47 | Yes To The Dress
Yes To The Dress
niall
CONVINCING JJ TO come along with us to Dundrum was easy.
All I had to do was lie.
It’s a skill I’m surprisingly adept at, a necessary evil when you’re trying to manipulate your childhood best friend and sister into a truce they’re both too stubborn to initiate on their own.
I already had him in the passenger seat of my car (with the doors locked, just in case) when the girls’ were almost here.
I just let them in the back and ignored his panicked glare as the five of them (Molly, Claire, Niamh, Marissa and Chloe) all squeezed into the tiny backseat of my Escort, packing in on top of each other like a litter of puppies.
“Everyone comfy?” I ask, once they’ve mostly stopped moving around, their bags and coats thrown around at their feet. I glance at JJ in the passenger seat, his face a mask of misery and betrayal, then back at Molly in the rearview mirror, who’s trying and failing to suppress a grin.
Whatever she knows about JJ and Claire that she won’t tell me, she also agrees that it’s time they made up.
What better way than forced proximity? It’s a foolproof plan.
“Yes!” choruses four-fifth of the girls in the back. Claire is pretending to pull up her pink Care Bear socks squished against the window next to Molly. JJ is tying his shoes, looking like a wet weekend in Donegal, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
This is gonna work.
??ˋ ?? ?ˊ?
WHATEVER ULTERIOR MOTIVES I had for bringing the girls’ here—by getting JJ and Claire to stop fighting—are quickly forgotten when Molly is pulling me through aisles and making me hold stuff for her.
The others are scattered elsewhere, maybe in this store and maybe not. I forced JJ to “keep an eye” on Claire, pretending I was none the wiser to their discomfort and Molly pretending to be sympathetic to Claire’s plight, all while sharing a conspiratorial wink with me when they weren’t looking.
We make quite the dynamic duo, a pair of meddling matchmakers with a shared mission.
The whole time Molly is picking things off the rack for me to hold for her (so she can go try them on), I keep wondering if it’s a given we’re going to go to the dance together, or if I need to ask.
Hell, I haven’t even asked to be her boyfriend yet. We’ve never even been on a proper date. We hang out all the time, and usually end up shifting at some point, but it’s not the same thing as bringing her out to dinner or to the cinema or whatever.
It’s all... undefined. A nebulous cloud of feelings that I’m terrified to put a name to in case it all disappears. What if she’s just not ready for that kind of relationship yet?
I don’t want to freak her out with a bunch of questions about our relationship status, about what we are, about where this is going. But I don’t want to go with or even be with anybody else. She’s it for me. I know that with a certainty that scares the shit out of me.
“Hey, Niall?” Molly asks, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s holding up a dark purple dress—something with a satin bodice and a flowing, tulle skirt—against herself.
“Yeah?”
“C'mon, I've asked you the same question a million times already. Yay or nay?"
“Nay,” I say, forgetting what that’s supposed to mean again. I’m too busy staring at the way the purple brings out the blue in her eyes, the way the satin would cling to her curves, my mouth feeling suddenly dry.
She frowns. “You didn’t even look.”
“I don’t need to. You’d look gorgeous in a bin liner.”
Molly rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, a faint blush creeping up her neck. She shoves the dress back onto the rack. “Another thing I've said a million times, nay means no, yay means yes. Try to keep up.”
Shite.
She grabs a silky lilac-coloured dress next and holds it up. “Yay or nay?”
This time, I look properly, really looking, imagining her in it, the soft fabric pooling at her feet, the straps highlighting her slender shoulders. The colour reminds me of her bedroom walls. “Yay.”
Molly grins, adding it to the growing pile of dresses over my arms. The pile is getting heavy, a rainbow of satin and silk that’s slowly crushing me.
“Do you have a favorite?” I ask, nodding at the heap. It’s a stupid question, I know, but I’m desperate for a way in, a way to talk about this, about us.
“Dunno yet.” She shrugs, her attention already back on the racks, her fingers flying over the hangers. “I’ll know when I try them on.”
“Okay.” I shift my grip on the dresses, trying to keep them from slipping. “So... uh, what's your favorite colour?”
I’d set out to ask her about the dance or maybe our relationship status, but chickened out. Again. The words are there, but they get stuck in my throat, a lump of fear and insecurity.
Molly tilts her head, eyeing me curiously. “Hmm, probably purple.”
“Good, good,” I nod, like this is useful information, like I’m not just stalling.
“What's... your favorite colour?” she asks, still eyeing me strangely as she picks through the racks.
I think of her eyes. “Light blue,” and then before she can say anything else, I ask another stupid, pointless question. “Do you have a middle name?”
“Lynnette. What’s with the twenty questions?”
“Just curious,” I lie.
Molly sighs, shaking her head, but she’s smiling. “Fine. Ask away.”
“Do you like strawberries?”
“Yeah?”
“What about waffles?”
“They're okay.”
“Do you prefer tea or coffee?”
“Tea. Though I really like iced coffee.”
