Chapter 22 Wrenley
Wrenley
I pinch the little hole I made in the fabric, lining it up with its twin on the other piece.
It’s crooked. I nudge it into place and grab my awl, wiggling it gently so the ribbon will fit through later without shredding the poor thing.
My needle’s already double-threaded because sewing is the only place in my life where I’m organized.
I flip the fabric right side out and push it through.
One stitch, then another, slow and steady until the opening starts to take shape.
I smile. There’s something ridiculously satisfying about watching a garment come together in my hands.
After our conversation, Ruger and I found our way into a new normal.
And this normal has had a lot of kissing.
I catch myself smiling all the time and looking forward to the end of the day because I know he will eventually wander into the living room and curl up on the couch together.
I don’t have to overanalyze every look or accidental touch.
I don’t have to wonder if Ruger is feeling the same thing I am because every time he pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s been thinking about it all day, I have my answer.
Even though I’ve found answers in this one area, there’s still uncertainty lurking in the shadows.
Every incredible moment with Ruger seems to be accompanied by the things that haven’t been answered.
What happens if this isn’t enough? What happens if I decide that my career is what I need to be fulfilled?
Every day I spend with him makes the possibility of leaving more heartbreaking and the decision that much harder.
As if that weren’t complicated enough, there’s Remi.
She came up with this entire ridiculous scheme in the first place. Every time Ruger kisses me in the kitchen or slips his hand in mine under a blanket while we’re watching TV, a tiny voice in the back of my head reminds me that I’m being dishonest with her, and I’m not sure my reasons are enough.
Good morning! Beryl’s voice makes me flinch, and I stab myself with the needle. Luckily, it hits my thimble.
Morning, I manage once I gather my composure.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, child.
I shake my head, tying off the button, or I guess in this case, ribbon hole I made. It’s all good.
Beryl narrows her eyes and tilts her head. You look a little worse for wear today.
I chuckle nervously. Yeah. Got a little wild with Remi last night.
To be young again, she muses. It’s nice that you’re spending time with your sister-in-law.
I think with all the excitement about the wedding, people forget that Remi’s friendship is the reason I met Ruger, I say.
She nods. True. Speaking of the wedding, you haven’t said anything about what I’m holding.
I look down at the white fabric in her hands. What is that?
Feel. She holds it toward me.
I touch it. Stiff, kind of wire-like.
Organza?
Some of it. She lets it fall to the floor.
It’s a wedding dress. Organza covers the silk skirt while the long-sleeve top is covered in a lace design. Romantic, bohemian… I’d guess late sixties or seventies.
It’s beautiful, I murmur, still trying to piece it together.
Do you know why I love clothes? Beryl asks.
I shake my head.
They tell a story. Sometimes that story is short. Sometimes it’s long. Sometimes… the story isn’t finished.
My brows furrow. Slowly, everything clicks.
This is… your wedding dress.
Beryl nods. Now, I know it’s not your style. You seem more classic than hippie. We also don’t have a lot of time, so I’ve drawn up what I think—goodness, child, what’s wrong?
The knot in my throat is impossible to swallow. Tears blur my vision, and my face flushes.
Are you giving me your wedding dress? My voice cracks.
Beryl’s concerns soften into warmth. I didn’t like the idea of you in a simple dress. You need a gown. This is your wedding.
I shake my head. I can’t take this.
Yes, you can, she insists. This dress’s story isn’t done. It needs a happily ever after.
I wipe a fallen tear. Didn’t it already get one?
Beryl looks down at the dress, lip quivering. Audrey’s father was a brilliant, wonderful man. A boating accident… well, we never walked down the aisle. Luckily, I soon found out he left the best part of him behind.
Audrey.
She looks at me. I have a design and everything. We can work on it together.
Beryl, this is too much. You’re making flowers and now this. I don’t know what to say.
Say ‘thank you,’ she says simply.
But it’s anything but simple. How do I let her give me this dress, thinking it will get its happily ever after, when I’m not so sure myself?
Thank you, I finally whisper, but the words feel hollow.
Beryl looks at her watch. Oh dear. I have an appointment.
Let me walk you out, I say.
The entire walk up front, I feel sick. Lost in my thoughts, I forgot to put the dress down, and it’s draped over my arm. It feels like I’m carrying around physical evidence of my crime, which maybe won’t be a crime now?
It’s all getting so complicated.
