Chapter 4
chapter four
Natalia
Mateo offered Frankie’s old room to his parents. His best friend and ex-roommate hadn’t owned much, or taken much, of anything when he left for Colorado to pursue my best friend and ex-roommate. The spare bedroom was fully furnished, emptied, and relatively clean. Minus the bedsheets I ripped off and replaced with new ones and the bedside drawer that had an impressive pack of condoms in there, half-empty.
I would have left them, but something told me the Durans weren’t too worried about conception at their age, and Mateo might have a heart attack if he heard his parents boning across the hall. He should know better than anyone else that kinkiness is hereditary. His dad probably liked nipple stimulation just as much as he did.
Anna was awake bright and early in the morning, milling around the kitchen again like it was a pastime, familiarizing herself. The cabinets, pots and pans, the silverware drawer, the coffee mugs, the dishwashing detergent under the sink. Then she found a bottle of antibacterial spray and paper towels and spent a good fifteen minutes wiping down every flat surface in the room, removing the stains from our stainless-steel fridge, scrubbing the stovetop with a sponge that needed immediate replacement after she was done with it. I couldn’t tell if she was passive aggressively showing me how to sanitize or genuinely happy to help.
My mom had never picked up a rag to clean something in the entire twenty-six years I’d been alive. We had people for that. Our family kitchen was surgical-core. Everything was white and silver, shiny, sterile, untouched. The chandeliers never got dusty, the floors never needed a mop, the food was always meticulously stocked with choices that were organic, free-range, or encouraged proper gut health like Jamie Lee Curtis was hiding in the fucking fridge waiting to jump out and sell it to me.
My sisters and I weren’t allowed to have any of those sugary cereals or sodas when we were kids. No artificial coloring— especially not red dye—no enriched flour, no corn syrup, nothing that looked like it was made to taste good or bring happiness. Our meals were portioned, we had set times we ate them, and there was a little bell at the top of the pantry door that alerted everyone if we ever dared try to open it without supervision.
So naturally, whenever I could get my hands on something I was barred from having, I did. Sneaking juice boxes on playdates, chips and cupcakes with all that extra grocery store frosting at birthday parties, Bomb Pops at the beach on the Fourth of July.
As I got older, that harmless rebellion extended into everything else. Whatever was a hard no became a watch me . I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend, period. Never mind a boyfriend who came over and hung out watching movies and eating popcorn together on the couch. So the shaded stairwells of the private school I went to became the ideal spot to go to second base with a guy. I couldn’t wear makeup, so every dollar of allowance I got went to drugstore lipsticks and colorful eyeliner, sparkly eyeshadow, and way too bright blush I put on in the bathroom before homeroom. I stole all the clear alcohol out of the bar cabinets and drank it out of plastic water bottles, told Mom and Dad I was sleeping at a friend's house when I was most definitely in a basement I shouldn’t have been near FAU, and—I smoked weed. I smoked it and I enjoyed it, and I found creative ways to keep it in my bedroom at home that included Altoids containers and dryer sheets.
What was most ironic about the strict rules in our house was that my parents never paid enough attention to enforce them. Dad was always at the hospital or on call, and Mom was always shut away in her office, or on a business trip, or out to lunch with a client. They were one way on paper and the exact opposite in practice. By the time I was a senior in high school I saw my parents so little I think I was practically begging for their attention with the things I did. I wanted to get in trouble. I wanted to be yelled at and told to go to my room. I wanted them to notice their youngest daughter while Cami was being accepted into medical school and Bella was making waves at Yale and Mia was just finishing her third straight semester at college with a perfect GPA. I was the last Russo girl still living at home and it felt like, for my parents, the nest was already empty.
When it came time, I filled out one college application across the country at Colorado State, and my life was entirely my own once that acceptance letter came in the mail. My last act of defiance got me put on my parents’ permanent shit list, accosted with the burden of my own student loans, and the satisfaction of reminding my mother every time I saw her that I was taking full advantage of the natural, holistic, and beneficial qualities of marijuana, just like she’d want me to.
