Page 5 of Best Woman
“My taste is both eclecticandimpeccable. Listen, I wanted to call and give you a heads-up that Rachel’s maid of honor had to drop out of the wedding.”
I rack my brain trying to remember what I know about the minion in question. I vaguely recall a blond girl with a J name and overbleached hair smiling next to my future sister-in-law in the bridal shower photos. “Why, she didn’t like the dress Rachel picked out?”
Aiden and I have always been, as much as possible, brutally honest with each other. It might have started when we were kids and Aiden was so confused as to why our parents were getting divorced. “They hate each other,” I told him. “They fight every night after you go to sleep.” It had hurt, but he’d eventually appreciated that I hadn’t lied about it, and since then we’d always more or less told each other the truth.
Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to tell me what he’s calling about. “No, she, uh, didn’t want to walk down the aisle with…you.”
“One moment, please.” I slide off the barstool onto suddenly shaky legs and head outside. Fort Greene is busy on a Sunday afternoon, even though it’s starting to rain, crowded with attractive young families. MILFs and DILFs as far as the eye can see. I shelter underneath an awning for the laundromat next door, but even seconds in the rain has my hair erupting in frizz.
“Wait, so…what?”
“Yeah, Jenna’s been Rachel’s friend since kindergarten andI guess they made some promise to each other that they’d be maid of honor at each other’s weddings. Jenna got married last year and honestly, the vibe at the wedding wasweird. Her dad was strapped at the reception.”
“Like, with agun?”
“Yeah, can you believe it? Florida, dude. So Rachel was already feeling weird considering some of the stuff we heard last year, like she knew Jenna was pretty conservative but only recently started realizingconservativewas code forbigoted asshole. Then I guess Jenna made some pretty gnarly comments at the bridal shower and Rach uninvited her on the spot.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry she had to do that.”
“Don’t apologize, Jules.I’msorry that you even have to hear this, but I thought you’d want to know who you’re walking down the aisle with now.”
This is all so much so quick I haven’t had time to think about the inevitable replacement. “I’m sure whichever of the Rachels has been moved into first position will be fine,” I say, referencing my future sister-in-law’s squadron of identical besties.
Aiden laughs. “No, it’s uh…you actually won’t believe it. It’s Kim Cameron. You know, from high school?”
Kim Cameron.
“Do you needa ride home?”
I look up from where I’m surreptitiously reading theBuffy the Vampire Slayerfan fiction I printed out at home last night, dazed by the muggy Florida heat. Standing in front of me, haloed by the August sun, isher. Kim Cameron. My eyes catch on her legs in their ripped fishnets for a moment.
“Me?”
“Do you see anyone else out here?” She has a hand on her hip and looks like she’s already regretting this.
“No.” Everyone else is gone, rehearsal having ended almost an hour ago. I’ve been waiting for Aiden to pick me up. Sharing a car and splitting the monthly payment was a great idea in theorybeforehe got his license, but since I’m always at rehearsal after school and he’s out the gate the second the final bell rings, I am constantly waiting around for him. He hasn’t responded tomy last three calls and I’ve resigned myself to withering away in this parking lot with nothing but my forty-seven pages of smut and a Luna Bar.
But heresheis, currently starring as Cinderella in the fall production ofInto the Woods,while I, who barely made it on to the props crew, dangle paper birds over her lovely head during the prologue. Today I accidentally hit her in the face, scratching a tiny paper cut into her nose. Is that why she’s offering me a ride, so she can murder me and dump my body on the side of the road? It’s a diabolical plan, and there’s no chance she’ll get caught—I doubt anyone at home would miss me. The twins are firmly in the terrible twos and our entire house has fallen under the thrall of the Wiggles, whose videos and CDs play at top volume all hours of the day and night.
“You live on the west side, right? I’ve seen you at the Publix on Powerline.”
“Yeah.” I’ve seen her there too, buying sushi with her friends to take to the beach as I trail behind my mom, who insists that I need to start drinking the diet Arizona iced tea instead of the regular.
“Come on, it’s so fucking hot out here.”
Feeling almost disconnected from my body, I get up, sling my messenger bag over my shoulder, and follow her to her black Honda Civic. It smells faintly of pot and the floors are dirty, sprinkled with sand and empty water bottles. At least she doesn’t have to share it with anyone. She’s an only child.
I give her my address and she starts the car, exiting the school parking lot. The late-summer sun hits her face through the window and I try not to stare at her glowing profile.
“I’m sorry about hitting you with those birds today,” I blurtout, immediately wishing I’d stayed quiet. I read somewhere that being cool is about waiting for other people to ask questions and answering as vaguely as possible.
She laughs. “It’s OK, you didn’t do too much damage. Just don’t let them peck out my eyes like they do to the stepsisters.”
We laugh, and I realize that I’m inKim Cameron’scar. WithKim Cameron,a year ahead of me, the girl who received a standing ovation in the cafeteria last year for punching a guy in the face when he called her a dyke.
She powers on the radio and flips through a few stations, evidently finding them lacking. She reaches behind her seat when we hit a red light, and her T-shirt rides up as she twists. My eyes are stuck on the curve of her back and I shamefully whip away as she turns back around, CD case in hand.
“Find us something to listen to?”
