Chapter 13
BILLIE
Adam was my groom? This has to be some sort of sick fucking joke. How was this my life?
I already had hives on my chest. Now what?
Were they going to spread up on my arms, hands, neck, and face?
We had sort of disguised them with makeup, which was possible on my chest since the redness could be camouflaged and the inflammation wouldn’t be as noticeable, but if they showed up on my arms, hands, neck, and face, that was going to be impossible.
“Are you okay?” Birdie instantly sensed my shift in mood as she helped me into my next dress in the fitting room. My baby sister was highly attuned to energy, and she was also an empath.
“I’m fine.” My tone was short and clipped, but thankfully, that was very on brand for me, typically, so it shouldn’t raise too many alarm bells.
“I know you hate this, but at least now you’re not doing it alone. Adam’s here, it’ll be just like when we all used to play dress up." Birdie was a half-glass full person. She always saw the best in people, chose to see the bright side of every situation, and never dwelled on the negative.
If the world were filled with Birdies there would be no war, no famine, no problems. Everyone would help each other, give each other anything anyone needed, and be in good moods all the time.
She was the purest, best soul in the entire world, but right now, I wanted her to get the fuck out of the fitting room so I could have a mini breakdown.
Although, I had to admit, despite the urgency growing in my core to self-destruct, a grin lifted on my face at the memory of Adam’s many adventures in cosplay. He was such a good sport, he’d been a prince countless times. A dragon, pirate, cowboy whatever the girls wanted him to dress up as.
“We didn’t play dress up.” I didn’t, I hated putting on clothes and pretending to be other people. It made me feel like an imposter, even as a kid.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I never dressed up.”
“Oh right.” She shook her head and laughed a little as she buttoned up the back of the dress.
“I forgot, you hated that. Isn’t it funny how memories work?
Your brain just sort of fills in the blanks.
But you’re right, you didn’t. You would just what…
read or worked on your homework and Adam would dress up with us and create all those worlds.
Oh, and remember those scavenger hunts and obstacle courses he’d build for us? ”
“Yeah, I do.”
He had the best imagination. I never had that.
I was always the realist. If there was an empty cardboard box, he saw a car, a puppet theater, a castle, a robot, a rocket ship, a boat, a plane.
I saw, wait for it, a cardboard box. He was funny, too, he could keep the girls entertained for hours doing impressions or making up word association games, so they were never bored.
And he had the patience of a saint, he never got irritated with them, no matter how annoying they were.
Which is why it surprised me he wasn’t a dad before now and also why I knew he’d be a great one even though the news of the girls had been sprung on him.
“Okay, all buttoned up.” Birdie straightened, and her head bobbed up from behind my shoulder. “Wow. Every dress you put on is just…wow.”
The dress was a satin A-line off the shoulder with capped sleeves, fitted bodice, with a deep V illusion neckline. It did look… nice.
“It’s your designs,” I told her.
“No, it’s you.” She shook her head and squeezed my upper arms. “I’m so happy you’re doing this since you’re never actually going to get married.”
Yeah, there was that. Except today, right now, as soon as I stepped out of those doors, I was going to a church to walk down the aisle to a man, to the only man, I’d ever pictured walking down the aisle to.
I was doing my best not to have a full-blown panic attack.
Birdie studied my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, yeah, let’s just get this done.”
“At least this is the last dress. You got through the others so fast. It’s too bad you hate modeling. You actually are a natural.”
“I think Zion was just saying that to be encouraging and to get the shoot over with.”
Birdie let out a huff of laughter. “Zion Ash might be a lot of things, charming, hot, fabulous, funny, hilarious, well-traveled, hot—”
“You already said hot, do you have a crush on the photographer?” I whispered.
“He’s gay,” Birdie pointed out the obvious.
“Clearly, but do you have a crush on him?”
“He’s so hot.”
I couldn’t help but laugh with joy. My little sister had never shown interest in anyone but Dylan “The Douche” Hart. It made my heart so happy that at least I knew she could find someone else attractive and Dylan hadn’t brainwashed her or something.
“Are you sure he’s not bi?” I questioned.
“Billie.” Birdie’s tone was clearly a warning.
“I’m just saying.” I held up my hands in surrender.
“Anyway, he would never lie about his work. His photography is everything to him. If you weren’t any good, I don’t think he’d be cruel about it, but he’d definitely let me know we couldn’t use the shots.
As it is, he doesn’t know how the editors are going to pick which ones because we have so many amazing shots.
He literally told me, “You can’t take a bad shot. ”
“Stop.” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m serious. It’s not just because you’re pretty, he said it’s because of the symmetry of your face. The camera loves it.”
I’d always hated photos of myself. But when I thought about it, I started hating them around the age of ten, which was when everyone started telling me how much I looked like my mother. From then on, every time I saw a photo of myself, I saw her, and it just…hurt.
“But you’re almost done. And this is the showstopper. It’s the crown jewel of my collection. So, I’m glad we can use the church for it.”
“I am too.” I meant that. I knew the shoot would be better with the groom and the flower girls, ring bearers, junior ushers, or whatever they were, in the church. I just had to suck it up.
Outside the fitting room I heard Zion talking to Adam and the girls about heading down to the church together. For some reason I didn’t want to walk with them.
“Ready?” Birdie was about to step out.
“Actually, I need to make a call. I’ll meet you guys down there.”
“I can wait for you,” she offered.
“It’s two doors down, Birdie, I’m fine.”
She hesitated, worry etching the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“It’s not actually my wedding day. I’m not going to be a runaway bride.”
