Chapter 11
ELEVEN
She was in hell.
Make no bones about it.
“Oh my God!” Tiffany pressed a hand to her forehead, shock making her unusually tanned face pale as she stood in front of the shop they’d just left. “That’s the second seamstress who’s said there’s no fixing my dress! Ariel, do something!”
All of Deverell women turned and looked at her, their eyes as panicked as a deer frozen on an interstate. She had to tell herself yet again not to clutch the garment bag that contained Tiffany’s wedding dress. Because it was time to get real. If Tiffany didn’t have a wedding dress, she wasn’t getting married. Ariel wouldn’t get her house.
The end of the world was nigh, and that woman who’d cursed the Deverell weddings was having yet another last laugh.
Still, she was a professional. She knew how to talk reasonably in chaos and focus on fixing things. “Let’s all calm down. There are more people on the list I found online who do alterations. We’ve only visited two. I think we should take a break, eat, and get y’all a drink?—”
“I don’t think so.” Mother smoothed her white blond hair back, a gesture of outward cool that she always rolled out when agitated. “Clearly the last thing Tiffany needs is food. God help us if Terry and Tricia can’t get into their dresses.”
Her two sisters clutched each other with little care for the state of their sundresses. Tiffany stutter-stepped over to Ariel and slumped against her side, more tears in eyes. Ariel put an encouraging arm around her. Not helping, Mother.
“Ariel is the only one who looks to have lost weight,” her mother commented, her motherly appraising eye falling to her waistline. “Nice job, honey.”
“Working tornado sites will do that to you,” she answered dryly. “Let’s keep focused. I still think a break would do everyone good.”
“Tea, then.” Mother crossed her arms stiffly over her navy cotton dress, her knuckles white as she clutched her white purse. “No food. Not until dinner. You’re going to have to do a crash diet, Tiffany. You other two should join in. But not too much because then your dresses might not fit well.”
Terry and Tricia only bleakly nodded while Tiffany gripped Ariel. She wanted to shut her mother down, but she knew distraction was the key rather than a direct offensive. Whatever it took, they were not going to get distracted by the body-shaming or the diet talk. “Let’s get that tea while I make some more calls.”
She guided the walking wedding dress mourners to the next coffee and tea place on King Street. Everyone dutifully got a tea. Mother paid. Ariel didn’t bother to say she wanted a chai latte or that the wedding dress was starting to get heavy. Mother had already complained about her setting it down. Like wrinkles were their enemy right now. Still, they were in serious don’t rock the boat waters.
God, she needed some aspirin. Or Dax.
While she sipped her Earl Grey from the corner of the coffee shop, she called two other alteration shops on the list, balancing the garment bag against her side. Both said that even if they could help, which they doubted after hearing Ariel’s details, they couldn’t alter it in time for the wedding.
Yeah, time was against them.
As her mother was tossing her tall English Breakfast tea into the trash, Ariel finally reached a seamstress on the list who said she had an idea that might work. Closing her phone, she gathered their depressed group huddled together around a round café table.
“I found someone who says she has an idea.” She hefted the garment back up, wishing one of her sisters would offer to help, but no…
That would be wishing on the moon.
“Let’s go, then.” Mother rose and headed toward the door at a brisk clip in her white heels.
Tiffany looked at her with bleak eyes, the very image of a woman in a horror movie, what with her yellow sundress and shocked raccoon eyes. “Do you think it will work?”
Ariel took her by the arm and led her out, sending Terry and Tricia pointed glances as they followed, hoping they would be supportive. But they were in their own world after Mother’s comments about their figures. Everyone had had a fitting two weeks ago—even Ariel—and there hadn’t been any issue.
“Maybe Terry and I should go back to the resort and try on our dresses.” Tricia put her arm around an equally rumpled Terry. “We’re worried we might need a seamstress too.”
This was getting out of hand. “One thing at a time.”