I met Ophelia at Colorado State and learned that platonic soulmates were real, and sometimes they came in the form of squirrely and meticulous education majors with too much time and too many highlighters on their hands. If there was anyone in the world that could rationalize the fact that I’d invited my mother-in-law to watch me try on wedding gowns after meeting her once, it was Phee.
Anna and I breezed down the road in my bright yellow Wrangler with the top down. A perfectly sunny, cloudless day to compliment it, our hair whipping in the wind. One of my very favorite things to do, but taking one short glance over to the passenger seat, I couldn’t tell if Mateo’s mother was having so much fun her face was paralyzed with it, or if there was a bug that had flown down her throat and she was afraid to swallow.
“I’m so glad you and David decided to stay with us,” I said, turning down the radio.
“What?” she shouted.
“I said I’m so glad that you and Mr. Duran are staying with us!”
The thrum of the engine wasn’t doing me any favors. Anna’s bob was shoulder length and coarse and there was a strand of it stuck to her periwinkle pink lipstick that I longed to reach out and pick free. She clung to her pocketbook sitting in her lap like a second seatbelt. Note to self: Driving with the top down was an acquired taste, one that might have gone better with a ponytail or a hat.
“Me too, sweetie,” she eventually answered.
“Angelo should try to come down for a visit soon, get the whole family together at least once before the wedding,” I suggested.
“That boy is a busy bee, just works and works. Running the whole business alone is hard for him without Mateo’s help.”
Her tone was sharp enough to give my head a tilt. One thing I knew about Matty was that he never intended on putting up sheetrock and drywall for a living. Not only did Mateo earn himself the leadership position of his special forces unit, he came home and started an incredibly successful business that had nothing to do with the avenue of construction.
“Mateo is so busy, too,” I reminded her. “He lost his business partner when Frankie moved, so now he’s taking on that workload until he has the time to find another cybersecurity expert. It’s been a lot of long days for him. He’s exhausted when he comes home.”
“I’m sure Angelo would love to sit in the air conditioning all day,” she said. “A chair and a desk, tap-tapping on the keyboard, long lunch breaks, flirting with the bank receptionist.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “But of course we’re proud of them both. They’re very special in their own ways.”
“Of course,” I parroted, focusing on the gray blacktop and the yellow lines on the road.
My fingernails dug into the soft cushion of my leopard steering wheel cover and I leaned a little heavier onto the gas pedal. If there was contention between Mateo and Angelo it was bleeding into the entire family dynamic. Not to mention Mateo had asked Frankie to be his best man, and I was pretty sure that news hadn’t made its waves yet.
I slowed to a stop at the dress boutique, surprised to find my mother’s Range Rover already parked and empty. Out of habit, I pulled out a compact mirror from my bag to check that my makeup wasn’t creased, and took a comb to my untamed hair. I reapplied a layer of lip gloss, wrestled my push-up bra into a flattering shape in the white A-line sundress I wore, and took the most staggeringly deep breath I could before joining my future mother-in-law at the front door, hoping that her skin was as thick as her accent. I knew no matter what I said or did, the short, stout woman was about to get unabashedly judged and implicitly ignored by my mom and each of my sisters for the next two hours. Mateo had to worry less about me not wanting to join his extended family and more about his own mother warning him off the mess that was mine.
Sistine was tapping on her watch when we walked inside, next to my twin sisters, Mia and Isabella—all three dressed in different variations of white. It’s a rule not to wear white to a wedding, but there had to be some type of handbook somewhere that said wearing white to any wedding affiliated function was reserved for the bride unless implicitly stated otherwise.
Even better, it seemed a rack of stark white, floofy, bedazzled dresses had been put together by my mother on my behalf. My style was less razzle-dazzle and more muted, crème, lightweight—something that drapes off your body and accentuates your curves. Mom wanted a cake topper that blinded you with how many cheap rhinestones were sewn into the bodice, and was so heavy it’d take out a startled child on the dance floor with the ass train.
