Chapter 10 Ivy
"This one makes me look like a cupcake that got emotionally neglected.
" I twist in front of the full-length mirror, my curves managing to both overflow and get swallowed by yards of pastel tulle. The late Saturday afternoon sun streaming through Pixie & Posh’s bay windows, highlighting every place this dress clearly wasn't designed for someone shaped like an actual woman.
"Like a cake that lost its decorator to a breakdown. "
"You are the cupcake." Amelia tugs at the zipper. "We just need to frost you better. Vinnie, thoughts?"
Vinnie takes a thoughtful sip of champagne from her perch on the vintage settee, her coffee-brown hair cascading in perfect waves while mine's escaping its clip in rebellion. "The color's gorgeous with your skin, but . . ."
"I was about to say it's not quite wedding guest material, but yeah, that works too.
" She sets down her glass and stands, disappearing behind a rack of dresses that Amelia's mom Rose had curated for the spring collection.
"What about something more . . ." Her voice trails off as she pushes hangers aside with purpose.
"More what?" I call out, still wrestling with the zipper that's now stuck somewhere between my shoulder blades. Sweat beads across my back as panic sets in. "Because if you say 'sexy' I'm vetoing it. I'm going to support my friend, not audition for The Bachelor."
"Your friend," Amelia echoes, making air quotes with her free hand while the other helps wrestle my zipper. "Because it's normal to fly across the country for someone who barely plans ahead enough to book a flight, let alone a plus-one."
I try to breathe normally as the dress seems to tighten. "It's what we do. He needs backup, I show up."
"Yeah," Amelia mutters. "That's kind of the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." But her tone says everything. "Just that most guys don't ask their best friend to be their date to a family event like that."
"He didn't . . . it's not like that. Matt's wedding is a big deal, and his family can be intense, and—"
"And somehow you're the only one who can help him survive it?" Amelia's eyes meet mine in the mirror. "Funny how that works."
"Maybe I should get some Spanx." I change topic, even though I promised myself last year I was done trying to origami-fold myself into clothes that weren't made for me.
"Don't you dare!" Vinnie calls from behind the racks. "You've got curves and you need to show them! I wore Spanx to that charity gala once and let me tell you, circulation is important. Plus, trying to pee was like performing a circus act in a phone booth."
"Can we—ugh—focus on getting me out of this death trap first?" I'm starting to see spots. "Amelia!"
"I'm trying. Stop squirming!" She gives one final yank and the zipper breaks free, sending us both stumbling.
I sag against the wall, panting, fighting the urge to cry because why does nothing fit right?
"Found it!" Vinnie emerges with something midnight blue and flowing.
I'm still catching my breath when I pull the dress on.
The silk settles around and I catch my reflection, barely recognizing myself.
Not because I don't think I'm pretty—my body and I have mostly made peace after years of warfare—but because something about this carries a weird kind of weight.
As if I've slipped into some alternate timeline.
One where I'm not just the supportive friend. One where I'm—
"Holy shit," Amelia breathes. "This is it."
"Told you." Vinnie circles me. "The cut is perfect, and watch the way it flows when you walk."
I twirl, watching the fabric float around my ankles. "It's not too much?"
"For a wedding? No way." Amelia starts playing with my hair, sweeping it off my neck. "You should wear it up, maybe with those crystal pins you have."
She's fussing with my hair in the mirror, so focused I nearly miss the shadow that crosses her eyes. It's the same look she gets whenever helping to style the window displays with pieces she could design better herself.
"Speaking of fashion decisions," I turn to face them both, "what's this I hear about you chickening out on the New York designer internship?"
Amelia's hands drop from my hair. "Who told you that?"
"Your mom mentioned it to me when she came in for some relaxation tea." I cross my arms. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"Because there was nothing to tell. It wasn't serious. Just a stupid idea I had."
"Stupid?" Vinnie scoffs. "Ames, you've got more fashion sense in your pinky than most designers have in their entire portfolio."
"It's fine." Amelia shrugs. "Besides, the application deadline passed."
"I could talk to my mom?" Vinnie offers. "She knows everyone in the industry. Her friend Marissa's the editor at—"
"No." Amelia's voice sharpens. "Really, it's fine. I was never serious about it anyway. The store needs me, and Mom's finally letting me have input on buying trips, and . . ." She trails off, then brightens artificially. "Hey, Daphne's coming home next month."
I share a look with Vinnie, who seems to understand this isn't the moment to push Amelia further. Sometimes friendship means knowing when to let someone change the subject.
"Don't say anything yet though," Amelia adds quickly to Vinnie. "No one in town knows, and James especially can't find out. She needs time to process everything before dealing with that whole mess."
"Of course." Vinnie nods, and I catch the flash of understanding in her eyes.
After our wine night last week, where we'd filled her in on the whole saga—Daphne's burnout at the children's hospital, the mess with James before she left, everything that went down in Cresden—she gets why this homecoming needs to be handled delicately. "My lips are sealed."
"And that means," Amelia fixes me with a pointed stare, "no telling your bestie Caleb. The last thing we need is him accidentally spilling to James during one of their guy's nights."
I roll my eyes. "You've literally told me that every day since Daphne called. I can keep a secret, you know."
"So, what exactly are you expecting from this wedding weekend?" Vinnie asks, bringing the focus back on me.
"Honestly?" I smooth the silk over my hips. "I have no idea. All I know is it's at The Thistlewood Estate in West Virginia. Wedding is on Saturday, but there's a whole week of activities, and we'll head back Sunday evening."
