Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sadie wasn’t kidding when she said I’d be trying on ruffles. Sadie in a dress shop is the equivalent of a kid in a candy store. Immediately, she starts grabbing dresses off the racks and holding them up to me. Before I know it, she has an arm full—so many that her face barely rises above the mound.
She hurries to the changing room. “Can you help me hang these up?”
I lighten the load by at least five dresses, hanging them on one of the hooks. The dressing room is exploding with pops of color.
Sadie squeals. “Try this one first.”
It’s a fuchsia pink floor-length dress with sequins dripping from every corner.
I cringe.
“Come on. I said you need to trust me, remember?”
I gingerly take hold of the hanger. “But it's so . . . pink.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think it's pink enough.” She circles around me, closing the door behind her. “Have fun.”
I eye the dress, holding it an arm’s length away, not wanting to touch it at all. I don’t have to try it on to know that the fabric is itchy, and the color will flush my skin tone.
Still, I take off my clothes and step into the dress.
My skin crawls as soon as I make contact, a shiver running down my spine the second I pull the sleeve on.
I arch my back awkwardly, trying to reach the zipper, but I feel more like a cat pawing at yarn that’s being held out of reach.
Finally, my fingers graze the metal, and I tug it up, closing the back of the dress.
I shudder, looking at my reflection.
I hate it. The dress screams the opposite of everything I like, not to mention the fact that I’m swimming in the top half of the dress. I’d need a serious pushup bra to make it work, and I’m not sure I’m ready to give up the comfort of my sports bra just to make a dress look good.
“How does it look?” Sadie calls from the other side of the door.
I crack the door open. “Oh, it’s giving . . . something.”
“Come on. Let me see. It can’t be that bad.” She pushes the door the rest of the way open. Her eyes pop out of her head, and she covers her mouth to try and muffle her laugh. “Oh. Wow. It’s even better than I imagined.”
“What do you mean, ‘better than you imagined?’”
Her shoulders rise with every chuckle. “Did you honestly think I’d pick a dress like that for you?”
I gasp, reaching to swat her shoulder. “Your days are numbered, Sadie James.”
She dodges. “But it’s so pretty.”
I glare. “So, why did you grab all of these?” I ask, pointing to the dress-covered changing room.
“They’re for me.”
“You already have a dress,” I say.
“Not for prom,” she replies with a wink.
I shake my head with a smile. “I can’t with you right now.” I start to head back to my cave of dresses to get this fuchsia atrocity off myself as soon as possible.
“Wait,” she says, pushing the door back open. “This one”—she holds up a soft blue dress—“is actually for you. I promise.”
I squint at the dress. “I don’t know.”
“You’re trying it on,” she says, shoving the dress into my hands. She grabs the handle. “Okay, bye.”
The door closes.
I’m happy to get out of the first dress, but I don’t have high hopes for the second.
Still, the fabric is softer and there’s no sequins.
It should get some points for that. The color is also much more my speed.
Even though I rarely wear light blue, I’ve been told it makes my eyes pop.
The dress lies snugly around my waist with a sweetheart top, and the sleeves hang partway off my shoulders.
I open the door with my eyes closed, scared to look in the mirror.
Sadie squeals. “Shut Will Ferrell’s front door, you look amazing.” She grabs my shoulders, turning me toward the mirror. “I mean, the color alone is gorgeous, but even the cut is perfect.”
A little smile pulls at my lips, and I sway to the side, letting the dress graze my ankles. “It’s pretty.”
“Pretty? It’s stunning. You are the definition of perfection.” She stands behind me, gathering my hair into a mock bun on top of my head. “Caleb is going to freak out when he sees you.”
I blush, still not used to the idea of Caleb and me.
“Now all we need to do is find you some heels to go with this.”
“No,” I say with a groan. “You can do my makeup and hair, but heels? Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line.”
“So what, are you going barefoot?”
I laugh. “I’ll just wear my sneakers.” I lift the dress, showing my off-white shoes with fraying laces. “It works.”
She gasps. “For the love of everything pure in this world, at least buy a new pair.”
“These aren’t that bad,” I say, tapping the sides of my shoes together.
“Sure.” She squints. “They definitely don’t have holes.”
“Oh no. Heaven forbid there’s a hole.”
“Please let us go get you a new pair.” She folds her hands into each other, begging.
“Fine.” I need a new pair of sneakers anyway. Mom’s been trying to take me, but I’ve successfully avoided each of her attempts. However, my shoes are fading fast. They don’t just have holes—the entire right sole is growing loose, threatening to detach.
Sadie herds me back into the changing room. “Okay, hurry up and get changed. Then we’ll go shoe shopping.”
“What about all these dresses you were going to try on?” I say, gesturing behind me.
Her laser focus aims down, burning holes into my feet. “I would, but this is an emergency.”
I wave goodbye to Sadie with a giant bag in one arm and a shoe box in the other.
It took twice as long to find a pair of sneakers I liked because I’m so picky about how the arches feel.
