Chapter 30
The bridal shop in Rosehill is nothing like the old one that used to sit on Main Street. It’s massive, filled with rows of white dresses as far as the eye can see.
But that’s not what we’re here for today.
Iris stands with her arms crossed, chewing on her lip as she scans a rack of bridesmaids’ dresses. “I don’t know what I want,” she says for maybe the fourth time. “I don’t want anyone to feel ugly.”
Lily snorts from behind us. “You mean like every wedding I’ve ever been to?”
Iris frowns even deeper, Lily’s joke not helping. “I’m serious! Nate’s sister just had a baby, my sister refuses to wear anything low cut, and Layla will look beautiful in anything she wears, but still freaks out if it’s tight on her body.”
“You,” Lily cuts in, “are gonna give yourself an ulcer.”
“I don’t want my wedding to force anyone to feel uncomfortable. It’s supposed to be a happy day.”
“Sweetie, this is your day. If you want your friends to wear purple polka dots, they will because they love you.”
She smiles, clearly trying to relax, then looks back at the dresses. “I was thinking something pink-ish to match the flowers? No neon.”
“How about this?” I pull a dress from the rack, holding it up for her. “It’s flattering on a lot of skin tones, and I think it will match your decor.”
Iris tilts her head, considering it. “I think I like the color.”
We move down the rack, Iris occasionally lifting a hanger, frowning, then putting it back. She worries over every little thing. “You can’t make everyone happy,” Lily tells her. “Just pick something, and if they complain, replace them.”
“I can’t replace them!” I watch Lily as she says that. The way she softens. She never talks down to her, never dismisses her. It’s sweet, seeing Lily with her.
In a way, it makes me feel better that even though she never got to have her baby, she has someone who looks to her for advice.
In another way, it breaks my heart even more because Lily would have been the best mom.
“I don’t think this is Ms. Price’s idea of fun,” Iris tells me once we’re alone. Lily’s already found the nearest chair, scowling down at the phone she claims to hate.
“No, it certainly isn’t.”
The truth is, I was worried about her after everything that happened. She seemed fine, back to her usual self, but I didn’t want to leave her alone today.
“I think she would do anything with you, though.”
I glance at her when she says that, but she’s already examining another dress.
What does that mean?
I drift a little farther down the racks, stopping short when I see green. Not emerald, or too bright or too muted. But the perfect color, an exact match.
I pull it free and turn toward the guest chairs. “Lily.”
She doesn’t even look up. “No.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“I don’t need to.”
I hold the dress up anyway, shaking it to get her attention. “Come on, look.”
She sighs heavily, finally putting her phone down. Her eyes scan the dress, and then she narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you always do this?”
“Because it would look beautiful on you.”
Her jaw tightens. “You say that every time.”
“It’s always true.”
Iris is opening smiling now, looking back and forth between us. “You would look really good in that dress, Ms. Price.”
Lily groans. “Don’t gang up on me.”
“It’s the same color as your eyes!”
“Diana,” she snaps, crossing her arms.
“I want you to wear that to my wedding,” Iris adds, making me perk up. If anyone could convince Lily, it’s her.
She looks between us before standing up, admitting her defeat. “I hate both of you.”
I try not to look too pleased, but I can’t wipe the smile from my face when she holds it up against her body, examining it in the mirror. The color does exactly what I knew it would, makes her eyes pop, and complements her pale skin perfectly.
Iris clasps her hands together. “Oh my god.”
Lily shoots her a warning look. “Do not say it.”
“It’s perfect,” Iris says anyway, beaming.
At the register, she pulls out her card with the long-suffering air of someone making a noble sacrifice, grumbling about how she never should have introduced us, the entire time the poor man is bagging her dress.
“I’m starving,” Lily announces on the way out. “And if either of you suggests another store, I’m calling Nate and telling him you had an affair with Mr. Holloway.”
“You wouldn’t!”
Iris pulls into the driveway, and I feel a twinge of unease.
I haven’t been inside since yesterday when Lily told me what happened to Pat. I held it together decently in front of her, not wanting to make it worse, but the moment I got home, I cried myself to sleep.
He was gone before I had a chance to really know him. And the grief Lily went through alone…
“So,” Iris says, twisting in her seat to look at us, “thank you for not letting me spiral too much today.”
“That was what not spiraling looks like?” Lily asks, reaching for the door handle.
I follow her out of the backseat, grabbing our bags while she leans into the open window of the passenger side. “You sure you don’t wanna come in? I got the tea you like. And those weird cookies.”
She shakes her head, a regretful expression on her face. “I can’t. I have to go home and convince Nate and Alex to wear pink ties.”
Lily shrugs, standing up straight and taking a few of the heavy bags from my hands. “If he won’t wear what you want,” she says flatly, “tell him you’ll find a different husband.”
“That’s brutal, Ms. Price.”
“It’s effective,” Lily replies, and I get the feeling she’s not joking.