“But if we need our dresses altered, wouldn’t it be better to know sooner?” Terry asked, nervously making circles with her finger in her blond hair. “Besides, I can’t stand not knowing.”
“Me either!” Tricia practically wailed.
Maybe sending them back to the resort wasn’t such a bad idea. It would reduce the drama by fifty percent.
“Girls!”
They all faced toward Mother’s voice. Ariel almost wilted under her steely glare.
“We’re coming.” She hurried toward her, lugging the dress. “Terry and Tricia think they should go back to the resort and try their dresses on?—”
“Fine!” Mother opened her purse and proceeded to touch up her lipstick. “You two head on back. If they don’t fit, call Ariel. And then do some Pilates and have the resort make us some juice. Especially pineapple or pomegranate.”
“Yes, Mother,” they both said at the same time.
Tricia grabbed Ariel’s arm, so tight she was going to leave a mark. “Ariel, can you find us a taxi?”
She had to swallow her retort. Can’t you hail one yourself? This isn’t hard. Instead, she smiled. “Sure thing.”
After she located them a cab, she directed her mother and Tiffany back to her mother’s BMW. She drove, because Mother was too upset, and Tiffany rode in the back seat with the garment bag in her lap, looking as if she’d been whipped.
When they arrived at the seamstress’ bright blue house, Mother turned to Ariel. “If this doesn’t work, we might have to consider looking for a new dress.”
Ariel had to work hard not to be relieved. She wanted her house, and she would need Tiffany to be on board with wearing a different dress if it came to that. It was good her mother was the one who’d brought it up.
Tiffany’s anguished crying filled the car a moment later. “But I love this dress!”
Mother turned in her seat to look at Tiffany. “I know you do, but if you can’t get into it, there’s no other option.”
“I spent six weeks looking for the perfect dress, Mother!” More tears spilled down her wan face. “How can I find something special in three days? And that doesn’t even account for the pressing and steaming…”
The bile in Ariel’s stomach was starting to burn her throat. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there. Tiffany, let’s think good thoughts.”
Her sister got out of the car and handed the nearly limp garment bag to her. “I want to, but it’s so hard right now. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought I was safe after the fitting. That the?—”
Her face blanched, and she hurried toward the little house. Ariel followed, feeling the storm brewing behind her. Mother on a tear. Shaming everyone.
God help them all.
It had been a sad scene back at the bridal cottage—Mother had tried to shove Tiffany into the dress, and her poor sister’s skin had gotten caught in the zipper, even with Terry and Tricia pulling the sides together.
What now?
Somehow Mother beat them to the door. Her knock held a don’t mess with me quality Ariel remembered from their childhood.
The door opened, and an elderly woman with a nice round face in a simple green dress gave them a compassionate smile. “Come in. I’m so sorry for your troubles. I can’t imagine how upset you might be. I’m Paula.”
“Hi, Paula. I’m Ariel, and this is Tiffany, the bride, and my mother. Thanks for agreeing to see us on short notice.”
“It’s my pleasure, dear. Sounds like you have the worst nightmare a bride could face. Let me see what I can do.”
Ariel handed her the dress, thanking the wedding gods they’d found someone kind. The first seamstress had looked at Tiffany’s waistline after she’d pulled on the dress and declared it was impossible. The next woman hadn’t been much nicer.
But Paula’s charming little house conveyed a comforting aura, from the lace curtains on the windows to the cheery yellow paint on the walls.
“What a day you must be having.” She patted Tiffany’s arm when her sister weakly nodded. “Come on to the fitting area with me. Let’s see if we can figure this out.”
Ariel shot her a thankful smile as they walked through an ocean blue doorway into another room. “Mother, I’m going to do a little more research on this problem. Would you go on with Tiffany? I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
Her mother came over and bussed her cheek, surprising Ariel enough that she almost dropped the phone she’d taken out onto the worn hardwood floors.
“You’re doing a wonderful job, Ariel.” Mother squeezed her arm for emphasis. “I don’t know how Tiffany could let this happen.”
