.

  My mother’s eyes flicker to her, calculating, measuring. “We’ve been waiting to come for graduation, and then I heard Lauren got accepted to a program that requires her t
o go to Europe for the summer, so I thought we’d come and see how things were going. This modeling certainly seems far more promising than painting. You guys all thought she was really great. I think it’s a very promising possibility.” Her eyes turn back to me. “You’ll need to start toning and drinking more water because your skin is visibly dry. Are you using a moisturizer? You aren’t wiping your makeup off with a towel or your hands, right? We’ll need to find an agent. Tomorrow we can start calling.”

  “Mom, I’m glad you got to see the show, but only because it will be the only time I walk down a runway. I don’t want to model. I was uncomfortable and nervous, and feeding into an image that I don’t believe in.”

  “Of course you were nervous! This was your first time. And the clothes weren’t professional grade. You haven’t been properly conditioned. Once you lose some weight and have some training—”

  “I’m not modeling,” I say firmly, my eyes wide and fixed on hers.

  A waiter appears looking clearly uncomfortable as he clears his throat and asks us if we’re ready to order. Fearing someone will ask for another minute, I confirm we are.

  Nothing on the menu sounds good, though my stomach is growling from not eating all day. I order a salad without even thinking about it. This is the only meal my mother and I have ever ordered when out together since I turned ten.

  Old habits die hard.

  King orders manicotti, extra garlic bread, and two tiramisus that he requests to be delivered with dinner. His gesture is sweet, thoughtful, and manages to fracture the dread that’s been silencing the group since I heard my mom was here.

  There’s an unavoidable silence that follows our waiter that has everyone reaching for their napkin or glass.

  “Lo did an amazing job tonight. Really, she was spectacular, but with all due respect, it pales in comparison to her art. Nothing compares to what she’s capable of when she gets a piece of charcoal or a paintbrush in her hand. Hell, we’ve seen her create art with a feather.” I want to give Summer an appreciative smile, but my mom’s eyes are locked on mine, awaiting my response. If I look away, it will appear that I need the help. Whether I do or not, I can’t show her.