Iris laughs, leaning over in her seat to see both of us. “Oh, he’ll wear it. I’ll just have to do a little convincing.” She punctuates the sentence with an exaggerated wink.
Lily makes the most disgusted face, sending Iris into a fit of laughter. She scowls, turning to look at me. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“You walked right into that one.”
“Thank you both. Seriously. For all your help, it was definitely needed.”
“Anytime, kid. Text me if Nate starts acting up. I’ll come set him straight.”
“That’ll scare him.” She says with another grin, then glances at me. “It was wonderful to see you again, Diana.”
“Of course, you too.”
Lily stands there for a moment after the car is gone, watching her drive down the street, the quiet settling around us.
She exhales slowly, unguarded warmth flickering across her face before she looks away again, turning toward the door. “Come on,” she says, softer than usual. “I survived dress shopping, I deserve food.”
Once the pizza arrives and we’ve settled onto the couch, Lily throws me the remote. “I taped your show.”
“The Bachelor? You taped it?”
She waves me off, grumbling, “Don’t start. You know I hate that garbage.”
I bite my lip, concealing how I feel about that, pressing the button to turn on the TV. The familiar theme music rolls across the screen, and I can’t believe it.
Lily taped my show.
An hour in, she’s fired up the same as the last time we watched it. “Of course he didn’t pick her.”
“I thought you didn’t care?”
“Of course I care!” she snaps, pointing at the screen angrily. “He’s a goddamn idiot. Can’t even do one thing right.”
I can’t help the giggle that escapes me as I lean closer to her, “You’re really invested in this, huh?”
She huffs, sinking into the couch. “I’m just saying. He had one job. One! And he picked that one. Left that poor woman over… Ugh.”
She reaches for the remote and presses play again, much more grumpy this time, but then I feel her head rest against my shoulder, frown still firmly in place.
I don’t say anything, it’s not abnormal, we spent many days sitting exactly like this in our youth, but my heart still beats a little bit faster.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Lily exclaims out of nowhere, jumping up so fast that it knocks a drop of coffee onto my jeans. “Wait here!”
Before I can even acknowledge that, she’s gone, darting into her bedroom with an ease that I no longer have.
There’s the sound of the closet door opening and a small crash as she, I’m assuming, digs through the mess. I keep my eyes on the door with a mixture of curiosity and that stubborn affection I always feel when she’s excited about something.
She comes back holding a canvas in both hands, facing away from me, her eyes unusually bright. “I found this the other day,” she says, holding it out toward me.
I glance down at it, expecting something beautiful.
Lily’s paintings always are.
I’m not expecting to see myself.
Well, a version of myself that’s forty years younger.
Completely naked.
Thankfully, my bottom half is covered by a painted blanket, but the rest of me is right there, on display, memorialized forever by Lily’s hand.
I shift on the couch, staring at my breasts, the way they used to look before I had four kids. “Um… Lily,” I start, my voice tight, “Why… why did you paint that?”
Her brows furrow, and for a second, I swear she looks disappointed. “You don’t like it?”
Yes, definitely disappointed.
I stand, my cheeks warming, but fumbling to correct my misstep. “No! I do! It’s just… what if someone saw it?”
Lily shrugs, studying the painting with a gentleness I don’t see often. “Then they’d see it. Big deal. It’s not like you don’t look good in it.”
“I… When was this?”
Her gaze lingers on me longer than necessary before she speaks, like she’s deciding if she wants to tell me or not. “Do you remember when you visited me in Pat’s trailer before your wedding?”
Of course, I remember.
“That was the last time we…”
You were sleeping, but I couldn’t. So I drew you.”
I sink back onto the couch, rubbing my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans as my brain provides images of that day. Of Lily, shaking apart underneath me, of the way she held my stomach, my baby, of the way she cried…
It’s one of the worst and best memories of my life.
Lily continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I figured you might want it.”
I blink up at her. “Me?”
“I figured you’d wanna be able to remember what you looked like back then.”
“Lily,” I say quietly, trying not to think of how sad I was, behind the lines of my face. “I remember how I used to look. I don’t need a naked painting for that.”
She scoffs and waves me off. “Okay, fine, but still.” She nods toward the canvas, and my cheeks burn as her eyes rove over my body. “I wish somebody had painted me when I was young and hot.”
My lips tug into a frown. “You’re still hot.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious.”
“Di.”
“You’ve always been terrible at accepting compliments, you know that?”
“Fine. I’m still hot. Do you want it or not?”
I stand slowly and take the painting from her, holding it with more care than necessary. “Thank you,” I add, staring down at it. It is quite tasteful, if you don’t know what we were doing before.
She meets my eyes with an unreadable expression on her face. “Anytime,” she says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Like that one word, that one implication doesn’t have heat curling in my stomach and a desperate need threatening to overtake me all over again.
What would it be like if I let Lily paint me now? Would she like what she saw?