Chapter 12
River
I’m wedding dress shopping. For myself.
If you’d told me a week ago that I’d be in this position, I would have laughed at you. I still haven’t even been on a date in over three years. But no big whoop. I’m getting married, everybody!
On the drive to Denver, I use listening to Jana’s Top 40 music as an excuse to not talk to her about my upcoming nuptials.
Maybe it’s because I don’t want to think about it that my mind is going other places. This place of guilt is more familiar. My mind is like an old farm truck driving up a country lane, tires slipping comfortably into the mud-crusted ruts. It settles into thoughts of Skye and away we go.
My mind shows me thoughts of Skye walking away from me and through Caring Souls’ blue double doors. The sound of a deadbolt lock. My mascara stinging my eyes. A punch of grief to my solar plexus.
What kind of a sister am I? First, I have to sell the only home she’s ever known, and then I’m not even going to be living with her? Who’s going to make sure she’s got her playlists functioning properly—and that the rap music she listens to doesn’t have a bunch of questionable lyrics and themes?
Am I going to be able to tolerate not having her hugs and cheek smooches every five minutes? Will I even be able to sleep without her in the room next to mine? And I can pretty much guarantee no one at Caring Souls is going to be watching her water intake.
Why am I doing this again?
Because it’s the best thing for Skye, and she wants it desperately, I assure myself for the hundredth time. Because she’ll thrive being around other women she can identify with and mentors, teachers, and therapists who are experts. And because she walked out of the house to find her dog and wandered around the neighborhood, barefoot.
While I was rage flirting with my soon-to-be husband.
When I step into my fifth bridal gown in the dressing room of a shop in Denver, an explicable current of excitement dances over my skin. I’ve never worn a dress like this. The last fancy dress I wore was for senior prom, over nine years ago. This is so out of my element that I think about how Skye’s got the right idea. She’d prefer to wear her footie, zippered onesie pajamas all day every day.
But still, Jana gasps when I walk through the dressing room door and stand on the pedestal in this ivory lace, mermaid-style dress with a sweetheart neckline and long, elegant sleeves. I spin, catching my reflection in all three mirrors, feeling a zing of guilty pleasure. All I need now is something to wear on my head. Maybe a veil, maybe a jewel-encrusted clip.
It’s not real. None of this is. I’m not in love. I’m not marrying Gabriel because we’re crazy for each other.
But it’s fun to pretend. To dream. I’m out of practice on the whole dreaming front.
Jana jumps up from the sofa and claps, actual tears pooling in her eyes. “This is—”
she can’t even finish her sentence, she’s so overcome. The shop lady is also putting her hand on her chest and can’t seem to find the words, either. A jolt goes through my body.
I feel like a bride in this. Like, if Gabriel were to come strolling in, I’d smile sweetly and confidently, knowing he was overcome with love for me. And I’d be overcome with love for him.
Dread pools in the pit of my middle. He’s not and I’m not. Still, wearing this has made the reality of what we’re about to do so painfully real, I might cry like Jana and the saleswoman.
I might cry like my mom would have if she were here.
She’d find a wadded-up tissue from her purse and laugh a little with embarrassment over the tears. But she would love seeing me in this dress. She would do a little happy dance. Everybody knows Skye got her dance skills from Mom.
“I don’t know,”
I say quietly, once the saleswoman goes to help another customer. “This dress is too lovely for a farce, right? Like, I should save it in case I get married for real someday, right?
Jana steps towards me and points a finger. “No. I saw your face when you came out of the room. You feel it, too. There’s nothing like this dress.”
“It seems too nice, you know?”
I say a little louder.
The saleswoman overhears and misunderstands. “Nothing’s too nice for a bride!”
she says from across the room. “You deserve to love your dress. You’re marrying the man of your dreams, so wear the dress of your dreams.”
Jana and I exchange a look. We can explain nothing to her.
“I’m the one who drove you here and insisted we do this today. Doesn’t my vote count for something? Please, River.”
It’s true. She woke me with a knock on my door, a caffeinated beverage in hand, and convinced me to calm the bedhead and come with her to choose a dress.
“It’ll get your mind off of tonight’s big family event,”
she’d said. “Or we can take the drive time between here and Denver and back to practice what you’re going to say to your new, fake-but-we’re-all-pretending-they’re-real in-laws. Either way has its benefits.”
In the end, we listened to Top 40 and gorged on Pringles and M&Ms. Probably not a good idea right before dress shopping, but here we are. At least we avoided talking about the in-laws.
And now I’m wearing a dress that makes me feel like a million bucks.
