Page 82 of The Fool

“Hey, I’m ok…” He trails off when I level him with a disbelieving stare. “I’m your big brother, Nate. I’ve already failed Helena, I won’t fail you too.”

“I’m a grown man, Cameron, stop treating me like I’m eight years old, hiding secrets about Dad’s affair from me because you didn’t think I could cope with the truth.”

“You knew?” he gasps, looking completely torn up on the inside.

“Course I knew,” I tell him with a boyish smirk. “I also knew you had a huge crush on Mrs Fielding, you poor bastard.”

“Shit!” he mutters to himself.

“I know, she had a mustache, Cameron.”

“Not Mrs Fielding, Dad. I thought Helena and I had managed to keep that from you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’tyoutell me?” I argue. When he smiles sheepishly and looks down at the floor, I place my hand on his shoulder and laugh. “Is that why you fought so hard against being with Lily?”

“In part,” he replies with a small nod. “You know Lily, though, she’s infectious. I never thanked you for bringing her back into my life, Nate, but thank you. I’d hate to think where I’d be without her.”

“You’re welcome,” I mumble.

“It’s time you went and got your own girl, brother,” he says, patting me on the back with a smug smirk on his face. “I nearly lost Lily, don’t lose Bea.”

“Thanks, I will,” I reply before slipping off my stool to get an early night. However, just before I head out altogether, I turn back to face him. “Hey, Cam, we both failed Helena. Doesn’t mean we can’t change things though.”

He laughs without mirth before tipping back the remains of the liquor into his mouth.

“Night, Nate.”

_____

Bea

Oh God, the day is finally here and I’m more nervous than if this was my own wedding. Of course, Ben and I held off leaving for as long as possible, making us horribly late, which consequently had us receiving a stripping down from Mom. We were then torn apart, with Dad pulling Ben away to be with the men and me being pushed into my childhood home to get changed.

The house is a mixture of high-pitched screaming and gossip. I’ve never seen so much pink and frills anywhere, and with big hair, big makeup, and big shoes. To put it bluntly, the complete opposite of me. It almost makes me question how Dean and Emma have stayed together so long; he couldn’t stand any of this either.

“Bea!” Emma squeals, complete with rollers in her hair and a face mask slathered over her skin. “Thank God you’re here; hey, everyone, Bea’s here!”

I turn to face a room full of familiar faces, faces that still plague my nightmares. These were some of the girls who would spread vile rumors about me, call me names, and generally make me feel cut off from the world. I look at them with the same fake smile they are giving me, and only because my mom is standing next to me. She’s grinning at everyone, still completely oblivious to how awful these girls had made my life once upon a time.

“We’re all a little tipsy, I’m afraid, but Mom can show you where your dress is hanging up.” She hugs me in a manner that I consider overly friendly given our rather frosty relationship. “Oh, Bea, I’m so pleased you showed up. Mom thought you were gonna bail, but I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Nate had some emergency –"

“Tory!” she screams, completely bypassing me in her desperation to get to a tall brunette who had once spray-painted my locker with ‘skank’. They meet with air kisses at the same time as Mom begins pulling me down the corridor to where her room is. When I see my old bedroom door, I pause for a moment, for this room always brings back memories of that fateful day. I’ve only been inside of it a handful of times since, and only to retrieve things that I had left behind in my haste to get the hell out of this town and all the people in it. Before Mom can question me on it, I quickly make my feet continue past.

“Oh, dear God!” I gasp as I look at the bridesmaid’s dress that hanging up in the window. It’s bright pink. It’s short. It has frills. “Mother, everyone is going to see my underwear in that thing!”

“I did try to tell her, sweetheart, but you know what she’s like,” she replies with a wince when she sees me still gaping in horror over the scrap of ugly material.

“But…but…”

During my inability to articulate a single word with any meaning, my mother leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

“It’s just one day, honey,” she says calmly, to which I throw my face inside of my hands.

Alas, this isn’t the worst of it. An hour later, my hair is pulled back so tightly, I swear I can feel my hair follicles dying. It’s then drowned in a ton of hairspray, helping to deplete the ozone layer, before my eyes are coated in black eyeliner and glittery eye shadow. I’m forced to apply fuchsia pink lipstick, as well as layer upon layer of gloss. This delightful ensemble is then topped off with a pair of stilettos that are threatening to kill my feet so they can be buried alongside my scalp.

“I look like a fucking prostitute from the eighties, Mom! There is no way in hell I am going out in public looking like this.”

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