20
With Olive being the flower girl in the wedding, Anders drops the both of us off at the boutique after a quick stop at a bakery where we loaded ourselves up with coffee and pastries.
The place is modestly sized, but it feels somewhat fragile.
Countless glass centerpieces stand on thin displays, and even the rack holding the array of colorful dresses is this slim golden band closer to a necklace chain than a clothing bar.
The employee stands by a curved desk with a thin, oversized monitor.
She leads us to a separate room with high ceilings and three beautiful and incredibly stiff-looking couches clustered around a three-way mirror on a tiny stage I assume is meant for brides to show off their gowns.
“Champagne?” the woman asks us. “We also have nonalcoholic for the little one.”
The “little one” comment earns a glare from Olive. “I’ll take a champagne with alcohol.”
“We’ll just have water,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh.
Just as she leaves, Valerie enters in a tiny white silk minidress, barely covering her thighs. I suddenly feel like I should start waking up at five for long runs. And go on a diet.
“Wow, so prompt,” Valerie says by way of greeting. “You’ll be the only ones. I told everyone else we started thirty minutes earlier, and they’ve yet to arrive.”
“Wouldn’t miss a minute,” I say. “I take my job as a stand-in dress placeholder incredibly seriously.”
“Good,” Valerie says, “because I’ve picked out seventeen dresses that will look good on Cierra.” When I laugh, she gives me a look of sympathy. “Oh, that’s not a dramatization.”
“Well,” I say, “let’s get started.”
The woman assigned to help us, Mimi, returns with drinks, a dress-fitting kit, and endless patience.
At first, Olive and I have a little fashion show. Our fitting rooms are beside each other, and with each try-on, we strut down our pretend runway, making a show of twirling for Valerie as she downs her wine and cheers.
Seven dresses in, Olive and Valerie mutually decide that a pale-pink dress with a flowing skirt is her best and cutest option. I-as-Cierra, unfortunately, am on my tenth dress and still not impressing Valerie.
Only two of Valerie’s four other friends have arrived—one of them, Jennifer, whom I see reaching into a bag I’m not entirely sure is hers at least three times. We all keep removing and pulling on clothes for Valerie, who has very detailed criteria on what looks good and what doesn’t.
I’m not entirely sure what the criteria is, since she only says, “So cute . . . but no,” or “Are you trying to outdo the bride?” depending on the dress. While our try-on continues, all Valerie’s friends eventually join.
The final one is a woman, Ashley, in a miniskirt and slicked-back ponytail with a girl around Olive’s age beside her.
“Sorry,” she says, irritation marring her unnaturally smooth features.
“My brother had an appointment and dropped my niece off with me. He’s still not back.
You know Erin, right, Olive? You have art together. ”
Erin, in the same slicked-back ponytail and a mirror of Ashley’s irritation, smiles as she sits beside Olive, who stiffens. I recognize the look of an asshole kid—when you grow up wearing only hand-me-down off-brand clothes, you become familiar with it. I clock it, but move on.
Not your place, Lucy. Olive isn’t mine to protect, no matter how much I want to.
I need to draw my lines. Not just with Anders, but with all of this. His family. His world. Because when I go—when, not if—I don’t want to leave too much hurt behind. Especially for a young Olive, who is growing attached to me easily.
Valerie appears, holding up another dress for me to try.
I’ve lost count after seventeen dresses, and automatically just swap my outfit and head back out.
Another dud. Ashley and I are the only ones still on the hunt for the perfect dress, until an off-the-shoulder lightweight gown for her gets Valerie’s approval, and she forces me to try on a spaghetti-strapped number.
My arms ache as I lift, this time needing assistance from Mimi to remove the previous dress, and she gives me a thumbs-up when I pull down the newest option.
I grip her arm as I leave the fitting room. “Pray for me,” I say, causing her to laugh.
When I make my reveal, Valerie’s thin brows pull together. She joins me on the stage, observing me, circling me, tapping her lips. “Stand up straight,” she orders.
I do as she says, and she moves back to get a full-length view. “Can you spin?”
I do.
“Slower.”
I do.
She hums, and it reminds me of how Anders does the same, and both of them sound so musical when they do.
“I love it,” Valerie says.
She barely gets the words out before I say, “Thank God.”
She laughs, then slaps my shoulder. “That’s it, girlies, we’ve all got our dresses.”
Some of the girls do a cheer, and I watch Olive smile but shift away from Erin after she whispers something in her ear.
Mimi appears, clapping her hands. “Shall I take a commemorative photo?”
All the girls remain in their dresses for it, and line up on the stage. I try to hang back, since I’m not officially in the party, and Valerie yanks me up with her. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “It’s just a photo.”
After we take a few shots before we all change back into our clothes, one of the girls says, “Wait, we haven’t seen you in your dress.”
Valerie sweeps her hair behind her. She, Bethany, and Olive did the wedding dress shopping privately. Valerie showed me a picture of every angle of her dress when we were drunk at the park.
“Can we see you try it on?” Jennifer asks.
Valerie pretends to act modest and shy as the girls start to chant. “See the dress! See the dress!” At last she gives in, and Mimi takes her to the larger, single, bridal changing room.
We all rush to the fitting rooms to remove our clothes. I’m too late, and all the rooms are taken, so I pace. Then I realize Olive isn’t with me.
I head out back to the main room and find her with Erin.
“Is this why you’ve been ignoring my calls?” Erin pokes at Olive’s shoulder.
