21. Sadie
21
SADIE
The morning before we head to the mountains, Sally shows up with an armload of dresses for me to try on. She’s borrowed the lot from Trina, the fashionista in their relationship.
“She can’t wear them while she’s pregnant. Not that she has a lot of reasons to wear cocktail dresses and ball gowns in Skylark anyway.”
“I don’t think I need so many outfit changes,” I argue, even though protesting is futile when Sally has her mind set on something. “We’re only going to be in Vail for a couple of days, and I have my sister-of-the-bride dress for the ceremony and reception.”
Sally grimaces then heads past me toward the stairs. Once in my bedroom, she drops the dresses on my bed and pulls a garment bag from the pile. “We can do better. I have options, but one in particular will be perfect. By the way, Trina’s sorry she can’t be here for the fashion show, but her troll of a boss wouldn’t let her out of the staff meeting this morning.”
“What’s wrong with the dress I have?” I ask as she unzips the cloth cover shielding what is probably a very expensive article of clothing I would never buy for myself.
“Not one Golden Girl, even Betty White, rest her soul, would be caught dead in that travesty of a dress.”
I open my closet door where the dress I bought on clearance at a mall in Denver hangs. It’s an admittedly boxy design, and the color can only be described as cement gray. But it’s comfortable and has pockets. Plus, Piper approved it via a FaceTime call from the dressing room.
“Pockets,” I remind my friend.
“The pockets are a bonus, but you’re thirty-three, not ninety-three. You’ve got a rocking body, even though hardly anybody realizes it because of the baggy clothes you insist on wearing. I’m not letting you walk down the aisle at your sister’s side with everybody thinking asshat Brad is marrying the hot Hart.”
“He’s not marrying Piper because of how she looks, although?—”
“Do not start with the crap about Piper being the pretty sister. You’re gorgeous.”
“I never said I wasn’t pretty, and this isn’t a competition. I don’t even want Bradley anymore.”
“Thank God for small miracles,” Sally agreed. “I can’t figure out what Piper sees in him. The guy peaked in high school, and he was a schmuck back then.”
Before I can respond to that jab, my eyes catch on the fabric of the dress as she pulls it out. “I can’t wear that,” I whisper.
“Of course you can. It’s Trina’s wedding dress, and she insists.”
When Sally and Trina married five years ago on the top of Skylark Mountain, Trina wore a unique pale blue gown, similar in shade to Ian’s glacier-hued eyes. The dress has an ethereal, fairy-tale vibe with a fitted silhouette that gently flares at the thighs, creating a sense of delicate movement. The fabric is a shimmery silk with layers of tulle that add depth and dimension. A designer Trina is friends with created it just for her, and I can’t believe she’d want me to wear it to my sister’s wedding.
Sally holds up her phone and hits play. Trina waves at me from the screen. “Hey, Sads, I’m recording this message because I know what you’re thinking, and I insist you wear the dress. Ian Barlowe won’t know what hit him. He’s going to fall head over heels.”
Sally tosses the phone onto my bed. “She made me promise to text her pics.”
“I’m not trying to hit Ian with anything.”
“I know,” she agrees. “That’s my wife’s hopeless romantic streak. She’s convinced the two of you have all the makings of a classic nineties rom-com.”
“We don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest to keep from reaching for the gown. “Besides, he already knows that I have—as you would describe it—a rocking body.”
Sally frowns as she studies me like she’s searching for traces of a scarlet V. “You did it? The big it?”
“You could show a little enthusiasm,” I tell her, fidgeting under the scrutiny. I touch a finger to the center of my chest, which feels inordinately tight, then grab the dress and turn for the en suite bathroom, mostly for a moment to collect myself. Sally knows me way too well to hide my emotions.
“Did you do it because you wanted to or because you felt the pressure of the book club bucket list?”
“What’s wrong with wanting to have sex?” I demand as I pull off the tank top I’m wearing. “You had sex with plenty of people before Trina, even a guy. If it’s okay for you to have a penis inside you, why isn’t it okay for me? I actually like penises.”
I hear gagging noises from the bedroom. “I still don’t believe anybody likes the one-eyed wonder weasel.”
“Ick. Not when you call it that.”
Her laugh is defiant. “Yes, I had plenty of sex before Trina, even once with a dude. I blame another dude—Jack Daniels—for that lapse in judgment. Once I fell in love, it was different. Sex means something to you, Sads. That’s not wrong.”
“So why does it sound like you think I made a mistake? Let’s remember, you were the one who told me about the underwear ads.”
“Sure, Ian Barlowe can fill out a pair of boxers. But you’re special and you deserve to be treated that way. I want to make sure it wasn’t just some throwaway. A couple of hot and heavy minutes to check off a non-existent box.”
