“Why now?” she asked. “Why all of these years later are you two back together? Why after everything that happened . . . and with him just walking away from you like that . . .” She looked away, staring through the plate-glass windows lining the front of the shop. If eighteen years of experience hadn’t proven otherwise, I would have almost believed she was close to shedding a few tears. “I don’t want to see you get hurt again like that, Clara Belle. I don’t think I can stand to watch you go through that kind of pain again.”
Avalee stopped messing with my zipper long enough to exchange a look with me after glancing at my mom. I could tell she was just as thrown as I was.
Yeah, I remembered the pain—of course I remembered the tears and feeling like my heart was being shredded by a cheese grater in the months following Boone’s and my fallout—but I never would have guessed my mom had been affected by any of it.
She hadn’t given an indication otherwise. She hadn’t offered a shoulder to let me cry my eyes out on or even a random hug when she’d found me spread out on the porch steps, staring at the end of that long driveway, just waiting for my life to end or for it to start again.
“That won’t happen again. I know it,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t have to worry, Mom.”
“How can you be sure? He’s done it once. He can do it again.”
Avalee was back to pulling at the zipper, not so gently now.
“Not this time,” I said.
“Why not this time?” Mom lifted an eyebrow and waited for me.
I couldn’t exactly tell her I’d paid him to pose as my plus one so I wouldn’t have to be publicly shamed for showing up to a Southern wedding in my mid-twenties without a husband or a date, but that was a secret I was happy to keep between Boone and me for the rest of our lives. I supposed I could tell her that he was a changed person and we’d matured and had moved beyond teenage intensity, but I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied by any of those answers.
So I went with a different approach.
“He didn’t just hurt me. I hurt him too, Mom. Just as badly.”
She gave a little huff, like she doubted that very much. “You did nothing more hurtful than make a temporary omission. What he did . . . how he left you . . .” She threw up her hands and shook her head, unable to continue.
“That’s behind us now. We’ve moved on as best as two people with history can. I’m not asking you to like him, I’m not asking you to like the idea of us—I’m just asking you to be civil. That’s all. And it would be nice if you could sway Dad in that direction. Am I fool for thinking that’s possible?”
Mom dropped onto one of the upholstered stools scattered around the dressing room and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re probably a fool for hoping so, but I promise I will try. For you, Clara Belle. Only you, not for him. I don’t hold a scrap of civility in my make-up for that boy and I never will . . . but for you, because you asked, I will try. No guarantees.”
Avalee paused, looking up at me.
“I know,” I mouthed at her. “That’s progress, Mom. Serious progress. I’ll take it.”
She managed a smile but continued to squirm like she’d just found herself in a troublesome situation. Avalee gave another yank on the dress, so hard she wound up losing her balance and falling back a few steps.
“Easy there, killer,” I said. “Are you okay?”
Avalee’s face went a few shades lighter. “I’m okay.” She held out her hand to reveal something that looked an awful lot like a part of a zipper. A broken part of a zipper. “But I don’t think you are.”
“If I die from suffocation tonight, please, Avalee, I’m trusting you to do this—please don’t let them bury me in this thing. Please don’t let this be what I spend my eternity wearing,” I said as Avalee and I hung back from the other four in our group, who were already heading through the doors of The Half Shell restaurant on the pier.
After the long day we’d all spent together, even if it hadn’t been for the dress restricting my movements, I would have chosen to hang back. Eight hours with my mom, Charlotte, and evil twin cousins was enough to grate on my every last right-versus-wrong perception of premeditated murder. That Charlotte was still breathing after the day she’d spent shoveling shit in my direction was a true miracle.
“You have my word,” Avalee said, shaking her head for the billionth time that day . . . ever since she’d inadvertently ripped the pull of my zipper off when she’d been trying to lower it. “And can I just say, again, how sorry I am for what happened? If I’d known the zipper was a piece of crap, or that the shop didn’t have a seamstress on call today, or that there’d be no other way of getting you out of the dress save for a busted zipper, I would have just left it alone.” She kicked a small rock in our path, forgetting the open-toed sandals she had on. “I’m sorry. Again.”
I grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “If you were Charlotte, I’d know you had ulterior motives for busting my zipper, but you’re Avalee, and I know Avalee Abbott doesn’t have a mean, vengeful bone in her body, so don’t worry. You’re forgiven.” I gave her hand another squeeze. “Again.”
“You know, you don’t have to stay in that thing until the seamstress gets to you tomorrow.” Avalee stopped me before we headed through the restaurant doors. “You can always rip it off and drop it into the ocean.” She lifted her chin toward the water. “I won’t tell.”
That option was beyond appealing, especially since I’d have to sleep in this neck-to-toe corset of a hot-mess, but I was making a point now, announcing my manifesto to the world, and more importantly, my sister. Bring it, bitches. I’m not going down. To the dress shop’s merit, they had called one of their seamstresses to bring her in for an “emergency,” but when I found out that meant she’d be pulled away from a day at the beach with her family, I said I could just wait until tomorrow when someone was scheduled to work. I didn’t like garnering special conditions because of my family’s name.
“Between you and me, I think the better way to piss Charlotte off is to smile and pretend like I’ve realized this dress and I were meant to be.” I pulled on the high neckline to let in a little fresh air.