“Mom,” I greeted her. We both extended our arms out as if to hug but never got close enough to actually touch. My mother, sisters, and I all shared the same short, hereditary frames, thin nose, and dark hair. But Mom had taken to dyeing hers blonde despite the roots popping through with vigor within a week.
“Talia,” she said warmly, looking me up and down. “I got started without you. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Story of your life,” I said back with equal affection. Anna was in the shadow behind me and I stepped aside to include her in her blue paisley blouse. It was like introducing a Real Housewife to Barefoot Contessa. “This is Mateo’s mom, Anna. She and her husband are visiting from New York for a few months to help with the wedding.”
“Sistine.” My mother held out a limp wrist, her lips pinched into a smile. “I hope you’re enjoying the weather. New York is so dirty and cold this time of year. John and I prefer a late May in the Hamptons when we find the time.”
I turned away before she could catch me rolling my eyes and moved the attention to my twin sisters standing by. If not for Isabella’s chic, professional, lawyer bob that looked immaculate paired with a pantsuit, she and Mia were nearly impossible to tell apart. Mia had more flare, a small nose stud, and several piercings in her ears. She wore her eyeliner winged and was partial to a leather jacket, but knew exactly when to dial it back. The two of them were equally uptight and obtuse. Bella was as blunt as a baseball bat, Mia would bite your head off, and neither could ever admit they were wrong, especially not when it came to each other.
“Mia,” I said, making a flighty introduction. “And Isabella. Older sisters. Mia sells houses, Isabella sues people. I still can hardly tell them apart so don’t worry if you forget.”
“I see there’s a trend in names,” Anna noted.
“And you haven’t even been graced with Camilla yet.” I plopped onto the cream cabriole beside Bella and patted the cushion to invite Anna to join me. “I’m glad you all cleared your schedules.”
“We wouldn’t miss it, honey,” Mom announced. “This is a milestone in a mother’s life, wedding dress shopping! I can’t believe it.”
“How funny that your youngest is the first one down the aisle,” Anna said. “I’ve been begging my son for a daughter-in-law for years. I was convinced he would never settle.”
“I thought I’d have more time,” Mom commented. “Mateo has so much more life experience than Natalia. He’s—what, again? Thirty-nine?”
“Thirty-five,” I mumbled.
“I know you said you’re not pregnant, but it doesn’t hurt to ask one more time.”
My cheeks flamed as she took a long look at my torso as if she could see through it. “No, Mom, I’m not pregnant.”
“Six months to plan a wedding is going to make people assume,” Bella said. “Gossip, at the very least. I’ll just come straight out and say it, I’m concerned with how you’re affording a wedding in the Keys on a bank teller’s income. No offense to the hubby, but I didn’t realize tech support was reeling in the cash.”
Tech support. Somehow both my eyeballs twitched at the same time. If only I could pull up Mat and Nat’s most recent royalty statement and hold it out for them to gawk at, just once. Apparently everyone was so worried about me, my lack of life experience, and lack of funds. I guess it shouldn’t have surprised me that they still saw me as the same aimless, rebellious kid I was in high school.
My family was still under the impression that I worked at the bank. That was my cover for what I really did with my nine-to-five hours during the week. It was safe. There wasn’t any danger one of them would show up looking for me, and I couldn’t exactly tell them I was unemployed without heavy questioning. But now Anna thought I had a job at the bank as well and I’d backed myself into a corner.
“Mateo does very well for himself,” I bit out, panicking. “So much that I cut my hours back at work.”
“Go off, feminist icon.” Mia picked some invisible lint from her skirt.
“There’s something to be said about a woman with her own independence though.” Mom crossed one long, tan leg over the other.
I shrugged. “Then say it.”
“It’s about security, Talia. God forbid this doesn’t all work out for you, because you’ve become entirely dependent on Mateo to keep you off the street.”