How can I continue to accept these incredible gestures while actively lying? First, it was excitement from the town. Then it was flowers. Now it’s a dress that needs a happily ever after. Each act of kindness piles on my conscience, and it’s impossible to ignore how big this is getting.
Just as we reach the till, Remi comes into the shop.
Oh God, Wren. Are you that sick? she asks as she walks toward me.
No, it’s just… I run my hands over the fabric of the dress. Beryl’s giving me her wedding dress. Well… we’ll alter it.
I try to convey with my eyes, What the hell do we do? We can’t let this sweet woman ruin her own wedding dress for me, but Remi just perks up.
Oh cool! What are you thinking?
Beryl jumps in, pulling at the layers of organza. We’ll remove this awful material. The silk underneath is gorgeous. Then we can add some lace accents.
Remi gasps. Oh! We saw a dress Wrenley loved, with a low cut and some see-through fabric holding the chest part together.
Mesh, dear. We could do that. Beryl says. We could maybe use the lace as the mesh.
The women chatter excitedly, dissecting my dress like it’s crafts class. My chest tightens. How can Remi just stand here and plan my life like it’s nothing?
I need to get out of here! I blurt. Both women look at me, startled.
Just a… headache. Booze and all, I lie.
Okay, Beryl says. I’m just going to finish with Remi, then I really need to go.
I hug Beryl. Thank you for the dress.
Anything you need, child. You just tell me.
I stumble outside and lean against the building as nausea roils through me. I pull my hair back as my stomach knots, but luckily, nothing comes out.
Remi appears beside me. Are you okay?
No. I’m upset.
Why?
How can she not understand?
Beryl is giving me her wedding dress, Remi! The words burst out of me before I can stop them. She wants it to have a happily ever after, and I can’t give it that.
The feeling of being stuck between two realities bubbles to the surface again. I could let this dress finish its story like Beryl wants, but is it what I want?
Remi studies me for a long moment before reaching out and touching my arm. Hey. Her voice is gentle. Come on, this doesn’t have to be so deep.
It does, I say. She’s giving me something so precious based on a version of myself we created.
That’s not true, Remi says. She’s giving it to you because she cares about you.
She shouldn’t.
Remi scoffs. And why not?
I shake my head because I’m getting sick of repeating myself. I keep saying that everything this town is doing is too much, and yet saying it isn’t stopping it. And I know the only thing that will is telling the truth.
Wren, Remi says, forcing me to meet her eyes, she knows you. You, the woman who stepped in to help Audrey, who felt like she was drowning without pay. You, who listens to her stories and genuinely cares. That’s not some fabricated version of yourself. That’s all Wrenley St. James.
A knot forms in my throat. I feel so guilty.
I press my back against the wall of the store. This isn’t some dress in a store. It’s her history. Every fibre of that dress speaks to a story she desperately wanted a better ending to. And I’m lying to her face.
Remi finally meets my eyes. You’re not lying to hurt her. You’re lying so you can build your career again. That’s different.
And another layer of the deception surfaces.
The layer where I’m trying to decide what my future looks like and keeping that from my best friend.
And while, in theory, it makes sense to leave outside opinions out, it still feels like I’m doing wrong by her.
But in this moment, I have to ignore those thoughts and focus on this one.
Is it? My voice cracks, and I hate that it does. Because it sure doesn’t feel different. I like her, Rem. She’s been so kind to me. And if she finds out this whole thing is fake—
She won’t, Remi assures me.
Would it be so bad if she did? I ask.
Yes, Remi says without hesitation.
I blink. Why?
Remi takes a breath. If we tell her the truth, we’re asking her to carry a secret she never agreed to carry. Every time someone mentions the wedding, she’ll be put in the position of either lying or telling the truth.
A knot forms in my stomach.
What we’re doing is illegal, Remi says. And no one else should have to risk themselves for our lie.
I press my lips together. I know she’s right. I wish her being right was enough to ease the guilt, to convince myself that not telling her is for her benefit more than mine.
Okay, I finally say. You’re right.
I’m sorry this is hard on you, she says. I didn’t… She sighs and looks up, blinking rapidly like she’s fighting back tears. I thought we could do this quietly. I should’ve paid more attention to the municipal building. Then this never—
Hey, I cut in. None of this is your fault alone. We’re in this together. You, me, and Ruger.
She looks at me and offers a small smile. I’m glad it’s the three of us.