Page 9 of Rite of Unity

Iranahanddownsmooth fabric.One of my jagged nails caught in the lace.I unhooked it carefully, then reached for my gloves and pulled them up my arms.

I spun in a slow circle.The white made my skin look pale as bone, my dark hair and painted lips the only color in the glass.But the dress was doing its job.My curves were on full display.Would it be enough?Tuesdays and Fridays were my only chance to mingle outside of Covenant House gatherings.With how heavily segregated our lives were, it was a wonder they gave us these balls at all.

“You look beautiful.”

I faced my mom, beaming.She came forward and straightened the clip I’d fastened into my hair.

“Do I need anything?”

She eyed me critically.“Oh, honey, what’s this?”

She touched the chain I thought I’d tucked under my collar.

“Ruth gave it to me.It’s a friendship necklace.”

Her fingers rested on the chain a moment longer than they needed to.Then she shook her head and smiled.“She’s very sweet.But I hope you know—”

“I know, Mama, she’s still competition.”

She touched her throat, nodding again.

Stepping back to give me space, she looked me over once more the way she always did before these things.Like she was memorizing me.“Good luck tonight.”

***

Outside, I linked arms with Ruth, and we stepped into the street.

Along the sidewalk beside the Covenant House on our corner, a line of women stretched past the door.None of them wore white.They shuffled forward one by one, each lifting a wrist to the scanner before stepping inside.

“Ready, girls?”Dad turned, giving us a wide smile.“You both look like angels.”I bit my lip to hide my frown, wishing Ruth’s dad had taken us tonight.The walk was too long for my own.

A woman near the middle of the line turned slightly and the light caught her face.

“Faith,” I whispered.I hadn't seen her in over a year.She was so thin her collarbones cast shadows.

Ruth’s arm tightened around mine.She pulled me forward, eyes fixed ahead, and Dad fell into step beside us.Her voice picked up again almost immediately, something about the dress she almost wore instead, whether the one she’d chosen was the right call.

I didn’t look back.

Ruth’s dad had managed to secure us an invite to an Upper-Middle ball.The Silva family was hosting their first social in honor of their son Joshua’s recent graduation and return home.

It would be my first time in an Upper-Middle home, my first chance to see how they lived.Ruth’s dad had lost his Upper-Middle status when they'd failed to produce a son, and made it his mission to see it restored.

On the side of a shuttered storefront, someone had painted two lines in broad strokes.They hadn’t been scrubbed yet.

OUR WORTH IS NOT OUR WOMB

WE WILL NOT BE DISCARDED

I looked away.

As we walked, the apartments gave way to homes that stood alone: no shared walls, no neighbors pressed against either side.The streets widened.I noticed the silence first, then the space—so much space between one door and the next that I could have fit my entire building in the gap.

Then I saw it.A tree.Old and gnarled, its bark split and weathered, but alive.I slowed without meaning to.

“Come on,” Ruth murmured.

Homes grew farther and farther apart, and a trickle of sweat rolled down my back by the time we stopped at the end of a long drive.