“You know, Lucy, you’d be really pretty if just cared.”

I do care, Mother.

“I mean, would you go out like this if you were going on a date?”

“Probably not,” I mumble, partially because it’s true and partially because it’s what she wants to hear.

“Exactly.” My mother tugs at my dark curls and frowns. “Honey, you could be so pretty if you just tried.”

I do try, Mother.

“If you’re not going to do it for other people, at least do it for yourself.”

I look out the window and do not reply. I sniff.

“Allergies again, dear?” my mother asks, pulling a tissue from her purse and handing it to me.

“Yes,” I reply, taking the tissue and wiping the tears out of my eyes. I stare at my reflection in the car window and sniff again.

Sometimes I wonder why it matters so much, all the makeup and hair and whatnot. I don’t question her, though. I suppose…Well, I suppose it’s just her way of loving me.