I open my mouth to tell her there’s nothing wrong with checking off boxes. Sally’s kept a planner with a to-do list for as long as I’ve known her. She’s the queen of checking off boxes. Okay, Iris might be the queen, but Sally’s pretty good at it, too.
Unfortunately for me, I won’t—can’t—lie to my best friend.
“I wasn’t just checking off a box,” I say as I emerge from the bathroom in the gown. “Which makes me a bigger idiot than you and your night with Jack Daniels and the weasel.”
Sally opens her mouth, then shuts it again. She whispers, “You’re so beautiful,” and wraps her arms around me. “And you’ve fallen for him.”
Even though I need her hug like I need my next breath, I pull away. If I start crying now, I might be a blubbery mess for the rest of my life. And I’m not dripping tears on this fantastic dress.
“Nobody can know, Sal, not even Trina.”
“You heard her. Trina wants you to fall for him.”
“Not if he doesn’t fall in return, and there’s no chance of that. He doesn’t do relationships.” I shake my head. “His ex-girlfriends give interviews about how he’s got no heart, but I don’t believe that.”
“Maybe he hasn’t found the right woman to unlock it. That’s how it was with Trina and me.”
“I’m not a princess, Sal. This isn’t a fairy tale.”
“You look like a princess in that dress,” she answers, a warm smile on her face. “And why shouldn’t you have the fairy tale? No one deserves it more. You gave up everything when your mom died.”
“You would’ve done the same thing,” I reply with a shrug. “I had great sex, okay? I don’t regret it, but that’s all it’s going to be.”
“It could be more if you put yourself out there.” Sally’s tone is gentle but firm. “But not because Ian Barlowe is a magic pigskin prince who’ll carry you off into the sunset. You don’t need a white knight. You saved yourself and your sister. And back in high school, when I didn’t know how to handle who I knew I was, you saved me with your friendship.”
“You got me through calculus,” I tell her with another hug. “So we’re even.”
“Hardly.” She pulls back and cups my face between her hands. She smells like coffee beans and vanilla syrup, a comforting mix I always associate with Sally. “You’ve been the hero in your own life for a long time. You have to see that. But even heroes need a break. They’re allowed to rely on other people and open themselves up to love.” She gently pats my cheeks. “You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are.”
I press my lips together when they start to tremble and give her a shaky nod. “Maybe I’ll be ready for love when I figure out exactly who I am.” It’s a question that’s been keeping me up at night lately. That and the fact that my recent dreams always star Ian…and he’s always naked.
She sighs, and I step away from her hold, smoothing a hand down the front of the dress. “But right now, I’m going to take your lovely wife up on her offer. I don’t want Bradley Carlson, but I also don’t want to look like a Golden Girl.”
“It’s a start,” she concedes with a wink. “Let me take some pics for Trina and I’ll get the next outfit ready.”
“Do I need other outfits?”
“I texted Piper about the itinerary, and Trina gave me strict instructions about what you should be wearing. We expect proof-of-outfit selfies as you go.”
I laugh and head for the bathroom to change. It feels odd, but kind of nice, to have somebody taking care of me. Making me the star of my own show, at least.
We spend the rest of the morning trying on outfits, doing my makeup, and testing out a curling iron Trina sent along that neither Sally nor I know how to use. It’s so far outside my norm, but it’s fun to play.
How have I let my life become so not fun? I went into survival mode when Mom died. My entire focus became acting like the competent adult Piper needed me to be. That became my safe place. But now I realize how much it held me back.
And, yes, it will hurt when Ian and I have our fake breakup—because my feelings for him are all too real—but I won’t let that stop me. Before him, I hadn’t been on a single date in the past decade, which is pathetic. But also fixable. With some time and effort, I can fix the broken parts of me.
“I think I hoped Piper would come back for a little while after she graduated college,” I tell Sally as I lead her to the door later in the afternoon. “So we’d have a chance to redefine our relationship. Growing up, I didn’t want her to feel like I put a man before her, ever. She’d dealt with too much loss already.”
I hold up a hand when she shakes her head. “Yes, I lost my mom, too, and I understand I’m not Piper’s mother. But I’m just starting to accept it.”
My best friend hugs me tighter than before and we both swipe at our cheeks before she leaves.
“Time for a potty break,” I tell the dogs and begin the process of letting them out in small groups.
What I’d like to do is climb into bed with Max and watch Friends reruns all afternoon, but that isn’t an option with my business, especially as it stands at the moment. I don’t regret the career I’ve made for myself, or running the business out of my home. It allowed me to be here for Piper when she needed it.
Max hangs back like he knows I need the company. I’m grateful Bradley agreed to make him the ring bearer for the wedding. It would have broken my heart if they hadn’t included Max.
Maybe the asshat will change his mind about animals in general, although it would also break my heart to lose Max in addition to Piper.
