It All Started With A Lie

The familiar scent of my mother's perfume wafted up the stairs, followed by her sing-song voice. "Olivia!" she called, a distinct British lilt to her tone.

"Yes, mother?" I responded, making my way downstairs to the kitchen where she stood, already looking like she was preparing for a royal decree.

She turned, gesturing grandly with a hand. "Call the peasants, my darling, we must get ready for the ball." Her dramatic flair was truly unmatched.

"The ball?" I questioned, feigning a perfect level of confusion, a skill honed over years of practice with her.

Just then, my dad emerged from his study, a weary but amused expression on his face. "Will you two stop it, we're already running late on our plan. Liv, go get dressed, Maya, honey, please, get dressed."

My mom and I exchanged a look, mumbling in perfect sync, "So boring." I retreated back upstairs, heading straight for the bathroom. Tonight wasn't a ball, of course, but a party. Mr. Thomas, my dad's friend, was hosting it for his wife. Fifty years of knowing her, not married. It was kind of sweet, actually. I stepped into the shower, making sure to keep my already straightened hair dry, before pulling on my trusty old robe and heading back downstairs just as the doorbell chimed. It was Stella, the boutique owner, with my dress. Freshly altered, just for tonight.