“She didn’t mean to?—”
“It was downright irresponsible of her to gain this kind of weight before the wedding.” Mother patted Ariel’s hair as if trying to make it more presentable. “She admitted she’s stress eating again and hiding it.”
Ariel knew she couldn’t refute that. Tiffany had started those habits as a teenager when Mother’s body-shaming had kicked in. “Let’s hope Paula can help.”
“God help us if Terry and Tricia have gotten a little chunky too—unlike you.” Mother stroked her cheek before heading to the doorway, heels clicking on the hardwood. “Finish your calls as quick as you can, dear.”
Dear.
Suddenly, she was the favorite daughter. All because her mother approved of her weight. Ironic. As a young girl, her mother used to find fault with how bony her knees looked in a dress. When her breasts had come in, Mother had despaired of them not being big enough. A B-cup wasn’t enough to entice a man, to her mother’s mind. Then there was her lack of hips. She was still rail thin.
Mother had finally given up, only bringing out a suggestion for a butt or breast enhancement every couple of years around the holidays. Something she would pay for, of course. Because Mother believed in putting her money where it was needed when it came to her daughters’ looks. They were supposed to be her pride and joy, after all.
Ariel had always failed there. Until today. Too little, too late.
She let herself out onto the porch, her heart heavy. She needed to vent.
Jeffrey! I can’t wait for you to get here. Tiffany can’t fit into her dress, and it’s a MESS. I’m contemplating throwing myself in the ocean or running into the marsh and letting a gator get me. Because you know what that means for my house…
Best Brother Ever
SHE CAN’T FIT INTO HER DRESS? OMG! The curse is hitting hard. Hang in there. I’ll be there soon. Cling on to Captain Hotpants like he’s a safety float. Anything to survive. We will get you that house! So don’t let that gator get you. I love you too much for you to die from Deverell drama.
LOL. It’s worse than that. Mother thinks I’m the best because she approves of my weight. For once. It kinda broke my heart. You know?
Best Brother Ever
Ah, sweetie pie. That’s awful. What a bitch. She insisted on a wig and now she’s being nice? That’s the Stormy I remember. Stand tall. You know who you are, and who you are is perfect. I’m coming. God, I need to think about what to do to fight this curse. Ariel, girl, we’re going to get you granny’s house if we have to boil frog’s eyes or something.
Yuck. But appreciated. I love you.
She clutched the phone to her heart. Right. That was her goal. But God, right now it seemed like there’d be a lot of collateral damage. She closed her eyes and took a couple of cleansing breaths, reminding herself she could get through this. She’d gotten through every other family disaster. She’d survived not finding victims in the wreckage in time.
But by God, old wounds could still bleed. She’d thought she was beyond the desire for parental approval, but the look her mom had given her while patting her cheek had affected her. There had been love there.
Yeah, it was fucked-up love, because she should be loved for who she was. But she couldn’t deny she still felt the love and also the pull for more of it.
She almost laughed at herself. Not in this family.
Heading inside, she found everyone in the fitting area. Tiffany was crying uncontrollably now, makeup smeared beyond repair. Mother had her hands crossed stiffly over her chest, purse clutched tightly to her side. Paula was fussing with the one-inch gap in the back where the dress wouldn’t zip.
“What’s the verdict?” she hesitantly asked.
Mother turned to her, her brow line not moving when she gave her a disgruntled look. “Paula can rip out the zipper and fashion something like a bustier.”
“With strings!” Tiffany’s voice held an unnatural pitch, grating to the ear.
“I can sew in a matching piece of fabric, or as close as possible, and then use the strings for a closure,” Paula added calmly like she was used to bridal meltdowns, never taking her gaze off the back of the dress. “It’s not going to be an exact match, but it will handle the issue. On short notice.”
Tiffany was blubbering something fierce, and the dress was in imminent danger of getting snot on it.
Ariel spotted a box of tissues. After she gave a few to her sister, Tiffany blew her nose as loudly as a goose—not her usual ladylike puff—and handed the used one to Ariel.
