Chapter Twelve
Juniper
Aidan drives me to a bridal store near Limerick, where the seductive voice of Michael Bublé croons through the speakers. A cluster of young women sit on an ornate ivory couch in the back, waiting while their friend slips into a gown in the dressing room. That will be Cara soon—she has work, but then she and her mom plan to join us here for her final fitting.
In the meantime, I’m on a mission.
Most of the store’s real estate is taken up by crisp white dresses, but a sizable corner houses a plethora of bridesmaid options in every color of the rainbow, with enough pinkish, reddish ones to make me dizzy. Woodland berry, to be precise. Cara and Yasmine didn’t pull out swatches, but they requested a dress, any dress, within that scheme of rich purplish red. With the wedding happening only six days from now, they crossed their fingers and sent me on my way to find something to wear.
I could have said no. I should have said no to the title of maid of honor. But she looked at me with such anticipation that a yes slipped from my lips without me realizing I’d opened my mouth.
This could be a whole lot of worry for nothing, but I won’t know for sure until I take another DNA test. Lis was right—I just need to get this done. But I can’t drive myself, and I also can’t ask Aidan for a ride. Somehow, I have to handle this discreetly.
I really hope this dress is returnable.
Aidan pulls a strapless gown off of a rack stuffed with fashionable chiffon creations. “How’s this?”
“Will there be dancing?”
“Absolutely.”
“No, then. That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
I resume my search, but Aidan doesn’t appear to understand my distaste. He examines the dress closer, looking for what he missed.
“Boobs, Aidan.”
“Ah. Fair enough. Not strapless then.”
Seeing Aidan on that stage last night, commanding a crowd, allowed me to witness a different side to him. He was quietly self-assured, yet still the same person as the blushing man holding back a smile across from me. The more time I spend with Aidan, the more he surprises me.
We flick through the racks, our backs to each other. My fingers brush against intricate lace, meticulous beadwork, and silky satins as I rifle through the rows of outfits. I pick up every single woodland-berry-colored bridesmaid dress in my size, and a dutiful attendant named Diane places them one by one in a dressing room.
Aidan makes himself comfortable in the plush armchair at the center of the floor while I step into the fitting room. I go through the tedious process of unlacing my boots and stripping down to my underwear. With a zillion dresses to try in my little woodland-berry haven, I reach toward the metal dowel on the wall, eyes closed, and allow fate to pick the first one.
“How’s it going in there?”
“Umm…” This dress fits me, and I can zip myself up since the back of the dress makes a low U-shape. Shoulder pads tower like mountains on either side of me, though. “I doubt this one will work.”
“Does it fit?”
“Sure.”
“Let me see then. We’re not in the position to be choosy.”
I open the door and step out in a flourish, arms spread wide to show off the outfit. No one needs to tell me I look ridiculous, so I might as well own it. Still, Aidan doesn’t hold back—he roars with laughter, doubling over in his seat.
“Christ, those are some shoulder pads.”
“Molly Ringwald can eat her heart out.” I give him a playful twirl. “This is a definite no.”
“You’d need a plus-two for the wedding.”
I giggle as I poof up the sleeves so they stand higher. “Here, take a pic. Cara will get a kick out of this.”
Since picking one without thinking didn’t work out well, I peruse my outfit options and select something that has a minimalist style and zero sleeve action. The simple slip dress slinks right over my shoulders like warm butter and hits mid-shin.
“How’s this?” I ask, modeling the outfit as I exit the dressing room.
Aidan looks me up and down and then exhales.
“That bad?” I ask.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It’s…” He tilts his head side to side. “It’s a little boring, is all.”
“Anything compared to the last one will be boring. Plain isn’t bad. The day is all about Cara anyway.”
“Do you like this one? That’s what matters. If you do, then grand, but I pictured you in something with more personality.”
He pictured me in something? I almost ask him what exactly he pictured, but no. Flirty banter is not the goal here.
