Chapter Eleven
Eleven
THE FIRST ORDER of cruise wedding business was a welcome gathering at noon on the sports deck up top before we even left port—a mini-golf tournament for the wedding guests with a buffet lunch afterward.
Ashley put me on Finn’s team, so even though I hadn’t seen him yet, it was only a short matter of time.
I checked my watch. We had exactly one hour to get ready, and I’d need the whole thing.
“Can I change in your bathroom?” I asked Cooper as I unzipped my suitcase.
“You’re changing for mini golf?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, standing back up and holding out a tiny hot-pink cocktail dress for him to see.
“That’s what you’re wearing? To mini golf?”
“It’s Ashley’s,” I said, like that explained everything.
“I’ve never seen you in a dress like that,” Cooper said.
“That’s the point. This is phase one of the plan.” Then, quoting from Ashley’s notes: “Change your image.”
Cooper eyed the dress again. “It’ll certainly be a change.”
“This is designer, thank you,” I said.
“It looks like you stole it from Baby Gap.”
But I just stepped into the bathroom, deliberately unperturbed—leaving the door cracked as I peeled off my T-shirt and stepped out of my miniskirt shorts.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I went on as I pulled on the dress.
“You’re thinking it’s totally asinine to wear this.
You’re thinking everyone else will be in sneakers and golf shirts.
This isn’t cocktail hour, you’re thinking.
But mock me all you want. I know what I’m doing, and I know why I’m doing it. ”
I wriggled the dress up into place and hooked the arms over my shoulders.
Sleeveless, of all things. And snug, for sure—so snug I had to take off my bra because even just millimeters of padding were a deal-breaker.
It was also the shortest dress I’d ever attempted to wear in public.
But it was Ashley-approved. In fact, this whole plan was.
And so, as strange and ridiculous and naked as I might feel, this was happening.
I reached back to work the zipper but only managed to clear my underwear elastic before it got stuck.
“Hey, Cooper,” I said, stepping back out into the room. “Can you zip—”
But there, just feet away, was a sight that stopped me short.
Cooper’s naked torso.
Specifically: Cooper—now changed into a pair of gray dress pants … and in the process of putting on a crisp white oxford shirt.
I say “in the process of” because he was midway through sliding both of his arms into the sleeves.
It’s hard to capture the visual, exactly.
But he’d flung his shirt up and raised his arms like a great blue heron stretching its wings so the sleeves could slide down over them—and I arrived just at the apex of all this and got a sight of Cooper’s fully exposed, remarkably naked torso.
Which was absolutely, utterly …
Like a flashbulb going off in my face.
“What the hell?” I heard myself say as I spun around.
I closed my eyes, too, for good measure.
Then I demanded, “What are you doing?”
Cooper was less flummoxed. “I’m getting dressed.”
“But why don’t you have a shirt on?”
“Because I’m getting dressed.”
I took a second to steady myself.
“Did you need something?” Cooper asked.
Did I? I couldn’t remember.
Then I nodded for a second before finding the words: “I need…” I said, “for you to zip me up. I’m stuck.”
I stayed facing away, but I felt Cooper walk up behind me.
This seemed like a good moment for a scolding. “You can’t just go around taking off your clothes like that, Cooper.”
“You took off your clothes.”
“In the bathroom. Like a decent person.”
But that’s when Cooper put his hands on my hips to assess the zipper problem.
“Where’d your bra go?” he asked, and I got a flash of what he must be seeing: a long, narrow, unzipped V tracing the naked length of my spine.
What was the question again?
“There’s no room for it,” I answered. “I am squeezed into this dress like a sausage in its casing.”
“Don’t say that to anybody else.”
Then I felt Cooper take ahold of the zipper pull and start trying to work it up. Which took a minute. “You have bad luck with zippers,” he said as he tugged.
“Bad zipper karma,” I agreed.
I had just put my hair up in a bun, and so my neck was totally exposed to the brush and tickle of every breath he took.
Which somehow felt like something I should put a stop to.
Right? This was Cooper!
But I didn’t.
“Is it possible this dress is too tight?” Cooper asked after a while.
“It’s a full size smaller than the smallest size I ever wear,” I confirmed.
“But you want me to zip it, anyway?”
“I do.”
“It’s really pretty snug,” Cooper said doubtfully.
“Just think of it like a corset.”
A funny pause, then: “You don’t want me to do that.”
Before I had time to process whatever energy that was, Cooper launched a new zipper strategy, and his hands started moving everywhere—waist, rib cage, hips—pressing and tugging as he tried to pull the two zipper sides close enough to slide them together.