God, what was she? A kindergarten teacher? Still, she took the tissue and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Ariel, what do you think?” Tiffany grabbed her arm, eyes wild, breath shallow. “Will the corset strings will make me look like a slut? Because I don’t want anyone looking at me like that on my wedding day. I had that the first time around. This time was supposed to be different.”
Ariel sighed and gave in to the urge to comfort her sister. Tiffany had married Marshall’s dad after she got pregnant, and a few of the Deverell relations had commented on her showing at the wedding. Ariel hadn’t been surprised by their cruelty, but she’d wanted to push them into the punch bowl.
Tiffany had sworn up and down that day like Scarlett O’Hara with her fist in the air that she would never show up pregnant to another family event. She’d been true to her word, avoiding Deverell get-togethers until Marshall’s baptism and the party Mother had thrown thereafter for her first grandchild.
“Tiffany, pull it together.” Mother’s order was like a harsh blast of cold wind. “You should have thought of all this before you started stress eating again.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “I?—”
Ariel’s throat tightened as her sister’s already tear-streaked face crumpled like a dry muffin. “Come on, Tiff. Everything’s going to be okay. I think Paula’s solution is brilliant. This way you can keep your dress. Because it really is so beautiful. Truthfully, I think your veil will cover the back.”
“Not at the wedding reception.” Tiffany was crying jaggedly again after Mother’s reprimand.
“I’ll bet Rob will think the corset design is hot.” Ariel tried to give her a winning smile. “No one is going to know it was supposed to be different. Besides, I bet you’ll be more comfortable with the strings.”
God, she was reaching deep for positives. Next up, fairies and unicorns?
Tiffany wiped her nose and handed Ariel another tissue. “All right. It’s not perfect, but what choice do I have? Ariel, everything else has to be perfect, okay?”
The weight of that demand nearly crushed her. Suddenly she wished Sherlock was beside her, giving her one of his soulful looks.
Or Dax.
She could really use one of his smiles now.
“I’ll do my best, Tiffany.” She threw the tissues away and turned. “Okay, Paula. Sounds like we have a plan. Let’s talk some more details.”
When they left the little house, Ariel felt a little better. Paula wasn’t taking advantage of their plight by charging something unreasonable, and she’d promised to have it ready for pickup on Friday morning.
“Ariel, are you sure that’s enough time to have it pressed?” Tiffany asked, her face splotchy from crying.
“We’ll get it done,” she said with an authority she didn’t completely feel.
She needed to call the steaming and press service next. She’d given them two days for the appointment. Now she would have to see if they could do a rush job because of this disaster.
If they couldn’t handle it, she would find someone to steam and iron it by hand, God help her.
Her phone chimed, signaling a text. Helping Tiffany into the back of Mother’s car, she checked it as she walked around to the driver’s side.
Tornado #2
Our dresses fit! Tricia’s opening a bottle of tequila. Tell Tiffany we have a bottle of silver waiting for her since it’s her new fave.
She’d noticed the silver before. When had Tiffany started drinking silver? She’d always been a gold girl. Maybe it was Rob’s influence? Didn’t matter. She pocketed her phone, trying to be grateful they had the wedding dress taken care of.
Disaster averted. Her house was still on track. Whew!
Entering the car, she was aware of the tension hanging in the vehicle. Harsh words had a way of doing that. “Good news! Terry’s and Tricia’s dresses fit.”
“Well, that’s something at least,” Mother commented, picking at her manicure after putting her designer sunglasses on.
Tiffany didn’t say anything but only swiped at a lone tear as she looked out the window, a study of a pale woman in complete desolation. Ariel didn’t know what else to do, so she started driving them back to the resort.
She’d always hated being left out. The different one. But in some ways, the silence in the car right now was worse. When her mother and the Three Tornadoes turned on each other, the wreckage was the worst kind.
Usually, it portended more disaster.