Keeping our content creating a secret was never an issue, because no one ever asked. No one ever cared. But having to grin and bear it knowing how independent I truly was made me bitter. I could see where Mom’s worry came from, but there was also something so disingenuous about only caring when there was a ring on my finger.
Before I could say something I’d regret, a lovely young woman with a measuring tape around her neck and a pin cushion fastened to her wrist spawned at the edge of the viewing floor.
Her blond bob wiggled as she took in everyone on the couch until she had to focus more intently on differentiating the sea of white between us four Russo women. “Good afternoon everyone, I’m May.” She waved with both hands. “Who is my bride?”
I stood up to shake May’s hand. “That’s me.”
“Let me steal you away for a few minutes and get you in a gown. Don’t get too emotional out here, ladies, but there are tissues on the tables if you need them!”
Despite having a dress picked out already, I tried on whatever fugly, ridiculous thing was hanging on the mystery rack to placate my mother for half an hour. That way when I finally put on the gown I’d had shipped to the store specifically, I could sell the fact that it was pure coincidence.
I was shuffled into a room and stripped down, every limb shoved into a jungle of tulle and ribbon, bodice cinched like a medieval corset. I took one look at my reflection, at the ballgown of my nightmares that needed nothing more than a pair of elbow-length white gloves to turn me into Mia Thermopolis, and blanched.
There was no way I could move , let alone dance in it. It would take me more time to get in and out of a limousine without ripping the fabric on the door hinges than it would to say our vows. Never mind the heat of Key West in June and the gymnastics it would take just to go to the bathroom. I would have to wear a diaper to my wedding. I would have to voluntarily pee myself at my wedding.
Mia and Bella’s faces screwed into narrow amusement the moment I emerged from the dressing room. Making matters worse, I tripped over the ledge of the circular pedestal in front of the mirror twice before Anna and the dress consultant leaped to my rescue to lift the twenty pounds of material around my knees.
“You look like a princess,” Mom said.
“I look like you just cut the rubber bands from around my arms and neck and took me out of my cardboard box.”
“I think I actually did have a Barbie with a dress like that.” Mia pointed at me. “And she left Ken at the altar and went and scissored her other Barbie friend in the backseat of her convertible.”
My saucer eyes swept to Mateo’s mother apologetically.
“It is a beautiful dress,” Anna said, unperturbed.
“But it’s not the dress,” I replied. “It’s too big, too heavy, too…”
“Preteen wet dream,” Bella finished. “Nobody wants to fuck you in that.”
It was like watching a trainwreck happen in slow motion. Mateo’s mom was getting the full Russo treatment from top to bottom. There was nothing I could do to keep my mother’s misplaced opinions and my sisters’ unfiltered commentary from colliding and starting a fire.
“My son would do you in a chicken suit covered in grease, honey,” Anna shot back to the shock of absolutely everyone. My jaw unhinged and Mia’s eyes glimmered in satisfaction. “Everyone knows you can’t choose the first dress you try on. Let’s see another.”
“Agreed.” My mother clapped twice. “The winner is in there somewhere, Talia, you just need an open mind. What about something with a train?”
My eyes flickered to hers in the mirror. “I don’t want a train.”
“A train is classy,” she argued. “Just like the veil.”
“I’m not wearing a veil either.”
“Next you’ll say you don’t want your father to walk you down the aisle!” She threw up her hands.
“Trains get stepped on, dragged through the mud, and end up looking filthy and tattered halfway through the night. Then all anyone is doing is pointing and whispering about how dirty the dress is, and how hard it’s going to be to dry clean like I’d ever wear it again.”
“You could get it preserved,” May suggested. “Put it in a beautiful box, frame it in a closet so that you can look at it whenever you want!”
“So every time I walk into my closet I think the Corpse Bride is there to murder me until I flip on the lights?”
“Trains are kind of out, she’s right,” Bella agreed. “But the veil is still doable.”