I’ve just finished letting in the last of the dogs when there’s another knock at the door. My heart thuds, wondering if it might be Ian. We don’t have plans to see each other tonight, but he’s childfree with Riva at a sleepover, and I’m childless, so…
I open the door to find Mona Davenport looking eight kinds of nervous on the other side.
I haven’t seen Mona, who used to work as my full-time assistant, since she failed to show up on a Monday morning two years ago. Then she ghosted me for weeks before a client spilled the beans that Mona had taken a job as a manager at Dogapalooza.
“Hi, Mona,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was just heading out.” She should realize that’s a lie since I’m standing barefoot in a tank top and athletic shorts with dogs nosing into the backs of my knees.
“I need your help,” she replies urgently. “I’ve been calling, but it goes straight to voicemail.”
“Because I blocked you.”
She doesn’t react other than a conciliatory nod. “Okay, but there’s a situation at the ken…canine experience factory.”
I can’t help but snort. “What in the world is a canine experience factory?”
“That’s what the corporate marketing materials instruct us to call the facility,” she explains. “It offers a friendlier tone than a kennel or doggy daycare.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re running a doggy daycare.”
“It’s going to be a doggy disaster if you don’t help me,” she continues, her tone desperate. “A fight broke out when one of the reactive dogs got into the big playroom. There’s an injured animal in the corner, but I can’t get to her because the other dogs are so freaked out. Several of them lunged at me when I tried to enter the room.”
“How many are in the room?”
She grimaces. “Around forty.”
“Are you joking?” I’m truly shocked at that number. What are they thinking?
“It’s a busy week, and we’re under strict instructions not to turn away customers.”
“At what cost?” I demand, then continue before she can answer. “Tell me you didn’t leave the dogs unsupervised to come over here.”
“There’s another canine experience facilitator with them.”
“Stop using the corporate marketing speak. You sound ridiculous.”
“You have to help me, Sadie.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Mona. Don’t forget that I hired and trained you when no one else would because of your police record. I let you set your own hours while you cared for your dying mother. And a week after her funeral, you ditched me for the competition.”
Mona’s forehead puckers at my rebuke, like she’s shocked I have the nerve to call her out on how she deserted me without a sliver of explanation or apology.
With a start, I realize there’s a reason I expect people to leave me. So many people I’ve cared about or depended on already have.
She glances at her watch and then lifts her hands in prayer. “Please, Sadie. I need these dogs under control before their owners pick them up. We’ve had two incidents already this quarter.”
“What kind of incidents?” A sense of foreboding presses at my gut, making my stomach tighten.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” Mona insists. “We’ve managed to keep them under wraps, but if this gets out, it could be…”
Terrible for Dogapalooza and a boon to my business.
Dog trainers don’t take an oath like doctors with the old “first, do no harm” rule. But the good ones, the trainers I studied at the start of my business and who I like to think I honor in the way I care for dogs, put an animal’s health and well-being first. As much as I’d like to slam the door in her face, I can’t ignore an entire facility full of agitated animals.
I kennel my dogs, then follow her to the Dogapalooza building. It takes nearly two hours to defuse the situation, and somehow, Mona convinces me to sneak out the back door when the first owners come to claim their pets for the day.
For all of Sally’s words of wisdom about claiming my own power, I realize the practice of being the hero of my own story is easier said than done.
By the time I get home, I’m irritated with myself and the rest of the world because it’s easier to blame stuff outside of me than take responsibility for being treated like a doormat for most of my life.
As I wait for the garage door to open, my gaze tracks to Ian’s house. Since he convinced Felix to return the rented sports car shortly after arriving in Skylark, Ian had to drop his brother off at the Denver airport today. He should be back by now, but the house seems too quiet to have somebody inside. Not that he’s going to be hosting a rager just because his daughter is at a sleepover with Sally and Trina.
I secretly hoped he might ask me on a real date, something more official than a barefoot booty call, but I haven’t heard from him. I know I’m being ridiculous to think that one night together had the power to change our arrangement. He doesn’t owe me anything—not until we start our weekend charade.
I told myself that losing it before the wedding would make the weekend easier. Nobody will look at me and think, “definitely a virgin.” Although I don’t have any reason to believe people were looking at me like that in the first place. Who would think a single woman in her thirties would be so inexperienced?
And thanks to Ian, I’m not anymore.
After the last daycare dog leaves, I take Max for a walk around the neighborhood. We go slow because that’s his speed these days. I try not to think about the fact that, like everyone else I love, Max is going to leave me, too.
I need to put these morbid musings aside and slap on a happy face for the weekend. I’m glad Piper is happy, and I want her to see that I am, too. Because damn it, I am.
Well, I will be, anyway.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, and my identity won’t be either. I’m not giving up on any of it, even the fairy tale.