"And you'll be sharing a room with Caleb?" Amelia's perfectly arched eyebrow says everything her mouth isn't. "Because that's totally going to be fine."
"Separate beds!" I fling a discarded dress sash at her. "He's crashed at my place a million times. It's not weird."
"Ivy, that's what makes it weird." Amelia shakes her head. "You share clothes, he sleeps over constantly, you're his emergency contact—which, by the way, is hilarious given he still lives with his mother. You're in a relationship. Just . . . without the orgasms."
I look to Vinnie for backup, but she shrugs. "She kind of has a point."
"Not you too!"
"I'm not saying men and women can't be friends," Vinnie says carefully. "But you two have this spark. Like there's always something simmering just under the surface that neither of you wants to acknowledge."
"Oh god, not the chemistry talk again." Amelia throws her hands up. "Trust me, Vin, I've known them forever. Caleb would absolutely fuck her and break her heart, and then I'd be stuck working out how to dispose of his body, which would be incredibly inconvenient given my schedule."
"Amelia!" But Vinnie's already laughing.
"Don't worry," I huff. "We're strictly friends, and I'm not stupid. I'm aware Caleb doesn't want a relationship." The words hang in the air for a moment too long before I realize what I've admitted. "I mean—what I meant was—you don't have to stress about any of that."
"Right." Amelia's voice softens slightly. "Because sharing a room with the guy you've been half in love with since forever while surrounded by wedding romance is definitely going to be fine."
"I haven't been . . . it's not like that."
"Keep telling yourself that, babe." Amelia starts gathering the rejected dresses. "Just remember, I have a guy with a pig farm on standby. You know, just in case."
"Caleb's not what you think." The words tumble out unchecked, and both of them stare at me. "You act like he's some hopeless case."
"I act like he's Caleb," Amelia mutters. "You act like he's someone he's not."
"You don't know him like I do."
"No," she breathes. "But I know you."
The silence stretches until Vinnie clears her throat. "I'm sure Caleb has his good qualities—"
"He does." I smooth down my maxi dress, grateful to be back in something that lets me breathe. "He's loyal, and funny, and he always shows up when it matters."
"For you," Amelia points out. "He shows up for you.
Like, yeah, he's there for the guys—helps James at the garage, shows up for beer and game nights at Brodie's, typical bro stuff.
But with you?" She shakes her head. "He's got a sixth sense, or something.
Like last month when your car broke down at two a.m. and he left that blond at O'Malley's to come get you.
Or how he drops everything to help you set up for store events.
" She gives me a pointed look. "Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy to his friends.
But with you? It's different. He'd probably help you hide a body, no questions asked, whereas the rest of us would be lucky to get a 'thoughts and prayers' text. "
"That's not . . ." But even as I start to argue, I know she has a point. Caleb's always been reliable in his own chaotic way with everyone, but with me . . . there's an intensity to his protectiveness that I try not to examine too closely. "He's just being nice," I protest weakly.
"Nice is picking up a phone call. Caleb Miller builds you emergency kits with your favorite snacks and keeps them in his car 'just in case.' That's not just nice, babe. That's . . . something else entirely."
"Because that's what friends do."
"Whatever you say." She wraps the blue dress in tissue paper, but I can see her fighting a smirk. "Make sure to use protection if anything happens. God knows where that dick has been."
"Gross!" I throw a hanger at her while Vinnie dissolves into giggles.
"Just looking out for your sexual health, bestie!"
Vinnie pulls another dress off the rack, this time for herself. "You know you're going to end up buying half the store again, right?"
"It's called retail therapy. Besides, Ethan loves when I dress up for our dates." She says primly. "I'll come back Monday during lunch to get that emerald one. And the black one. Oh, and that cute top."
"Knew it," Amelia whispers to me.
"Ethan's actually cooking tonight. And Lily's coming over for a sleepover. We're doing face masks and watching Frozen movies."
"His little sister still the best third wheel ever?" Amelia teases.
"Please, that seven-year-old has more energy than both of us combined. She's probably already got her princess dress on." Vinnie gathers her purse. "I better go rescue him before she convinces him to do another tea party. Last time she put glitter in his hair and it took days to wash out."
"Go," I laugh. "Save your man from princess makeovers."
"Love you both!" Vinnie calls over her shoulder.
"I'll lock up," Amelia says, gathering the empty champagne glasses. "No point in you waiting around when I live upstairs."
"You sure?"
"Go, I’ll be fine."
I grab my dress and purse, giving her a quick hug. "Thanks for today."
"Try not to stress about the wedding too much!" I'm halfway to the door when Amelia calls out, "Hey, Ivy?"
"Yeah?"
She fidgets with a dress hanger, which is so un-Amelia it makes me pause. "I know I give you shit about Caleb, and overstep sometimes. It's just . . ." She meets my eyes. "You deserve someone who sees how incredible you are. Not someone who only half-sees you when it's convenient."
My throat tightens. "Ames . . ."
"I know, I know. You're just friends." She waves a hand, but her eyes are soft. "Just . . . promise you'll protect your heart?"
I manage a wobbly smile. "When did you get so wise?"
"Please, I've always been the smart one." She blows me a kiss. "Now go home and pack. And don't you dare take that tie-dye maxi dress. I don't care if it's comfortable, you're not actually a hippie at Coachella."
I laugh despite myself, grateful for how she always knows when to pull me back from the emotional edge. "Love you, you menace."
"Love you more."