“Do you—”
“Okay, what’s up?” Molly cuts me off, turning to face me fully, her hands going to her hips. “You’re acting weird.”
“I'm not acting weird,” I lie, my heartbeat mocking me as it booms inside my chest.
Molly raises her eyebrows. “Uh-huh. Then why are you asking me all these random questions?”
“Just trying to get to know you better,” I say lamely. It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth, and she knows it.
She narrows her eyes. “Niall.”
“Let's try on dresses.”
She relents, but not without a strange look. We head over to the dressing rooms, a little alcove off the main shopping floor with a trio of curtained cubicles and a large, tri-fold mirror. She gathers a bunch of the dresses in her arms and brings them in with her, telling me to wait right outside.
I feel like an idiot, running my hands down my face trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. How hard is it to ask her a simple question? Just ask her to the dance. It’s not like she’s gonna reject me.
This girl knows all my darkest secrets, and I know hers. Somehow, those conversations feel like a molehill compared to the mountain in front of me.
“Niall!” Molly calls from inside the room. “Can you come in for a second? I need help.”
I steel myself, opening the door and slipping inside the dressing room.
She’s standing in front of the mirror inside the room—a smaller version of the one in the alcove just outside the little dressing rooms. The glittering sky blue dress is open in the back, and she’s holding it closed with one hand.
“Help?” she asks, looking at me in the mirror, her cheeks flushed.
I swallow. The dress is sleeveless, and the front is glittered with silver jewels that remind me of the white flecks in her eyes, the way they shine when she laughs. The bodice clings to her waist, and the skirt flows out like waves crashing into the shore.
I step closer, reaching out to pull the zipper up the rest of the way. My fingers brush against her bare skin, and she shivers slightly.
“You look beautiful,” I murmur, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
She turns around to face me, her fingers twisting in the fabric. “Really?”
“You're always beautiful,” I say honestly.
Molly smiles softly. “Thank you.”
I can't help myself but gather up her hair, twisting it up so I can see the back of the dress better. “This one’s my favorite.”
“Mine too,” she admits quietly.
I lean down, pressing a kiss to the bare skin between her shoulder blades, before letting her hair drop back down. “Then I guess this is the one.”
She turns back around to face me, biting her lip. “Niall?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you go to the dance with me?”
My heart skips. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Why would you do that?”
Molly blinks, startled. “Do what?”
“Ask me first,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I was trying to ask you all day.”
She bursts out laughing, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, is that what all those random questions were about?”
“Yes,” I admit miserably.
Molly giggles, reaching out to tug at my jumper. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Will you go with me?”
I grin, pulling her closer. “Obviously.”
She leans up, pressing her lips to mine in a quick kiss. “Good.”
“But on one condition.”
“What?”
“We need to go on a date. A real date. And I want us to... you know... be official.”
Molly tilts her head, feigning confusion. “Official?”
I roll my eyes, pulling her flush against me. “You know what I mean.”
She giggles again, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Yes, Niall. I’ll be your girlfriend.”
“Thank fuck,” I mutter, kissing her properly this time—deep and slow, savoring the way she melts against me.
“Niall! Are you in there perverting my friend?” Claire’s voice calls from somewhere outside the stall, making us spring apart and start laughing.
I step out of Molly’s stall, smoothing down my hoodie and trying to look innocent. “I’m helping with a zip, you nosy brat! You told me I needed to stay useful, remember!”
She rolls her eyes, pushing on my shoulder. Claire’s wearing a dress the colour of a buttercup—bright, sunny yellow. It’s short with a flared skirt and delicate straps.
A bittersweet smile climbs its way onto my face.
“What do you think?” she asks, her voice too small for the large heart of a person she’s grown into.
She turns away and looks into the alcove mirror almost right away, as if she’s embarrassed. I step closer to her, hands going to her shoulders.
“Yellow is definitely your colour, Clairey,” I say, using da’s old nickname for her on instinct. “You look gorgeous, you know? You’re... you’re growing up on me.”
I don’t know why I feel so choked up, but then again I do.
She was just a baby yesterday, and now she’s fifteen and wearing dresses and going to dances and—
“Are you crying?” Claire asks incredulously, spinning around to face me.
“No,” I lie, shaking my head and blinking hard. “I’m just... thinking about dad.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “Me too... I wish he could be here.”
I pull her into a hug, squeezing my eyes tight and letting just a couple tears slip into her hair. “Me too, Claire. Me too. But he’d have probably fainted at the price tag, so maybe it’s for the best.”
She lets out a watery laugh, leaning her head against my chest. “That’s true.”
I open my eyes again, and can see JJ standing behind us in the mirror, by the doorway of the alcove. The expression on his face actually hurt me to look at. I catch his eye in the mirror, and we share a short look.
“You look brilliant, Claire-Bear,” JJ speaks up, his voice surprising me in steadiness. “Yellow always was your best colour.”
Claire looks at him over my shoulder, and I can hear the smile in her voice when she says, “Thanks JJ.”