15. The Perfect Amount of F‑You, Brad
15
The Perfect Amount of F?You, Brad
CARLY
To-do list—December 7
Pick up shoes for Yelena’s holiday party look
Return alternate gowns
Find something attention-grabbing to wear in Spain
I pulled the strapless dress from the rack, held it out in front of me, and squinted one eye. Mom had liked me in pink. The bright color was youthful, but was it the perfect amount of fuck you, Brad? I glanced at the rain pouring outside the boutique. It was winter in Barcelona too. Unless I wore a sweater, I’d freeze to death. A shawl would tip me over the line from sexy woman confidently dating a younger man to elderly lady being escorted by her nephew.
I shoved the dress back into the rack and shuffled through for one with sleeves.
“Carly! Carly!”
I turned as Hayley Darling tripped into the store, then chucked her umbrella into the stand near the door. She wore a red belted raincoat and carried a metallic Stella McCartney bag that cost more than my entire clothing budget for this trip.
She held out her arms and rushed to fold me into her embrace. “O-M-G, I was afraid this shop was too yesterday’s news, but you’re shopping here, so it means I can too. Are you buying stuff for Spain?”
She rocked me side to side, and I went with it. I hadn’t been hugged since I’d met Tessa for coffee last week.
She released me. “Were you looking at this fuchsia? It’s totally your color. Though it’d be a shame to cover it up with a coat. Maybe a faux-fur wrap? That’d be so old Hollywood. In fact, I have a baby pink one I got to keep from my last shoot. You can borrow it! I’ll send it to you this afternoon. What do you think I should wear? Or should I not ask you since you’re a stylist, and you get paid for that? Never mind. I don’t want to put you in a weird spot.”
She looked down at her black rubber boots, and damn it, I felt…something. Maybe not sorry for her since she was living in my house with my fucking Waterford, but a kinship, perhaps. I’d been young and in love with Brad once too.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Let’s pretend we’re a couple of friends shopping.”
But that was the wrong thing to say. Tears pooled in her blue eyes, and her lip trembled.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what I should be sorry about.
“It’s okay.” She wiped tears from her cheeks. Her mascara stayed put; she must have worn waterproof. “I cry for no reason these days. Yesterday, I cried at a dog food commercial. I don’t even like dogs. Anyway, I hope we can be friends.”
I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff. I’d rather walk down Market Street naked than be friends with Brad’s new wife.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” she said, sniffing one last time. “For being kind to me the other night at that bank dinner. Some of Brad’s friends…they haven’t been so nice.”
My heart cracked a little.
Turning back to the racks of clothes, I said, “Navy and cherry red. Those colors will look great on you.” I grabbed for a deep-blue garment and held it out to her.
It turned out to be a chunky boatneck sweater. But she took it from me. “Thanks. I’ll try it on. I have most of what I’ll wear on the trip, but I’m looking for one or two new pieces in a slim silhouette, something slinky, if you know what I mean?”
“Slinky.” She could carry it off with her figure. Like that teeny white bikini I used to wear on the yacht.
I scanned the racks for dresses in the right texture. “Over there.”
We wove our way to a rack of jewel-toned dresses in clingy fabrics. She unbelted her coat, plucked out a red dress, and held it up to her torso, smoothing the satin over her belly. “This one?”
“Yes, that red will look fabulous against your skin.”
She hugged me again. “Thank you. What about this one for you?” She pulled out a jade-green wrap dress with long sleeves.
I chuckled. “Green is a little on-the-nose for an ex-wife.”
“Right.” Her cheeks pinked. “How about blue?” She pulled out a sapphire one with an iridescent sheen.
I tilted my head. She’d even pulled out the correct size. “That could work.”
“Yay!” She clapped the sweater and the two dresses together. “This is fun.”
We ended up turning the fitting rooms into an impromptu fashion show. We both sucked in our cheeks and struck runway poses. We clapped for each other every time. Surprisingly, it did turn out to be a little bit fun. By the time I changed back into my clothes, my cheeks ached from smiling.
When I emerged from the fitting room clutching the outfits I’d decided to buy, Hayley snatched them from me.
“My treat,” she said. “In exchange for the professional advice.” She bit her lip as she fumbled in her purse.
I shouldn’t let her. Heat prickled from my chest to my cheeks. I had a clothing budget, anemic as it was, compared to hers, and plenty of pride. But when she pulled out the familiar black card, the one that used to have my name printed on it, something inside me expanded like a balloon filled with laughing gas.
“Okay.” I’d let him pay for my clothes. And every time I put them on, I’d think, Fuck you, Brad. I grabbed a chunky statement necklace from the display. “This too.”
“Yay! I love it!” She linked her arm with mine and towed me to the register.
As the clerk checked us out, Hayley leaned toward me. “I love that you’re bringing Andrew Jones as your plus-one. He’s such a hottie.”
I looked around, but I didn’t recognize any of the other shoppers. “We’re keeping it on the down-low, you know?”
“Why? You’re stunning and smart, and so is he. Did you know we went to the same school?”
“You mentioned it at that dinner. When you demonstrated that cheer.” Cold prickles crawled down my arms. I’d been too caught up in seeing Brad again to process it. They’d gone to school together. When I was an adult. Hayley was a much more appropriate date for Andrew than I was.
She giggled. “Right. Sorry. P-p…wedding brain. Too many things whirling around up here!” She waved a hand at her sleek hair. “Anyway, he looked happy. And I bet some of that is you.” Her blue eyes sparkling, she nudged my arm. “I’m always telling Brad’s friends who give him shit about the age difference that age is just a number. He’s your person, and it doesn’t matter that he’s my age.”
Oh, it mattered. Brad was a man. He could get away with it. Sure, people might say something snide, but then they’d get over it. I’d been the butt of those jokes for the first year we’d been married, then never again.
When the woman was the older partner, it never went away. Like she was some sort of deviant.
I’d look ridiculous if I showed up at my ex’s wedding with a younger man on my arm. People didn’t hire the party joke to style them.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You went stiff.”
“Nothing, I…” I patted my pockets. “I think I left my coat in the dressing room.”
I sprinted back to the dressing room where I hadn’t left my coat, but I’d clearly left my sanity. What was I doing with Andrew? There was no way this would go well for me, for us. He should be dating someone his age, not escorting someone as old as me to my ex’s wedding in another country.
I snagged my phone from my purse and tapped out a text to him.
Me: The arrangement is off.
Andrew: No, it’s not. You can’t just call it off
Me: I can
Andrew: Nope, not one of the rules. I already have my plane ticket. I’m going to the wedding with you. And I’m holding you to your promise about the holiday party
I sucked in a breath. He couldn’t refuse. That’s not how arrangements like these worked.
Was it?
Me: Where are you? I want to talk face to face, not on this tiny keyboard
Andrew: The soccer fields at St. Sulpicius Academy
I dropped my phone in my purse. I’d march over there and break our ridiculous agreement.