Page 47 of That Reilly Boy
“What are you planning to wear?” she says as soon as I answer. “Are you and Gin going wedding dress shopping? If you are, I want to go.”
I almost tell her I’m just going to dig something out of the back of my closet, but I remember just in time I’m supposed to be swept up in a whirlwind romance. “There’s no chance Gin wants to help me find something to wear to a Reilly wedding, even if I’m the bride. Maybe especially if I’m the bride. She did okay at the flower shop, but I’d like to involve her as little as possible.”
“Since I’m your maid of honor, I’m going with you.” There’s a pause. “Wait, I am, right? Did you ask me to be your maid of honor?”
“I don’t remember. There was a lot of wine. But also, we might have just assumed because of course you are.”
“Okay, good. Now what kind of dress are you thinking?”
Honestly, I’ve been trying not to think about it at all because it’s overwhelming and I can’t keep hyperventilating while I’m working. It makes the dogs nervous. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you done for the day? Let’s go to Concord and find a dress.”
“Right now?” I’m not sure any dress I can afford will be worth the cost of the gas to run to the city. “I was planning to mow the lawn before it gets dark. It’s supposed to be hot and humid tomorrow.”
“Mowing the lawn,” she repeats in a voice that’s so flat, she almost sounds angry. “You are getting married a week from today and you don’t have anything to wear. You know, some brides would be panicking a little.”
A week from today. Okay, now that panic’s starting to kick in. “There’s a box of Gin’s old dresses in the garage, from back when she and my dad were young. I can probably find something cute and retro in there.”
“As your maid of honor, I have to tell you that every time you talk, you’re making the situation worse. We’re not rummaging through boxes that would have been rejected by donation centers back before we even started school, looking for something you can wear to your wedding. I’m coming to pick you up now, and we’ll go to Concord, find a dress, and then binge on fast food.”
“We can look, I guess,” I say, because it actually does sound fun.
“Wait. How hairy are you right now?”
“I don’t think it matters if I’ve shaved my legs just to try dresses on, Mel. I’ll shave them before the big day.”
“I meant dog hair, but good to know.”
We laugh together, and then I tell her I’m good. For whatever reason, other than a cat, I had low-allergy dogs today and very little fur flew. She promises to be here soon and disconnects. I finish the cleaning and sanitizing, and I’m just locking the door when her SUV pulls up to the curb.
“This is going to be so fun,” she says once we’re on the road.
I nod, hoping it’s true. I took a peek at my banking app after she called, just to confirm it was as bleak as I remember. I’ll try things on and make her happy, but unless I find something very deeply discounted—and then an additional 75% off the lowest clearance price—I won’t be buying a dress tonight. Just the trip through a fast food drive-thru will hurt.
“Back to being hairy but promising you’ll shave your legs before your wedding day,” Mel continues, and I groan. “Are you and Hayden not doing anything razor-worthy or what?”
“I…” Dammit. I remember an arcade game I played once as a kid that was about jumping over pits and avoiding quicksand, and my engagement is starting to feel a lot like that game. I wasn’t good at that one, either. “Hayden doesn’t care about a little peach fuzz on my legs.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Also, I live with my mother and he’s staying with Colleen, so we don’t exactly have a lot of alone time.” I can offer her up a small truth, though. “Trust me, the spark is still there, even after all this time.”
“Have you talked about the wedding? Like the actual planning, I mean?”
I guess it depends on her definition of talking, but exchanging emails is talking, I think. “Yeah, we kind of have to since it’s in a week.”
“Everybody knows you picked your flowers, but what about a reception? Cake? Music? An officiant? All that stuff.”
“He hired Debbie to be the officiant, since the town hall is closed every other Saturday and she’s free. Hayden wanted somebody from somewhere other than Sumac Falls, for obvious reasons, but it was too short notice. And I have pictures of possible cakes.” I start to pull out my phone, then realize having her look at cake photos while driving is probably a bad idea. “I’ll show them to you while we’re eating. We’re just going to use a Bluetooth speaker and do the music ourselves.”
“You’re not doing food and everything, are you?”
“No, because we don’t really have time to plan all of that, other than a champagne toast and the cake. Plus, we decided we want to keep it moving. People hanging around, socializing and eating, is when gossip starts and we’d like to keep the amount of time our families are together and on display to a minimum.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” She snickers. “Less exciting for the guests, of course, but still a good idea.”
We’re deep into a debate about cake flavors when she pulls into a parking lot. It’s not exactly a high-end clothing store, but it’s several steps up from where I usually shop. I’m about to object when she holds up her hand.
