Page 45 of Best Woman
“I wouldn’t mind,” I say. “If they could tell.”
She smiles, soft and secret. It’s not a smile I’ve seen before, and I think—hope—it might be just for me. “I wouldn’t either,” she says and kisses me again.
It rains themorning of Aiden’s wedding, but it’s that particular kind of Florida rain where the sun shines through the clouds while it drizzles for fifteen minutes, leaving it just as hot and twice as muggy when the downpour ends. I feel remarkably well rested after a night of amazing sex and late-night room service with Kim, watching sitcom reruns on her hotel TV between rounds. Mom was still awake when I got home around one, eyeing me knowingly as she vacuumed the spotless floors in a burst of night-before jitters I remember well from every big family trip we took growing up.
I’m not due at the temple with the rest of the groomsmen until an hour before the ceremony starts—I gracefully bowed out of “groom golfing,” citing my scheduled primp-and-polish session with my mother this afternoon. I spend the morning catching up on all the work I’d been putting off, shooting Everett a series of apology texts with no reply. Anxious and at a loss for what to do, I randomly decide to swing by my dad’s. He is asshocked to see me when I open the door as I am to be standing there, but he covers it quickly, ushers me inside, and offers me a Diet Mountain Dew.
We sit in silence on his couch, watching CNN and sipping our sodas. I look around at his little house, full of random objects he’s held on to since before I was a child of divorce. Dad always insists he’ll need them someday. It isn’t as bad out here as the garage was, but it isn’t great.
“You know, I could help you organize things in here, maybe decorate a bit more…intentionally. It’s kind of what I do.” If we moved the bookshelves into the corner, turned the couch so that it faced the sliding glass doors, and replaced the tattered old desk chair with one of the extra dining chairs I’d seen in the garage…this place could be nice. I could think about my dad here all alone and know that at least his home was warm and comfortable and that I’d been able to help make that happen.
“Sure,” he says. “But you’d have to spend more than an hour here to do that.”
I duck my head, chastised, with burning cheeks. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, but every time we were together there was a ticking clock counting down to one of us saying something that would piss off the other one.
“I don’t leave until Monday, I could come back after the brunch thing tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he says again. “We’ll see.”
“So, what arewe thinking? Updo?” In the mirror, I can see the hairstylist Mom hired to get us ready for the wedding eyeing me critically. I’m seated at the vanity in Mom and Randy’s giant marble bathroom while Mom lounges on a chaise in the bedroom, preferring to have her makeup applied while she naps. I’m supposed to check every five minutes to ensure the makeup artist isn’t taking any creative liberties with her face.
“Uh, maybe we could do something more simple. A nice blowout?” I’m worried about what a Boca hairstylist’s idea of a sophisticated updo will look like, imagining something halfway between pageant and politician’s wife. “Some beachy waves?” Jessica deflates behind me but dutifully pulls out a spray bottle and a blow-dryer, looking resigned.
As she gets to work, Daytona replies to my text asking how her trip to Atlanta’s going, explaining that she’s decided to spend an extra week down south. A new text arrives as I’mresponding, and I swipe back to my inbox, delighted to find it’s from Kim.
I’m gonna look so stupid in this dress. What color even is this?
burnt sienna, duh
Oh, of course, how could I forget. You’re so lucky you get to wear black.
idk i kinda liked branching out last night, that dress was fab
I certainly enjoyed taking it off of you.
BTW, I have this work thing next week, a launch party for some new celebrity fragrance. Could be lame, could be fun. Want to come with?
Is she asking me on a date?
r u asking me on a date?
Are you saying yes?
My cheeks hurt from smiling.
Yes!!!!
Mom appears, makeup flawless, saying something I can’t hear over the blow-dryer and the butterflies flapping around my stomach. She’s holding a Nordstrom shopping bag, which she hands me with a hopeful look.
There’s a lacy black bra inside.
Please,she mouths.
I roll my eyes but nod.
“PLEASE KEEP YOUR HEAD STILL,” the stylist shouts behind me.
“Hello, my darling!”
