Outside, wearing only my inner rason, the long, white tunic that is the entirety of a nun's underwear, I hailed a cab and went home.
I had stopped crying. I was too angry for tears.
Other than my brother's wedding, I hadn't been inside a church, any church, since then.
Now I needed to dress like I'm a good girl again. Oddly, that excited me a little.
I got dressed, then went in the bathroom. I needed to braid my hair. I wished I could wear makeup instead, but I'd never worn makeup to church, even though in America, even Orthodox women wear makeup for church. It's not how Mom raised me though.
Even if I could have convinced myself that I could wear makeup, the excuse to wear my hair down in church didn't exist, so I needed to braid it, with or without makeup.
Mom and Dad, and by exten