Olive, my precious girl, has her head facing the floor as she says, “I’ve just been busy.”
Erin snorts. “Right, it isn’t because you’ve got even fatter? Please, that’s why you have to wear this gross dress. But, whatever, I’ll forgive you for ignoring me if you take Ashley and me with you to Valerie’s salon. My stupid aunt still hasn’t got an invite, and we want to cut our hair there.”
My jaw drops. I move forward, but someone—Jennifer—grabs my shoulder and says, “Room is free if you want it.”
When I turn back to the girls, Erin is smiling sweetly at us, while Olive, head still down, hurries to the fitting room. As she goes, all I can think is My baby, and the visceral, all-consuming protectiveness that floods me so quickly almost takes me off my feet.
I breathe through my nose as I follow after Olive, but she shuts herself in a room.
As soon as the next one opens, I yank off the dress so fast I rip out some of my hair.
Once I’m out, one of the girls grabs my arm and rushes me back to the room.
She joins all the girls on the couches. Erin has placed herself between her aunt and Olive.
Valerie stands on the stage, and her beauty is so staggering, I nearly forget that I’m angry. It’s more modest in person, the sleeveless number tight across her waist, then cascading down her length in tiny ripples. The back is low and accentuates her muscles there.
Aside from my sister, she is the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.
I open my mouth to say so when one of the girls asks, “That’s what you’re wearing? Are you pranking us?”
“Please tell me you haven’t bought it yet?” another says. “The one hanging on the mannequin by the window is better than this.”
“My aunt picked this for me,” Valerie says, and for the first time since I’ve met her, the way her hands attempt to straighten the already ironed gown, I see her insecurity.
“Isn’t she like sixty?” someone says. “Let us pick it out for you.”
“She’s literally fifty,” Jennifer cuts in—as Anders said, she’s an actual nice person. “I think it’s nice.”
“Who asked you, klepto?”
For the second time in ten minutes, my jaw drops. Valerie says, “You know what, it’s because my hair and makeup aren’t done. Once you see me with everything, you’ll see how good it looks.”
“Unlikely,” someone says.
Mimi steps toward Valerie. “Let’s go change.”
Valerie follows her out, and I stand there, feeling crazy for several reasons.
For Olive. For Valerie. And, genuinely, I can’t tell if they’re just being mean for the sake of it, or if they actually think Valerie doesn’t look good.
Either way, they should have kept their negative thoughts to themselves.
All the girls are talking among themselves, laughing, and someone grimaces. Erin, when she thinks nobody is looking, flicks the center of Olive’s head.
Fuck the lines.
My feet propel me forward. I grab a jug of water and dump it over Erin.
Everyone goes quiet for a moment.
“What the hell?” Erin stands, and Ashley follows suit immediately.
I make a fist and jerk it back like I’m about to hit Erin.
“You’re lucky this is all I’m doing.” I make her flinch again—though for the record, deserving or not, I would not hit a preteen.
“You’re worrying about someone’s weight when you should be worrying about your own appearance.
Clearly, early-onset wrinkles run in your family, so instead of a haircut”—I point to her aunt—“why don’t you get her to book an appointment for Botox?
I can already see the crow’s-feet around her eyes. ”
“Excuse me, bitch—”
“Watch your mouth in front of Olive,” I interrupt Ashley. “And if anyone is to blame, it’s the people who don’t know how to raise a child not to make fun of someone else’s appearance.”
“Speaking of.” I step back and address the entire room.
“I don’t know who raised you all to be such horrible people—not to mention liars—because Valerie looks stunning.
And if the next words out of your mouths aren’t ‘Sorry, Valerie, we were just kidding, you look beautiful,’ then I will personally”—I lean forward and cover Olive’s ears—“shove a bottle of champagne up every single one of your asses.”
Ashley scoffs, stepping forward. “Calling someone fat is a fact. If it’s a problem, maybe you shouldn’t feed a kid until they get overweight.”
Never mind Olive isn’t my child, because the anger coursing through me feels like she is.
Like the fury I’d feel if someone tried to hurt Taina.
It’s like my parents taught me from when I was a child—you always protect your family, no questions asked, no consequence too great.
Family comes first, and you don’t let anyone disrespect those you love.
I wonder if they knew I’d consider that for a found family too.
Before I can react, I see Valerie enter the room, still in her beautiful wedding dress.
Without hesitation, she grabs a nearby glass and throws its contents all over Ashley.
The liquid soaks Ashley’s clothes, and Valerie, teeth clenched, says, “You and your bratty-ass niece can get the hell out. And don’t bother taking the dress—you won’t be needing it. ”
“Excuse me?” Ashley snaps, glaring. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going to have some bitch who makes my cousin feel bad about herself in my bridal party,” Valerie says. “Now get out.”
Ashley smirks. “Then you’re down a bridesmaid. Who is going to walk with Jeremy?”
Valerie wraps an arm around me. “Why, my new best friend is. The girl who shows up on time, defends my cousin and me without being prompted, and who is thirty seconds away from shoving a wine bottle up your ass.”
“Whatever.” Ashley snatches Erin by the collar. “I was doing you a favor coming, and I’ve never liked your prissy little attitude anyway.”
Valerie waves, and I point to the corner of my eye. “Botox,” I say to her, “don’t forget.”
They storm off, and Olive stands up, grabs Valerie and me by the arm.
Worry strikes me in the chest. “Olive, are you—”
“That,” Olive interrupts me, “was so badass!”