"We are not going to the lab looking like that," I said, eyeing Eomma's 'mom-jeans' which, on her new twenty-two-year-old body, actually looked trendy in a weird, retro way. "If we're going to solve this, you need to look like you belong in this decade."
"I do belong in this decade! I bought this belt in 2012!" she huffed, tripping over the hem of her oversized trousers.
The mall was packed. I dragged her into a boutique that smelled like expensive vanilla and bad decisions. I started throwing outfits at her—leather pants, cropped blazers, things with too many buckles.
"Try these. And please, for the love of everything, stop walking like you're looking for a lost coupon. Move like you have a TikTok following."
Eomma emerged from the dressing room thirty seconds later wearing a neon green corset top over her turtleneck. "Is this it? Am I 'slaying' now?"
"Eomma, take that off. You look like a highlighter," I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
"Yah! It's high fashion!" she shouted, checking herself out in the three-way mirror. She started doing a very outdated, very aggressive 'mom-dance' right in the middle of the store. "Look at me! I'm youthful! I'm vibrant! I'm—"
"You're making a scene," I hissed, grabbing a hoodie to cover her up.
Suddenly, a group of girls from my university walked past. "Oh my god, layla! Is that your sister? She's literally your double!"
Eomma beamed, leaning over to whisper-shout at them, "I'm not her sister, I'm her—"
I slammed my hand over her mouth. "She's my cousin from out of town! She's... she's lived in a basement her whole life. Very sheltered. Don't mind her!"
I practically tackled Eomma back into the dressing room. "One more 'Ew' from me, and I'm leaving you here to find your own way home. Now put on the leather jacket and stop trying to be 'vibrant' before the security guards think you're having a medical emergency."