“I don’t even know how much it is,” I say.
“But you said he was paying for all the wedding expenses,”
Jana counters.
“Yeah. The money’s already in the bank.”
The contract was emailed to me. And I signed it digitally, the final version. I just squeezed my eyes shut, crossed myself a few times (there’s a first time for everything), uttered a prayer of “Please help me,”
and did it. And on the drive here, I checked my bank account, not even expecting there to be anything from him in it, but there totally was. A transfer of a few thousand bucks with the memo of “wedding expenses.”
“So get this dress! Now!”
Jana says.
It only takes a couple more minutes of me waffling back and forth before I agree. And surprisingly, it doesn’t have to be altered or anything. The shop lady just seals it up in a plastic garment bag and hands it over to me. “You’re lucky to be tall,” she says.
It’s just a gal and her best friend walking to said best friend’s car, all nonchalantly like Of course we just bought a wedding dress.
“I feel like we’re putting the cart before the horse. Did she mention a return policy somewhere in there? It’s all a blur,”
I say as Jana maneuvers her car through the parking lot.
She gives me look that silently says, Calm down. “This wedding is happening.”
“Are we sure, though? I haven’t met his parents yet. What if they hate me and then him marrying me foils his whole plan?”
“Impossible. No one could hate you.”
I did get a reputation in college as being “nice.”
And I had a couple of professors who told me to play up that strength in my career. Somewhere between my freshman and senior years, I morphed that people pleasing into a superpower of sorts, helping the cause instead of hurting it. I can say I am a decent human being.
But the Tates aren’t clients or neighbors or people I partner with in Skye’s care. They’re . . . different. On a plane of their own.
I get a text from Gabriel when we start driving home.
Gabriel: You reached out when I was in Europe because you heard about what happened and wanted to offer your help. We became long-distance friends. We started dating right when I got back.
Apparently, I’m not as kind as I thought I was because I decide to mess with him.
Me: Who IS this?
Gabriel: (Eye rolling emoji.) My father’s name is Thomas and my mother’s name is Celine. They’ve been married for forty years. My mom got sick a few months ago, but she’s starting to feel better. She keeps trying to convince my dad to get a dog.
Me: Do I get bonus points for knowing that already? Come on, Gabriel, give me something challenging. Except, I didn’t know your mom wanted a dog. Why doesn’t she just get one? Their house is big enough your dad wouldn’t ever even need to see it.
Right when I push send, I cringe. Do I look like a weirdo if I know what his parents’ house is like? Shortly after Sebastian hired me, I did a write up for the company website about each of the brothers. Like, an in-depth look at their upbringing and family and the things that make them tick. It’s the sort of lifestyle stuff people eat up. Somewhere in my digging for more info to round the piece out, I stumbled upon his parents’ address. I’m not exactly proud of this, but the next time I had to drive into Denver, I looked it up. I just, I don’t know, wanted to sort of manifest the whole Tate secret sauce.
Was their neighborhood gated so I couldn’t get through? Yes, it was. Still, it was clear their house was ginormous.
Thankfully, Gabriel doesn’t ask me how I know.
Gabriel: It’s called compromise. You know? For helping make a successful marriage and stuff? She only started wanting one recently, and I’m sure he’ll support it eventually. But he’s not a dog person.
Me: So he’s a cat person then?
Gabriel: If all dog people and all cat people were shoved in the same room, my dad would be a hundred miles away in a room all by himself. Now can we get back to the task at hand, please? We have to be ready to meet them as a couple in just a few hours.
Me: What are their hobbies?
Gabriel: Traveling. Being Grammy and Grandpa to my niece, Navie. And most recently, making my life miserable. Or I guess that’s just my dad.
Me: How does your mom feel about what happened?
Gabriel: I don’t know. She hasn’t said.
Me: What am I supposed to wear tonight?
Gabriel: It’s casual dress. But my parents’ idea of casual is different than most people’s.
Me: Great! I’ll borrow Skye’s Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. Sounds like that’s a safe bet.
He doesn’t even dignify that with a response. And after Jana picks up Skye from the Caring Souls drop-in event and then drives us home, I get to fret and stew over my wardrobe for the next few hours. And pack more boxes. And fix and re-fix my hair. And go unzip my wedding dress from the garment bag and touch it every half hour or so.
I’m getting married. To someone I barely know. Please Mom and Dad, please try to understand why I’m doing this.
Because I sure as heck don’t.
An hour before the party, he texts again.
Gabriel: Get your Oscar winning performance ready.
Ready or not, it’s about to get real.