“A veil is an old, outdated, and ridiculous symbol of the patriarchy.” I crossed my arms over my jeweled bodice. “So men knew they were getting a pure, modest, virgin wife—who, let’s be honest back in those days, was probably the ripe age of thirteen.”
“The theatrics with you, Natalia.” Mom sighed.
The bell on top of the entry door jingled to life as it opened and another tall, perfectly put-together brunette walked in silhouetted by a beam of mid-afternoon sunlight. Like the angels had held her by her arms and flown her directly from the pediatric ICU to the bridal salon on a cloud.
“So sorry I’m late.” Camilla rounded the couch and kissed my mom in that la bise way. “I got stuck in a surgery and then caught up with some of my kids on the recovery floor. Next thing you know I’m reading one book to them, and then another—it’s impossible to pry myself away.” She glanced up and noticed Anna for the first time stuffed into the corner beside Isabella. “Hi. You guys wouldn’t happen to have any tea here, would you? Or water with lemon will do, but sparkling, if possible.”
“Cami, this is Anna, Mateo’s mother.” I cleared my throat loudly. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it. It’s not every day your sister gets married for the first time.” She walked over, pinched the material of my dress between her fingers, and circled me assessingly.
“It takes a special occasion nowadays to get all my girls in the same room,” Mom added. “I can’t even remember the last?—”
“That random day last June,” I fired back. “Dad hired the private chef and we took the boat off the coast for a few hours, but he got so belligerently drunk he threw the cold, dead swordfish that we were meant to eat back into the ocean to ‘be with its family.’ Then we watched a shiver of sharks enjoy our thousand-dollar dinner.”
“Sounds special to me.” Mia popped an almond from the bowl on the coffee table into her mouth.
Cami finished her silent judgment of the dress and stepped back. “The train is atrocious. It will be a nightmare in the sand, the neckline does nothing for your boobs, and the embellishments look like I won them out of a claw machine.”
“I was going to say the same thing,” Mom agreed.
My skin bristled. “But you just said?—”
I stopped myself and sucked in a long, deep breath. A mounting ire idled in that dark space behind my eyes at the center of my forehead, willing all the intrusive thoughts I was having—like sending the side table with the tissues on it careening into the mirror—to the recesses of my mind. Because if the side table went, the potted plant beside it was next. And then there was no stopping me from filling my hands with dirt and running down the length of the salon tainting every hanging dress in sight. While I was at it, I would probably end up hooting like a gorilla and tearing my own dress off my body until all that was left was me standing there sweating and gyrating in my tightest pair of Spanx with my nipples out.
“That’s settled then,” I breathed out instead. “Be right back.”
The next several trips in and out of the dressing room were as productive as the first. I tried organza and tulle, chiffon, lace, high neckline, long sleeve, cap sleeve, and strapless, with a combo of every single one of those things in A-line, empire, and sheath. All met with resounding, underwhelming reactions from everyone but Anna, who was happy enough to simply be there.
My expectations leading into the day had been too high. The minute that all of my sisters decided to come together for this I should have known it would have nothing to do with celebrating me and more with sticking their fingers into the process. Making sure that even though I was getting married and settling down, I was still just Natalia. I wasn’t the doctor, the lawyer, or the real estate mogul. They reminded me without having to say a word.
Ophelia would know exactly what to say but she was thousands of miles away in Colorado. Probably still lying in bed with Frankie on a lazy Saturday morning, spooning each other and giggling and saying “I love you” over and over again in a borderline baby voice, because that’s the shit you do when you first fall in love with someone.
My fingers hovered over her contact in my phone. She would answer, she always did. No matter what time of the day, even if it was during her work week or on a holiday. Hell, she even picked up the phone once in the middle of a pap smear. She had shifted her whole schedule to make it to all of our upcoming wedding events, and stayed up late after grading papers to research places for a bachelorette party on the Las Vegas Strip. Ophelia had compiled lists of florists and caterers and local graphic designers that I should consider for invitations, and made spreadsheets with all of this information neatly accessible in a joint document titled “THE BEST DAY OF OUR LIVES” that she updated daily.