Finally, I guess he decided to go down to go up.
He pulled the zipper south a few inches. But then he paused.
“What?” I prompted.
“Are you wearing cotton underpants?” he asked. “With unicorns on them?”
I glanced back. “Aren’t you?”
And then we settled right back into our usual dynamic as Cooper said, “I’m so tempted to give you a wedgie right now.”
I swatted at him. “Don’t. For real.”
He yanked up. His new strategy worked: the zipper gave in, and the pull slid up in a satisfying swoosh.
Perfect.
Success!
As long as I didn’t bend. Or sit. Or breathe.
I turned around to face Cooper triumphantly, like ta-da!
I think—though we may never know for sure—that his eyes widened at the sight of me. In a good way. Like I was surprisingly nice to look at.
I wanted to give him a high five, but I was afraid to reach up that far.
Next, Cooper said, “That’s the shortest dress I’ve ever seen. It looks like you forgot your pants.”
I ignored him and pointed at the high heels resting on my suitcase. “Can you hand me my shoes?”
“Those?” Cooper said, sounding doubtful.
“What?”
“You can’t walk in heels.”
“I can now,” I said.
Cooper didn’t buy it. “Did you get new feet?”
I flared my nostrils. “I’ve been practicing for a solid week.”
Cooper set the shoes down in front of me, and I held on to his shoulders for balance as I worked my feet into them.
“Yes, they hurt like hell,” I said, answering his unspoken question.
“But guess what? There’s an inverse relationship between how excruciating your heels are and how effective they are. That’s just math.”
Cooper looked like he was stifling a smile.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said. “You’re thinking I’m ridiculous.”
But Cooper shook his head. “I’m not thinking that.”
“You’re not?”
Cooper and I both turned to check out my whole look in the door mirror.
“I get it,” Cooper said, taking in the sight of me. “You need to look different today. You need to show everybody that you’ve grown up. You need to shock them into seeing something other than the kid who got chased by a schnauzer on the Vargases’ driveway.”
Well, that was surprisingly accurate. “I’d forgotten about the schnauzer.”
My shoe felt weird. Did I have a pebble in it already? I turned back and grabbed Cooper’s shoulder so I could pull it off.
“Another pebble?” Cooper asked.
“It’s fine.”
Cooper went on. “You were always—no offense—kind of a classically overlooked middle child. Ashley was always out there achieving and being perfect, and Pete was always in trouble for setting off fireworks. You flew under everybody’s radar. I always wondered if you felt invisible.”
What a question. I felt a funny pressure on my chest.
“You weren’t invisible to me, by the way,” Cooper added. “Just so you know.”
I took a long breath.
Cooper went on. “So, I get it. People see what they expect to see, and Finn probably expects to see that same seventh grader who used to draw hearts on the dirty windows of his Pathfinder. But you’re not that kid anymore.
If he met you in a bar now, he’d ask for your number.
And he’d be lucky to get it. He might not know that yet, but you do. ”
Why did it feel so good to hear all that?
Cooper kept going. “You need to make him see you differently. You need to make it clear that you are someone he’d be crazy not to fall in love with. And you’ve only got eight days.”
“That’s exactly what I was about to explain to you,” I said, feeling something like awe. “Except you just said it way better.”
“I get it,” Cooper said. “I genuinely do.”
Then, while I was appreciating him, Cooper turned to grab what looked like a suit jacket lying on the foot of the bed. But guess what? It was a suit jacket with a vest.
“Not another vest,” I said.
Cooper shrugged. “It came with the suit.”
He slid it on—using his same blue heron moves.
“That’s just mean,” I said.
“Wait till I add the tie.”
I watched him pop his collar, settle a pale blue tie around his neck, and start tying a half-Windsor. I was so mesmerized by the vest, and the tie, and his words, that I didn’t even notice it wasn’t mini-golf wear until he slid the suit jacket on.
“Hold on!” I said then. “What are you doing?”
“Putting on the jacket,” Cooper answered.
“But—are you wearing a full suit to play mini golf?”
Cooper nodded. “Of course I am.”
“But why?”
“Because you’re wearing that dress. And it’s our whole childhood street up there. And they’re going to tease the hell out of you. A lot. So much. And I just…”
Cooper lifted his gaze to meet mine, and now I found myself wondering the same thing my mother had: Were those eyes always that blue?
I didn’t ask.
I just let him go on and say, “I just don’t want you to have to do this alone.”