Page 89 of Beautifully Messy
I force a smile, playing it off, pretending this wasn’t a shot fired in the dark.
But Ivy’s eyes don’t leave me. She’s studying me, dissecting every word, knowing my outburst wasn’t a joke at all. The three of us know that what we’ve ignored and lied about is finally out in the open.
This game was never a bachelorette party pastime.
It’s become a dangerous, unspoken test. One I fail.
But the party goes on. Ivy’s friends ask about gifts.
A fist closes in the pit of my stomach as I sink deeper into my chair. I’ve been to enough wedding showers and bachelorette parties to know what’s coming: the sheer lace, the satin nightgowns, the gag gifts designed to make everyone blush. The entire spectacle makes me want to tear through the room, like a toddler on a sugar high, raving and uncontrolled. Instead, I try to go to a happy place in my head, drowning out the inevitable.
Jules, ever the commander of chaos, takes charge, handing Ivy gifts—until only one box and gift bag remain. The box shimmers, wrapped in silver paper, and the small bag comes from the book shop in town.
“This one’s from me and Syd,” Jules says, a dangerous grin directed to me.
My heart slams against my ribs and I want to throttle her.
Ivy lifts a nightgown from the tissue paper, sheer black lace, impossibly delicate, undeniably provocative. A collective gasp swirls through the room, followed by squeals of delight.
I dig my nails into my palms, pressing hard enough to leave marks. The crescent moons they carve into my skin feel earned. Necessary. My stomach knots so violently I lock my jaw.
From the bag, she pulls outThe Kama Sutra.
Laughter explodes. Everything inside me twists.
“Oh, my dear sisters, this slip is gorgeous,” she purrs, her eyes sharp as ice. “Maybe I’ll give James a little sneak peek.” She draws out each word like a carefully placed dagger, then goes in for the kill: “Though James and I don’t need any help from this book.”
Teasing whistles and high-pitched giggles follow.
I smile, or what I imagine passes for a smile. “Cheers to that.”
After the presents are unwrapped and the games have run their course, the rest of the guests depart. Margaret goes to bed without a word to me or Jules. Ivy and a few close friends retreat to her bedroom for a sleepover, leaving Jules and me to tackle the aftermath. We still haven’t talked, politely staying out of each other’s orbit.
I don’t know what to say.
Our phone call, her antics tonight—they’re chipping away at all my defenses.
It’s taken me a long time to realize it wasn’t the kiss that caused me to shut down last year. It was me, doing the same thing I’ve always done when things get too big or out of control: isolate and withdraw. The same way I did as a kid. As a teenager. After my parents’ deaths.
I’ve never learned how to cope otherwise.
I scrub at a wine stain on the counter, lost in thought, when I feel a soft touch on my arm.
Jules is there, her face open, searching. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
The words undo me. I wrap my arms around her and whisper, “I’ve missed you.”
Because without her, my life has shrunk into a monotonous loop—work, home, Anna. Anna is the only light in my days. Somehow, over the course of my relationship with Mason, my choices have narrowed and my village shrank until my whole world revolved entirely around my husband and his family. Between juggling motherhood and trying to stay afloat professionally, I haven’t had time or the energy to build the kind of mom-friend group everyone swears by.
But Jules? She won’t let me hide or sweep what happened tonight under the rug.
“Syd, you’ve spent your whole life trying to scrub away the damage your asshole parents left behind. Like if you work hard enough, it’ll all just disappear. But living isn’t about forgetting. It’s about healing. Accepting that there aren’t always explanations for the way people behave.” She pauses. “And believing that you had no part in their choices. I love you. And I want to see you happy. I honestly don’t care if that is with James or without him. But you can’t keep living like this.”
“What if I’m too late?”
“What’s the worst that can happen? He says no? Because even by asking him, you’re making a choice. Acknowledging that you deserve better. That Anna deserves better.” She pulls back and wipes the tears from the corners of my eyes. “If you love him, you need to say something. For yourself. For him. For Ivy and Mason. You all deserve better.”
“I hear you. I… need to think, and we can talk more tomorrow. Now go to bed. I’ll finish the dishes.”