I need the weight of my feet to be supported.
I also like my shoes a little wider since pinched toes are the worst possible self-sabotage a person could give themselves.
I honestly don’t understand how some people go around wearing shoes with pointed toes.
Sadie drives off, and I start my familiar trek up the walkway. Then, I freeze.
Mom and Dad are fighting, and the walls of our house are doing a poor job of keeping their voices inside. I don’t know if it’s about Dad’s drinking again or if Mom found something else to criticize him about. Either way, I don’t want to find out.
I back up, eyeing Caleb’s house. Is he home? Would it be weird if I just showed up again? I mean, we did kiss. Now, I realize we haven’t labeled anything, but I have a hard time believing he’d be upset from a surprise visit.
We might even kiss again.
I shake my head, trying to stop my face from flushing any more. He’s taken over my thoughts. I find myself dreaming of him at night and texting him during the day, and somehow it’s not enough. I want to be by his side.
I feel safe with him.
Caleb’s car is in the driveway like normal, and his mom’s car is still gone. I wonder when she’ll be back.
As soon as I knock on the door, my heart speeds up. I don’t think I’ve been this flustered around the idea of seeing Caleb, but here I am, standing on his porch, ready to faint from the butterflies in my stomach.
The door cracks open, and my heart plummets.
“Hello, Becca,” Mrs. Park says.
“Hi,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “Is Caleb around?”
“No, he went to pick up something from the store for me,” she says.
“I see.” I look back at his car in the driveway.
“I was parked behind him, so he took my car instead.”
I inch away. “Well, I’ll come back later then.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” she says, opening the door more and stepping out of the way to make a clear path for me. “Come in.”
I gulp. Why would she want to talk to me? Did Jordy tell her something? It’s not like she can keep me from seeing Caleb. It’s not her decision. My eyes dart in all directions, trying to discover an escape route, but I know running away won’t do any good.
I take a shaky step forward into the house. I set the bag and shoe box down, and I slip my shoes off.
“Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea?”
“I’m okay, thank you.” My voice is rusty, squeaking on every word forced out.
I scurry to follow her into the living room.
“Sit. Make yourself comfortable,” she says, sitting on the sofa.
I cautiously take a seat, but don’t relax an ounce. I tug my sleeves over my palms and fold my toes under.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with my boys lately.”
I nod. “Caleb’s been driving me to school.”
“You know,” she says, leaning back. “Moms are good at figuring out what’s going on with their kids.”
My head grows heavy and sweat starts to gather above my brow. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket.
“Mind explaining this?” She unfolds it, revealing the silly little contract Caleb and I made.
It’s all taped up, and she smooths it out before setting it down, pushing it my way.
“I just knew there had to be more to this than a simple ride to school. You never paid attention to him before.”
It’s as if I've been torn in half, completely exposed.
“You’re using him, and I want you to stop,” she says.
My stomach clenches. I take a deep breath, hoping I won’t get sick. “That’s not true.”
“Really? Because it’s all right here in writing.” She taps the page. “The only reason you’re doing this is because you need something from him, and it’s my job to protect him.”
I can’t look at her because it’s true. I did use him, but that’s not what’s happening now. I genuinely want to be with him. I like who I am when he’s around. He soothes my edges, and he makes me feel like I’m not some lost cause that should be thrown away. I’m needed. I’m wanted.
I let out a shaky breath. “I care about Caleb, and I want to date him. Not because I need a ride to school, but because I like him.”
“You like him?” She clicks her tongue. “Then don’t you think he should know that you’re planning to leave for New York?”
I choke, patting my chest. “How do you know that?”
“Your mom mentioned it.”
“But it’s not for a few months,” I say.
“And somehow that makes it better? Do you plan on ending things before you go?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I wouldn’t do that.”
She sighs, tilting her head. “I realize this is hard, but do you realize how rare it is for long distance relationships to work? You’re both going to be meeting different people.
Trust me, you’ll only end up hurting him.
You should break up with him now. We all know it’s inevitable. You aren’t good for him.”
Why is there a part of me that agrees? An ugly voice in my head she uncovered that suddenly has volume.
She didn’t say “if you hurt each other” or “if he hurts you” because she thinks I’m the one that’s going to mess everything up at some point.
But the thing is, she isn’t right.
I’m not ready to let Caleb go.
I stand up with a mysterious surge of courage, crossing my arms. “I mean, you’re right. Caleb does deserve to know the truth, and I’m going to tell him. But whether or not we want to continue our relationship is up to us. Not you.”
Her mouth gapes open. “How dare you talk to me like that? He’s my son.”
“So what? It’s not like you actually know what he wants. He doesn’t even want to go to Stanford.”
The front door creaks open.
I lean in closer to her. “He may be your son, but he’s my boyfriend.” I spin around on my heels and march out of the living room. I don’t need to hear anymore.
I skid to a stop as I turn the corner.
Caleb's eyes widen as he stands at the front door. “Boyfriend?”