“Right.” She shook her head and laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you down there.”
She left and I heard her speaking to the group, telling them that I would meet them there in a few minutes. Bailey, of course, asked if everything was okay. Birdie told her I needed to make a phone call.
I listened, waiting to hear the voices receding.
When I was alone, I placed my hand on my stomach and took a breath as I stared at my reflection.
I was wearing a wedding dress, one my sister made in my grandmother’s shop, and I was about to walk down the aisle to the only man I’d ever loved.
And his twin daughters were the flower girls.
Talk about a mind fuck. I felt like I was living in a Black Mirror episode of my life. None of any of this made sense. I just needed to get my shit together.
Nothing ever got to me, bothered me, or affected me. I was the rock. I always had my shit together. Today was not going to be the day I lost it.
Logic. This was a photo shoot for my sister’s clothing brand that will help boost the bottom line for the shop. Period. End of story. Absolutely zero emotions were allowed to be attached to the next couple of hours.
I’d learned at an early age to turn off my emotions, much like faucets. I’d even visualize them. I lost my mom. A year later my dad dropped us off with our grandparents and moved to New York. We would go and visit him for a few weeks every summer and sometimes we’d get to see him over the holidays.
My grandparents had zero interest in raising three little girls.
They didn’t care if we went to school, what grades we received, when we went to bed, or who we hung around with.
They had one child, our father, who I don’t think was planned, and once he was raised, they thought they were done.
My grandmother loved her business and spent ten hours a day there.
My grandfather was in finance and spent even more time at his job.
They both worked hard every day until the day they died.
They loved us, fed us, and clothed us, but we were on our own, which meant I had to step in. I had feelings about that.
As a kid, I had a lot of emotions attached to those events. When I would feel those emotions taking over, I would pretend that they were running out of a faucet in my head, and I would turn the faucet off. It took years, but I did master it.
I hadn’t used that particular skill since Adam left twenty years ago, but I was drawing on it now. I closed my eyes and took every emotion I was feeling, pictured it as water running out of a tap, and turned it off.
Once I felt my heart rate begin to slow, I took a deep breath and walked out, half expecting Adam to be on the other side of the door, waiting for me. Thankfully, he was not. The back of the shop was empty.
I glanced around and was bombarded with memories from my childhood, recalling when Adam would help in the shop.
Him talking with Helga, the seamstress, for hours on end, me watching him bring in the boxes when we’d get deliveries, him sweeping up for my grandma, him hanging display racks and carrying inventory up the stairs.
He was lanky, but he had muscles. He always wore his hat backwards. I was so in love with him.
I hadn’t thought about him in this shop in years. Twenty years.
I’d put all of that in a box, locked it up, and thrown away the key. I had to. What choice did he give me? But now, it was all flooding back. I didn’t have time for a walk down memory lane. I needed to get my head in the game and get this over with.
I walked outside. It was a beautiful spring day in San Francisco.
As I made my way down to the church, a gnawing sensation crept up my neck and in my gut.
I had the strangest feeling that someone was watching me.
I glanced over my shoulder, but no one was there.
I tried to ignore it, telling myself I was being silly, but it was so strong that it actually made me walk faster.
I felt like I was starring in a horror movie, and there was someone behind me, and the audience was screaming at me to run.
I rushed in, power walking through the back door and saw Bailey and Clarissa, the makeup and hair person.
“Hey!” my sister greeted me, smiling widely.
Once I was inside, safely with people, I felt silly. Typically, I wasn’t a paranoid person, but this whole letter business was really fucking with my head.
“Hi.” I concentrated on regulating my breathing so no one could tell I’d just speed walked in my wedding dress and five-inch heels.
Clarissa began doing her touchups.
“Are you mad?” Bailey cringed.
Yes.
“No.” I really didn’t want to discuss this around Clarissa.
“Are you sure?” My sister’s forehead creased. “You seem mad.”
“I’m fine.”
“I just wanted to make the shoot the best for Birdie,” she pleaded her case. “It will be a lot better with a bride and groom.”
“I know.” I didn’t want my sister to stress. It was a good idea to have a groom, and my issues were my issues. “I just hate taking pictures, and you know I hate group photos even more.”
“Oh.” Bailey exhaled with genuine relief. “Okay.”
It was true. I wasn’t lying, and she knew that. I didn’t like any photos, but any photos that I was in where other people were relying on me to look good caused me additional stress.
“The pictures look incredible,” Clairissa said before closing her eyes, indicating I needed to do the same.
Once Clarissa finished and gave Bailey the nod, I asked, “What do I have to do? I just want to get this done.”
Bailey’s lips rolled inward as she inhaled through her nose.
I knew that lip-roll/inhale combo. I wasn’t going to like this.
She cracked open the door to the sanctuary and waved, giving someone a signal, then closed it again and handed me a bouquet that was sitting on a side table.
“You need to walk down the aisle. Zion finished shooting the kids, and Birdie is taking them back to the shop to get a snack.”
Dang, how long had I taken back at the shop? I thought it had only been a few minutes, but it had to have been closer to thirty.
I heard music start playing. It wasn’t just any music. It was the song. Our song. It wasn’t the Billy Joel version, though, it was Adele’s version of “Make You Feel My Love.” This has to be a fever dream. This can’t be real.
Was I actually having a nervous breakdown?
“There’s music? Why is there music?” I asked.
She smiled an “I’m sorry” smile. “Zion likes to set a mood.”
“Whose playlist is this?”
“Zion’s why?” Her brow furrowed.
FML, that’s why.