Amanda sets the table while her mother, Carrie, drinks a glass of water by the counter. The tension is palpable between both women as they keep their eyes on the floor.
Carrie: We’re having company, you know.
Amanda: Yup, I know.
Carrie (looking up): Then why are you dressed like that?
Amanda hesitates and stops what she’s doing
Amanda: What do you mean?
Carrie: That shirt is awfully tight. Nobody wants to see that, Amanda.
Amanda bites her lip and sighs
Amanda: Mom, I’m eighteen years old, I think it’s up to me to decide-
A fire has been lit within Carrie
Carrie: Does that give you an excuse to parade around like a whore? I’m sorry, but when I was your age I didn’t walk around so the whole town could stare at my cleavage because I was “eighteen years old”.
Amanda: You are unbelievable! Listen to yourself, seriously, listen to you.
Carrie: Oh no, no. Look in a mirror, honey, you’re the one who’s being ridiculous.
Amanda: It’s no wonder your own husband wants nothing to do with you!
Amanda realizes what she’s said and cringes, Carrie crosses to her with deliberate steps
Carrie: Say that again, will you?
Amanda (very nervous): What?
Carrie: Say. That. Again.
Amanda (backing away): I don’t know what you mean, mother, I don’t know…
Carrie: You seemed perfectly confident when you first said it. Now say it again.
Amanda can no longer hold it in
Amanda: I said that it’s no wonder that-
Carrie raises her hand
Amanda: -your own…
Carrie: My own what, Amanda? My own what?! You think you got the answers to everything, just tell me what!
Amanda: You crazy bitch…
Amanda starts to move quickly towards another corner of the room. A fuming Carrie begins to chase after her. The doorbell then rings. Both women look embarrassed. They straighten out their clothes and hair, plaster on smiles and gather themselves. Carries goes to answer the door.
Carrie: Pull up your shirt a bit.
Amanda: Mhm, yup.