All of this and she wasn’t even officially my maid of honor. I hadn’t chosen one between my sisters and Ophelia and the expectations lingering there. The right thing to do was to choose a Russo and interchange who got the maid of honor spot at each of our weddings. I could pick Mia, and then Mia could choose Bella, Bella could have Cami, and then Cami could reluctantly ask me like it was the sisterhood of the traveling bridesmaid. Or, I could have all three of them and they could split the responsibility, split the speech, split the torture of having to say and do nice things for me for the next six months.
I could also have nothing and no one. Mateo and I could elope at the courthouse and cancel the entire thing right here and now and I would get no complaint from him, that’s for damn sure. As excited as he was to get married, he was not expecting the amount of work that went into making a wedding a reality.
The option tickled me momentarily. How freeing that lack of planning would be. No appointments, fittings, or tastings. No decision making, or inevitably pissing people off. God, it was an appetizing thought. But I couldn’t live with myself if I regretted it.
Bothering Phee didn’t feel right, and I knew she was already beating herself up for not being here for this. I shoved my phone back in my bag as May returned with an armful of new and heinous dresses for me to try on.
“Actually,” I stopped her. “I did have one dress in mind that I had shipped to this store to try on. I’d like to see that one.”
It was my dream gown. Delicate and trimmed with lace, with enough shimmer that it attracted your attention but had nothing close to a jewel sewn into the chest. The fishtail accentuated every last well-earned curve on my body, hugged my hips, cinched my waist, and put the girls on their pedestal with the most perfect sweetheart neckline. There was a flare at the knee so I could still dance, and spaghetti straps so I didn’t have to worry about adjusting it all night. To top it all off, like fate, the bite of the zipper clasping together as I looked on in the mirror confirmed that it fit like a goddamn glove. No extensive alterations necessary.
All of the emotions came whirring in at once, choking me up and catching my breath. I’d tried on twenty other dresses and felt nothing but stress for the moment I’d been looking forward to since I was a little girl. But now I was that little girl again. I was so overwhelmed I started to cry.
May took on a misty sheen of her own. “I think we’ve found the winner.”
I stepped out of the dressing room with a bundle of bunched tissues clutched in my fist and a full, genuine smile lifting my cheeks, expecting that every single eye in the bridal salon would be dancing toward me.
That wasn’t what I found.
The couch was empty save for Anna, who, in her defense, lit up like a firework as soon as she saw me standing there. My eyebrows pinched together and a gutting disappointment that I couldn’t hide stabbed at the center of my chest. My heart went from a frantic thump to an uneven stutter.
“Absolutely breathtaking, Natalia,” Anna beamed. “Mateo will lose his mind if he sees you in that.”
“Where is everyone?”
A pang of guilt washed across her face and her eyes cut toward her shoulder. My mom and the twins were behind her, occupied by none other than Camilla staring at herself in another mirror, wearing a wedding dress .
The hurt sliced through me like a hot knife, draining every ounce of excitement from my body. I deflated instantly. It was the most humiliating, demoralizing moment of my life, but it wasn’t far from expected.
“Oh, honey.” Anna laid a warm palm on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The best I could manage was a flat smile before the dejection turned into rage and the tint of the room blurred to red like a video game alerting its player that shit was about to go fucking down.
My feet carried me like I was possessed across the room. “What the fuck are you doing, Cam?”
Finally the attention I’d anticipated was totally on me, but I was way past that. It was too late, too raw. There wasn’t a praise on the planet that would undo what had been done.
“Holy shit, Talia, that dress is amazing,” Mia buzzed. She was smiling, fucking smiling . As if there wasn’t a problem in the world. My eyes narrowed into slits. Bella and Mom tried to circle me encouragingly and I stuck my hands out, keeping them at arm's length.