I march back into the dressing room since his admission threatens to put a cheeky smirk across my face. How does Aidan do this to me? When we showed up at the bridal store, I dreaded choosing a dress, seeing as I might be a fraud of a maid of honor. Now I’m tempted to put each of these dresses on, one by one, if that means I’ll get his eyes on me.
In the next gown, I fumble around my back for the zipper with no luck. When I peek my head out the door, Diane has vanished. Without prompting, Aidan seems to know what I need. He rises and, with a turn, I clutch the front of the fabric in tight fists.
“Thanks,” I say, all breathy and weird.
“’Course.”
His warm exhalations on my neck send goosebumps down my arms, and I shiver.
“Hold on. I can’t get the zipper to close all the way.” He fiddles with the closure, his knuckles pressing into my skin.
“Maybe zip down a bit and then yank it up?”
“I don’t think this is the kind of dress one yanks.” Aidan gently works the slider up, and I become intoxicated by his touch, wishing his hands would explore other places. “There,” he says and pats my waist, which sends a tingling up into my chest and down between my legs.
Relax, girl.
I scurry over to the mirror to check myself out. With an approving pout, I nod and twirl around to examine myself from all angles. This spaghetti strap dress hugs me in all the right places. The satin material sways with every move. The sweetheart top accentuates my chest without coming off too risqué, and a surprise thigh-high slit adds some sultriness.
“I like it,” I say to my reflection.
Aidan stands behind me, not speaking, with his hands in his pockets.
“What? Too much?” Self-conscious, I survey the mirror once more. The dress channels old Hollywood glam, but maybe that’s the problem. “Does this not fit with the vision or theme? Would one of the shorter dresses work better?”
Aidan works his searing gaze down my body and back up again. He examines me for one, two, three seconds, and I get another chill. “It’s…no, it’s a fine dress,” he says.
“You don’t like it.”
“No, I do. I mean, you look perfect. The dress is perfect.”
“Perfect? Well. Thank you.” I rotate one last time in front of the mirror and agree. This one fits like someone sewed it specifically for me. “Great. That’s one item we can cross off the list.”
“What about the others?”
“I’ve got a good thing here. No need to try on a hundred more red dresses to figure out that this is the one for me.”
“Woodland berry,” Aidan corrects, and I exhale with a slight laugh.
Before I return to the fitting room, I hesitate. “Um, would you unzip me?”
Biting my lips, I remind myself that I’m not enjoying this, not at all. Not even as the hairs on my arms stand on end.
As he undoes the hook and eye at the top, the front door dings and snaps me out of my daydreams. A familiar voice fills the shop. “June, you look gorgeous .” Cara walks in while ogling me in the dress, slack-jawed. “Wow, Babetown, population: you.”
“Is it too fancy?” I ask her, second-guessing my choice now that she’s seeing the outfit herself. “Because I have every one of the store’s woodland berry dresses in that changing room.”
Cara loves what I chose, though, and she helps unzip me, which I am not disappointed about in the least. With the dress selected, I get to the much easier part of the afternoon: relaxing while Cara tries on her wedding gown.
“Is Evvie coming?” I ask Cara as I step out of the fitting room.
“She’s on her way,” Cara replies. She clenches her fists, giving off a frazzled energy that I’ve never seen from her before. “And guess who’s with her?” She looks at Aidan, whose eyes go wide.
“Really?”
“Mam has been saying all week that she wouldn’t show, but she’s here.”
“That’s good. Right?”
“Mm. I want her at the wedding, I do.” Cara nods her head, but her focus floats somewhere far away. “This’ll give her more time to warm up to this weekend.”
I’m about to ask who they’re talking about when the front door chimes again. Cara’s expression switches in a snap from worried to happy, happy, happy .
“Hi Mam! Hi Granny. I’m thrilled you’re here.”
“Ma’am. Ma’am.” Granny waves at Diane. “Can you bring out some nibbles or refreshments?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t allow food. There is a small supermarket next door, if you’d like something to drink. They’ve a nice selection of champagne.”
