Page 48 of That Reilly Boy
“We’re just looking,” she says. “This is the best place to find a variety of summer dresses, so we can get an idea of what you want.”
In my jeans and T-shirt, I feel too underdressed to even walk through the door, but Mel sails through the entrance looking like she owns the place. I follow along as she heads straight for the dresses and starts rummaging through the racks.
I pull one out and hold it up, but she makes a face and takes it away, putting it back. I laugh and stand back, letting my maid of honor work her magic. The fourth one she draped over her arm, I vetoed. The jewel tone floral pattern is gorgeous, but it’s a little loud for a wedding dress.
Once she’s chosen half a dozen, we head for the dressing rooms. I’m not surprised at all when she pushes her way in with me.
“You might need help with zippers or buttons,” she says.
“You’re afraid I’ll just say I hate them all because they’re expensive.”
“I’m not afraid you’ll do that. I know you will. Now strip.”
The first one is a little too cutesy, with its embroidered edges and shirring around the bodice. “I’m pretty sure I had this exact dress when I was six.”
The second isn’t flattering to my curves, and I go from looking like a six-year-old to knowing people would look at me and assume mine’s a shotgun wedding. The third is pretty, but the pale lemon tint doesn’t work well with my skin tone. The fourth makes me look as though I should be standing on a prairie, waiting for Ma and Pa to come over the horizon in a covered wagon.
I’m pretty sure the fifth dress I try on is the priciest of the bunch, but I step into it, looping my arms through the spaghetti straps before pulling up the side zipper.
The fabric is soft and slightly shimmery, in a pale blush color. The spaghetti straps, scooped neckline and slightly fitted bodice flaring into a knee-length skirt are all so simple, but on me, it looks elegant.
Bridal.
“That’s the one, Cara.” She presses her fingertips to her mouth, and tears are actually welling up in her eyes. “It’s perfection.”
It is perfect. It’s beautiful and I can see myself at the top of the gazebo steps, framed by joyful summer flowers, as I become Hayden’s wife. I want it so much, but I also saw the price tag before I stepped into it and I can’t. I’m nodding, my eyes also tearing up even as I’m whispering that it’s too much.
When I reach for the zipper, Mel grabs my arm. “This is the one, and I’m buying it for you.”
“No.” Mel and Lucas don’t live on as tight a budget as mine, but I can’t let her do this. “You’re not buying this dress, Mel. It’s too much.”
She grabs her purse off the bench and unzips it. Then she pulls out a white envelope and hands it to me. There’s a note on the front, and it’s in her husband’s handwriting. Happy bridal shower, Cara. Let your maid of honor spoil you. (Save some for the french fries.) And inside there are what looks like two hundred dollars’ worth of twenties.
I’m actually crying now, and Mel snatches up my T-shirt, which she presses to my entire face. “Don’t you dare cry on that dress, Carolina Gamble.”
I can’t accept this. Not when it’s all a lie and I’m just trying to get Gin to sell Hayden the house. It’s one thing to stand on a gazebo and recite some vows we both know we don’t really mean, but accepting money for my wedding dress from Mel and Lucas is a fraudulent step too far.
I cry into my T-shirt while Mel unzips the dress and guides me through stepping out of it. I hear the hanger rattle and then she wraps her arm around me.
“You’re not a happy crier, so something’s up,” she says. “Maybe Gin and your sister are buying this—and Georgia actually gets a pass because she’s not actually here—but I know you’re lying.”
I’m thankful I have the balled up T-shirt so she can’t see my face. But I can’t bring myself to say anything, even with my eyes hidden from her searching gaze. I’m not sure I can convince Mel I’m telling the truth. Even if my heart was in it, she knows me too well—probably better than Georgia does and definitely better than Gin.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” she continues, either not noticing or not caring that I didn’t deny her accusation. “There’s no chance you started talking to Hayden Reilly online without ever telling me.”
“Maybe I hid it because I knew you’d give me hell after what he put me through in high school,” I mumble into the T-shirt. It’s not really a lie, since it’s a hypothetical. Then I give my face a good swipe and look up. I can’t hide in there forever, and I also have to wear the shirt out of here, which is going to be interesting. And damp.
“After you went to dinner with him, you said you just want him to buy the house.” She points her finger at me, bouncing on her toes as if she just scored a point against me in tennis. “And it’s no secret that Gin made some sacred vow she wouldn’t let the house go to anybody outside the family. Two plus Hayden being her son-in-law equals four.”
I sigh, backed into a conversational corner. Hayden said he wasn’t even going to tell his own brother the truth, even though he and Aaron are close, so telling Mel she’s right doesn’t seem fair. Saying nothing is the best I can do.
She shakes her head. “Part of me thinks I should lock you in my trunk until you come to your senses because this is not okay.”
“You have an SUV,” I point out. “I’ll climb over the backseat and open the liftgate.”
She waves that away, not caring. When I point out plot holes in movies, she does the same thing. Mel doesn’t let reality ruin her entertainment.
“But the other part of me,” she continues, “knows that this might be the only way you get to live your life because if Gin lives to be really, really old, it might be too late for you.”
