“The one that makes her look like a sexy vampire,” Yasmin adds helpfully.
I snort. “I do not look like a vampire.”
“A sexy vampire,” Yasmin corrects. “There’s a difference. Regular vampires are creepy. Sexy vampires get to bang Robert Pattinson.”
My mother laughs, which is such a welcome sound after so long without it. She’s been different since that night at the church. Granted, it’s only been a few days, but there’s a lightness in her that I haven’t seen in forever. It’s strange and wonderful and terrifying all at once.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs.
I feel the soft brush of primer on my eyelids, then the gentle press of eyeshadow. She works slowly and carefully, humming under her breath. It’s the same tune she used to hum when I was little and she’d brush my hair before bed—back