“Take that off,” I said bluntly, glowering at Camilla in the reflection of the mirror. My tone struck a chord because she sobered in the wake of it and stepped down from the platform. “You’re supposed to be here for me .”
“We are, sweetie,” Mom piped up. “It’s harmless fun. All eyes back on you now, promise.”
A scoff rocketed out of me. The nerve of her to try and brush this off after seeing how clearly it took the wind out of my sails, as if I was the perpetual little sister and there was nothing to be upset over. I was in my dream dress waiting for the reaction that every single bride deserves from her family and instead I was hit with total duplicity. I could never get this moment back.
“You’re not even getting married,” I spat.
“She’s not even in a relationship.” Mia threw fuel on the fire, staving off a thrown elbow from Bella.
“You’re not even in a relationship,” I repeated more sternly. “How did this seem like a good idea to you? To all of you?”
“You’re making it something it’s not, Talia.” Cami said it so nonchalantly it sounded like a joke. Oh Camilla, you’re so silly. What a funny thing to gaslight your sister about. But I knew from the disheartened look on Anna’s face, and the fact that she’d stepped away from the conversation and let it play out as a family dispute, that I wasn’t crazy.
“It is something to me,” I shot back. My voice cracked and betrayed me. “One day you’ll get married, however far in the future that may be, to whatever rich dickhead you decide to tolerate for the rest of your life, and then you can try on dresses and you won’t hear a peep out of me.”
Camilla’s face fell into a scowl.
“Let’s not bicker, girls,” Mom said. “It’s a little misunderstanding.”
“Yes,” Camilla agreed. “It’s only a dress. We’ve watched you put on about fifty already and you’ve hated every single one of them. No need to be a bitch.”
It didn’t matter how rough and tumble it got. By next week we’d all be back to the same old antics, fiasco swept under the rug and forgotten like it never even happened until it happened again. We didn’t hold grudges in our family, we just pretended our problems didn’t exist. With that being said, it didn’t occur to me at all how nail in the coffin it might sound when I stepped up to my eldest sister and said, “I’m fine with being a bitch, because you already have being an insufferable cunt in the bag.”
You could have heard a train pin dropping in that bridal salon. I might as well have kicked a baby.
“Fucking hell, Talia,” Mia purred. “You’re just throwing around the ‘C’ word like it’s nothing.”
My eyes rolled. “It’s not even that serious. It’s Australian.”
“ Robert Irwin is Australian,” Bella said. “Robert Irwin does not say ‘cunt’.”
“Do you honestly think Robert Irwin hasn’t called one of those crocodiles a cunt before?”
“This is classic Natalia,” Cami interrupted. “I just think if you’re expecting us to throw showers and plan parties and take time off from our very real jobs,” she said pointedly, “the absolute least you could do is not take everything so personally.”
My expectations were so astronomically low for my sisters’ participation in wedding planning but this was next level. If playing a part in the happiest day of my life came with a guilt trip and an obligation to kiss their asses for the rest of eternity I would rather staple my lips to a fucking telephone pole. I didn’t need any of them to help me. I didn’t need their half-assed showers or unorganized parties. I most definitely didn’t need them to, God forbid, sacrifice a day of work for me, either.
“It’s a good thing you don’t have to worry about any of that,” I decided on a whim. “Because Ophelia is my maid of honor.”
My stomach was twisting in an uncomfortable knot, flipping over and over on itself. I was going to have to debrief Mateo and hope he could convince his mom that I only saw my family on the rarest occasion, and there was more to me than swear words and phallic paraphernalia. Though at the moment, I wasn’t sure of that fact myself.
The silence from my sisters and mom that followed my announcement spoke all the unsaid words I could already hear. There I was again, being the rebellious, defiant, black sheep Russo. Nothing was ever going to change.
I turned to May, glued to the wall by sheer panic and disbelief. “I’ll take this dress, please. And I’m paying cash.”