Page 59 of Best Woman
“I must admit,” she says, still talking into the phone, “noteveryonehere is a total lost cause. Your brother is kind of cute, and you already know how I feel about your dad.”
“If you fuck my dad I will never forgive you.”
Her grin is wicked, per usual. “Yes, you will.”
My answering smile feels just a bit manic. “Yes, I will.”
“But wait,” she says, hamming up a look of shocked surprise. “Who is that on the edge of the dance floor? A striking woman in red, mysterious as the night itself, too lovely for words.”
“And yet you’re still talking.”
“Could this beautiful stranger be the woman you’ve been waiting for? Not for sex, of course—she has a previous engagement with a certain older gentleman.”
“I’m going to hang up.”
“You’re sad and brokenhearted. This woman is clearly out of your league on every level, and she doesn’t evenlikewomen. But you think, what the hell.” Daytona hangs up her phone, dropping it onto a nearby table along with her bag. She struts her way toward where I stand alone, but not for long. “Maybe there won’t be sex,” she allows.
“I surely fucking hope not,” I say, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. Her nails dig into my palm and the pain grounds me in this moment.
“Maybe there won’t be perfect mothers or gorgeous lesbians.” She starts to lead me into the fray, heels clacking even over the voices singing along with Celine Dion.
“There willalwaysbe gorgeous lesbians,” I counter.
She leans against me, pressing a lip to my cheek. I can smell the sweet tuberose of her perfume, wrapping around me in a cloud of comfort. This is home, I think. Daytona’s hand in mine, the people around me, this stupid city with its strip malls and golf courses. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.
My sister wraps her arms around my waist, starting to move as that wicked smile blooms once more on her face. “But by god,” she tells me, leading me into a twirl, “there will be dancing.”
And she’s right.
“As clearly statedon your receipt, Born to Bride does not accept returns on items that haveclearlybeen worn.” There’s more of Lorraine’s horrid pink lipstick on her teeth than her lips, which have been turned down into a grimace since I walked into the store.
“I onlytried it onat home,” I insist again. We’ve been doing this for at least five minutes already. “That’s why it has those deodorant stains.” Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn her attention to those.
“Not to mention you’re outside the thirty-day return policy,” Lorraine says, sneering at me from behind the counter.
“By one day!” I’ve only been back from Florida for a week. One week of ignoring Mom’s calls, double tapping Aiden’s honeymoon photos, and staring at my text thread with Kim, trying to figure out what to say, if it’s even worth saying anything. I’m guessing she found someone else to take to that party.
“Listen,” I say, leaning over the counter toward Lorraine,“can’t you just bend the rules thisonetime? The dress is in pristine condition!” She snorts. “Nearpristine condition.” I attempt pleading puppy dog eyes. “I could really use the money back.” Things are still precarious between Everett and me after our discussion upon my return. He says we’re taking it one day at a time, but he’s certainly not in a rush to give me any more responsibility, meaning a raise—and a generous Christmas bonus—are probably out of the cards. I’m accepting it as penance for my various sins.
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just please, if you have another wedding to attend,shop somewhere else.” She yanks the dress laid on the counter and starts typing away at the register as I breathe a sigh of relief. Looks like I’ll be making rent this month after all.
“Thank you. And don’t worry, I’mnevergoing to a wedding again. They’re miserable.”
She looks around furtively. It’s Tuesday morning and the shop—like most of the mall—is empty. Now sure the coast is clear, she sags against the counter, going from poised to exhausted in half a second.
“Tellme about it, honey. I spend every day of my life talking to people about their weddings, this one day they think is going to be special enough to make up for how empty and meaningless the rest of their lives are.” She’s clacking away at the register again, processing my return, but her motions are lethargic, robotic. “They come in here and buy dresses they can’t afford to marry men who will divorce them. The brides torture everyone: the bridesmaids, their mothers,me. Insert your card, please.”
I do.
“But they torture themselves most of all. Am I going to be toofat on my wedding day? Will he think I’m beautiful? Will I be able to hold on to this one moment for the rest of my life?
“I’ll let you in on a secret, honey: weddings bring out the worst ineveryone. Everyone is stressed out and hungry and worried about spending too much money to act like rational human beings. People say things they don’t mean at weddings, they make bad decisions when the booze is flowing. I assume it was an open bar?”
“Of course. God, can you imagine?”
We share a shudder.
“If the marriage lasts, they’ll only remember the good parts. And maybe they’ll have kids, and kids always help smooth things over. If they don’t, no one is gonna wanna remember the wedding anyway.”