Cara’s petite grandmother can’t hide her disappointment and dismisses Diane with an annoyed “Oh, never mind.” Aidan volunteers to run into the store to grab some sparkling wine. Although Granny doesn’t seem to notice, Cara mouths a thank you to him on his way out.
“Not even biscuits?”
“Gran, we’re in a bridal shop, not a restaurant.”
“Still, you’d think they’d have those small personal touches that make this less of a wedding factory. After all, this is my youngest granddaughter getting married. I want everything to feel special.”
“Aw, Gran.” Cara’s eyes shimmer. “Thank you.”
“Mammy, I’m pleased you came.” Evvie drapes herself over her mother in a heartfelt hug.
“Stop fussing,” Granny says. She notices me as if for the first time and does a poorly disguised up-and-down assessment. “Who’re you?”
“I’m June.”
“Who?”
“Granny, this is my half sister, Juniper.”
“Oh.” Granny lowers her voice, although not low enough we all can’t hear, and mumbles to Evvie, “Unusual name.”
I uncross and recross my legs, unsure what to do under her watchful eye. Considering what Cara and Yasmine have already told me about Granny, I struggle not to judge her in silence. Her treating me like I’m a reptile in a tank at the zoo doesn’t help.
“Mammy.” Evvie gives her a warning look and changes the subject to the dress, the alterations, and how Cara’s sure to look incredible.
As the tailor gets Cara set up in one of the dressing rooms, Aidan returns with a chilled bottle of prosecco, napkins, and disposable cups. Cara’s granny sips, smacks her lips, and announces that she would have gone with something drier, like a cava.
“You didn’t have too much trouble finding something for you, love?” Evvie asks me.
I scroll through the photos Aidan took of me in the gorgeous slinky dress and show the best one to Evvie. For kicks, I also share the glorious ’80s pouf that was a solid backup choice.
“Even in this dress, you’re a star,” Evvie laughs.
“The photographer had a lot to do with that,” I say, turning to Aidan.
“It’s all the sleeves.”
I take my phone back from Evvie and smile at the image of myself. The lighting’s awful and the gown is questionable, but I could still be mistaken for a retro-glam prom queen. “Have you ever thought of selling your photos?” I ask him.
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Evvie says. “You’re out with your camera all the time.”
“Pretty sure I need people to want to buy them first.” He sighs and sinks into his seat.
“No, you need to sell them,” I reply.
“To who?”
I turn to him and rest my head in my palm. “The site I write for works with a few freelance photographers, but those people don’t sit around and wait for work. They’re constantly pitching, sending in ideas, or updating their portfolios. You could put prints on your website.”
“I don’t have a site.”
“Then do Instagram.”
Crickets.
Rather than interrogate him, I offer some encouragement in the form of a real-life example. “I did this write-up once, a profile piece on the city’s first pet-maternity photographer. Nobody needs twenty photos of their pregnant golden retriever, but if she has a business out of doing that, then you would have no trouble finding people interested in your stuff.”
The scenery around here is breathtaking. Our drive to the bridal shop took us past a picturesque countryside full of petite farmhouses and rolling fields. The landscape is every photographer’s dream.
“I’m not up with the trends, I guess,” he says. “Besides, I’ve other things right now.”
Other things, like the bar? I want to encourage him to reconsider, because I remember the photos he showed me the day we met. They were good. Really good. He should be working for magazines like National Geographic , and anyone can see that’s where his heart is. But Aidan’s crossed arms tell me he doesn’t want to talk about it much further.
“Unless there’s an enormous demand for maid of honor photos at bridal shops,” he goes on, “I doubt there’s any business in it.”
“Maid of honor!” Granny whisper-yells to Evvie. “Ev, dear, is that the best idea?”
“Of course. It’s what Cara asked for. June is Cara’s half sister, so she should stand at the wedding.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, not yet able to let that title stick to me.
“Everyone will know , though.”
“Mammy.” Evvie’s ordinary amiable disposition cracks, and she sighs. “They already know I raised Cara alone and that Roger came along later. All the folks in town saw. That Cara’s da had another child won’t shock a soul.” The brusqueness in her tone makes this sound like a conversation they’ve had before, many times over.
