I didn’t tell her this is actually a date. I don’t know how I feel about it myself, and I definitely don’t want to answer a thousand questions about Victor. But when I told her about the party, she encouraged me to go, saying it’s my last year before college, so it would be good for me to go out.

The thing is...in what world would Mom think that going to a party is a good thing? True, it’s Friday night, but every night is study night at the Ramires household.

I begin shoving clothes back inside my wardrobe in a hurry, but Mom stops me. She picks up a dress and holds it at arm’s length to take a good look at it. The fabric cascades down in front of her.

“Why don’t you wear this one?” she suggests.

It was Mom’s gift to me last New Year’s Eve, so we could celebrate the coming year in traditional white to attract peace. I don’t know if my New Year’s magic is working at all, but if this truce with Pedro Molina is any indication, maybe it’s starting to take effect?

Just thinking about him makes my pulse quicken.

When I glance over my shoulder at his window, I see that the lights in his bedroom are off. He must be at the party already.

“I think you should wear it,” Mom insists.

I’m not a fan of wearing dresses, but I want to make her smile. She’s barely smiled at all lately.

The dress shows a bit of cleavage, but not too much. It’s also a tiny bit too tight around my waist but fans out perfectly, pleated down to my knees.

One look and Mom is unsatisfied, though. She steers me into her bedroom, where she uncovers her sewing machine, gesturing for me to take the dress off so she can fix it. Mom sews so little these days, I forgot how good at it she is. The machine rattles happily, as if recognizing she’s back.

While I wait, I sit down on Mom’s bed. There’s a photo of Dad on her nightstand.

He was tall and handsome, very skinny, the type with bony legs and arms that didn’t quite fill his clothes, looking a bit nerdy with those big, heavy-framed glasses. I smile, feeling a sudden twinge in my heart. How is it possible to miss someone I never met?

When she’s done, Mom gets up from her sewing machine and hands me the dress.

“Try it on,” she says.

Mom’s adjustments were spot on. She not only has fairy hands for cooking, but she also has them for sewing. When I was younger, I remember finding old sketchbooks where she drew dresses and shirt patterns. A few times, she’d design and sew some of my outfits herself.