Page 81 of The Lookback

“I’m sorry.” Mom doesn’t look very contrite, with the muscle pumping in her jaw, but she did say the words.

“For what?” Abby asks.

Mom’s eyes dart sideways.

“You’re sorry for telling Helen that it wasn’t a great idea to marry the kind, generous, and hard-working man who loves her.” Abby arches an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Mom says.

“And you’re sorry that you didn’t squeal with joy that your smartest, richest, most successful daughter is going to have a baby.” Abby narrows her eyes. “Say it this time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t congratulate you.” It may sound like she’s biting down on every single word, unwilling to let them fly out into the world, but she does say it. “It’s wonderful you’re having a baby.”

“Try it without looking like you’re sucking on a lemon,” Abby says.

I stand up. “It’s fine. That was pretty good progress.”

Abby’s suppressing a smile, which is good. Mom has come further than I’d have thought possible, but if we start laughing at her, I can tell she’d storm out. “I guess,” Abby concedes.

“Also, it’s good to know that if your daughter ever loses her law license, she can probably find a job as a bouncer.” I arch one eyebrow.

“A bouncer?” Abby pulls a face. “I thought I was putting off more of an, ‘I’m Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,’ vibe. No?” Abby sighs. “I’m grabbing a fireplace poker next time. The magazine was closer, but that was a mistake.”

“Eh, it was close. The poker would have helped.” Thanks to her, I’m smiling now.

Three hours later, I’m with Mom, Abby, and Izzy, whom Abby pulled out of school early for this trip, and we’re in Vegas—the beauty of owning a jet—and they’re all watching as I try on dress after dress after dress.

I’m wearing a Versace with a single off-the shoulder bodice when Abby shakes her head. “They’ve all been lovely, but. . .”

“What?” I bite my lip. “Do I look fat already?”

Izzy laughs.

“Why is that funny?” I frown.

“You make half the kids in my high school look fat, Aunt Helen,” Izzy says. “You have the self-control of an army of monks.”

“Are there monk armies?” Mom asks. “Because I thought they were pacifists.”

“They’re all lovely,” Abby says, clearly trying to keep us focused. “But none of these are quite right.”

“Why not?” The dress attendant looks downright irritated.

“You need to wear that black dress,” Abby says. “That’s the one that made you say yes.” She shrugs. “It’s the right one.”

“A black dress?” the attendant asks. “Are you kidding?”

“My aunt is epic,” Izzy says. “Boring wedding rules don’t apply to her.”

As if a teenager saying that makes it true, I realize Abby’s right. I wanted what I wanted, and I was made to feel small. But now that I’m here, I realize that I had reasons. I am who I am.

I’m epic.

I can wear that black dress if I want to, and that’s the one that made me feel ready to have a baby and marry David. So what if no one else understands? So what if they think it spells our doom? I know the truth and no one’s opinion matters. Well, David’s.

And maybe Abby’s a little.

But she gets it now.

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