“I know,” Granny huffs. “I only wish you’d be more—”
Before she can finish her sentence, Cara emerges from the fitting room. I gasp while her mother presses her hands to her own chest with a squeal, and I almost don’t notice the sly way that Aidan—with the biggest smile on his face—pulls out his phone for a shot.
I saw photos of Cara in her dress, but with all the tailoring complete, she looks ethereal. The bodice features exquisite handiwork, and the flared sleeves are an unexpected addition I love. A column of dainty buttons runs up the back, and the skirt flares out and glides on the floor behind her. She is a goddess in ivory.
“You look amazing,” I say, and everyone agrees. Even Granny grabs a tissue before kissing her granddaughter on both cheeks.
After a couple of spins, Diane shows us how to bustle the train in three swift moves. She makes the process seem as easy as tying shoes. “You’d be wise to have someone here unfasten the buttons now so they can get familiar with them,” the tailor tells Cara.
The bride-to-be waves me into the fitting room, and after a few solid run-throughs with the bustle, I help her undress. I’m glad to have some practice with the back of her outfit in advance, because these buttons are slippery suckers that take some getting used to.
“How’s everything going out there?” Cara whispers over her shoulder. “Granny can be difficult.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“You’re a miserable liar,” she says with a low giggle.
My face burns at the accusation, even though she said it in jest. Maybe I should just tell her about the call from the lab. But I wouldn’t be here helping her bustle this gorgeous gown if I did that, would I? And I’d only stress her out.
“But I appreciate you.” Cara grips the bodice of her dress close to her chest, turns, and leans closer to me. “She can be a pain, I know. But she’s here, so she is trying. Gran’s on her own journey of acceptance, and I have to accept that.”
“She’d be crazy not to share this day with her granddaughter.”
“Just embrace constant positivity with her. That’s what my mam says. She’s old and set in her ways, so when she’s negative, ignore it and be positive, and everything will be fine. Absolutely fine.”
I can’t tell if Cara is pep-talking me or herself.
“Sure, I can do that. Don’t worry. By the time cocktails are flowing at the wedding, your biggest concern will be fighting for space on the dance floor.”
Cara laughs some more and pulls me in for a firm hug. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re my maid of honor. I wouldn’t want to get married without you.”
Wouldn’t want to get married without you. I soften at the words and squeeze her back.
While Cara changes into her regular clothes, we wait in the lobby. Granny totters around while examining the enlarged wedding photos on the wall. She shakes her head at one, moves along to the next, and then shakes her head side to side again.
“But what will she wear?” Granny says to no one in particular, but still loud enough that everyone can hear.
“The dress, Mammy,” Cara’s mom replies.
“Not Cara ,” she says, almost cutting Evvie off. “Yasmine.”
“I’m not sure, Mammy, I haven’t seen, but I’ve no doubt she has her own wonderful outfit.”
“But…” Granny pauses. “Two white dresses? She can’t wear a tuxedo, can she?”
Positivity.
“She’s wearing a gorgeous jumpsuit.” I hop into the conversation while making sure Cara isn’t in earshot—I don’t want to ruin the wedding day surprise for her. “She looks like royalty. They’re going to make the most memorable couple.”
“They will,” Aidan agrees, and I let out a breath of relief knowing he has my back. “Two breathtaking brides.”
Granny chews on this. She mutters an “Oh,” and continues staring at the other framed photographs.
A different attendant slides behind the checkout counter and rings up the total for the tailoring, my dress, and the strappy heeled sandals that Diane strong-armed me into getting. They looked amazing, so I had to.
Evvie refuses to let me pay, nudging my credit card away. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m fine paying for my own clothes.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Oh…” I hesitate before putting my card back in my wallet, touched by her generosity. “That’s nice of you. Thanks.”
“Of course, love.” She grabs my chin between her thumb and forefinger and looks me right in the eye. “I’m glad you’re here with us and part of this day,” she whispers, and my heart nearly bursts.