The one upside to being trapped in my bridesmaid dress overnight was that I’d gotten to forgo the duo of waxing and body wraps my mom had booked for me. Instead, I’d spent the afternoon getting a hand-and-foot massage, followed by a relaxing facial. There’s a silver lining to every situation, being confined within Cosmo’s Top 100 Most Hideous Dresses Ever Devised included.
Avalee looked inside the restaurant, zeroing in on the back of our sister’s head. She grinned. “You are oh so very right. You work that dress tonight. Own it. The woman doesn’t let the dress wear her—she wears the fucking dress.”
I held out my arms as far as they would go and looked down at myself. A giant round peach minus the fuzz. “Yeah, something like that . . . I’m just not ripping it off to spite Charlotte.”
“Yeah, you’re right. That thing . . .”—Avalee thrust her hands at my dress—“I don’t care who you are or how many runways you’ve walked, there is no way that dress can be worn without overpowering the woman. Sorry, Clara Belle.”
“No problem. I agree. Nice pep talk though.” I went to open the door, needing to get yet another thing over with. Rip the bandage off had been the theme of my visit so far—and the theme of much of my life down here.
I wasn’t sure how many people would be at tonight’s shindig. I hadn’t asked. I knew my parents had rented out The Half Shell and hired a band and spent more on food and alcohol for this one meal than most couples spent on their actual wedding, but the guest count I wasn’t sure on. Judging by the number of Lexuses and Mercedes gleaming in the parking lot, I would guess at least a hundred.
One hundred people would get to bear witness to me tromping around the place, eating crab claws and looking like a peach-colored sea cucumber. I could only imagine the clips that would be posted to YouTube and go viral come tomorrow.
One hundred people would also get to see that my sister could try all she wanted, but I wouldn’t bow to her. They would see that I was made of stronger stuff than my family let on and there was more to the rich girl who’d once dated the poor boy than just her last name and trust fund.
After giving myself that pep talk, I pulled the door open.
“So,” Avalee said, going in first when I held the door open for her, “did Boone survive the day with the guys? When I checked in with Sterling, it sounded like things might have been a little rough for him.”
I followed her inside and let the door close. There. We were inside. Now all I had to do was mill about the room, waving and greeting a bunch of people while pretending I wasn’t dressed like Bozo the Clown’s mistress.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since this morning,” I answered.
“Really? You didn’t at least call to check in and see if he needed a rescue?” Avalee gave me a small shove. “That’s cold, Clara Belle. You can’t just throw a guy to Daddy and the rest of those guys, especially a guy named Boone Cavanaugh.”
I shrugged, though it probably wasn’t noticeable through the puffed sleeves of my dress. “Boone’s always been a sink-or-swim type of guy. I’m sure he made it through just fine.”
We caught sight of Sterling back by the bar with a couple of other guys. He smiled and waved Avalee over. She lifted her finger to give herself a moment.
Then she turned and gave me a curious look. “Now. It’s just you and me. Are you going to tell me what’s going on between you two? Or am I supposed to keep believing you two just randomly reconnected and one thing led to another?” She crossed her arms and gave me a look that suggested she saw through it all.
“If there’s anyone I could tell the whole story to, it would be you, but for now, I’d prefer to keep it under wraps.” When she opened her mouth to protest, I added, “Plus, your fiancé looks like he’s missed you and has that impatient come-hither look, and I don’t want to feel rushed explaining Boone and me to you, okay?”
She exhaled and rolled her fingers across her arm. “I’d pressure you a few more rounds if I didn’t already know that while you might have gotten Mama’s good looks, you sure got more than your fair share of bullheadedness from our daddy.”
Now it was me opening my mouth to object.
“And before you spend the rest of the night trying to convince me otherwise and demanding I take back what I just said, think about who else would do the exact same thing.” Avalee’s gaze didn’t so casually move through the crowd until she spotted our dad with a glass of bourbon in one hand, his other shaking the hands of a bunch of guests.
“I’m stuffed inside a peach condom, Avalee.” I did a not-so-graceful spin in the sausage casing of a dress to remind her. “Kicking me when I’m down is just not cool.”
A laugh burst from her, but she covered her mouth to try to stop it. I pulled her hands away and laughed with her.
“It’s okay. Laugh. This”—I did another spin, almost tipping over—“is funny if there ever was such a thing.”
“I feel terrible for laughing,” she said, though she continued to laugh with me.
“Well, it’s a terrible thing,” I teased before shoving her toward her fiancé. “Now go be a good future Southern wife and make him get you a drink.”
She waved at me over her shoulder before rushing toward Sterling and throwing herself into his arms before he had them open.
This visit was becoming strange and unexpected in some wonderful ways. First my mom apologizing and now Avalee behaving like we were a couple of co-conspirators in cahoots to rise to world domination. Maybe my trip wouldn’t be a total failure after all. Maybe there’d be something positive I could take from it.
With Avalee gone, I was on my own. I’d have to walk past the hostess desk and past the waiting benches and wade through the sea of people alone. I was used to going it alone in plenty of things in life, but not when I was dressed the way I was now.
I mean, what should I do first? Go over to my parents and mingle with them and their friends? Dart to the bar for a stiff drink and chug it before anyone could notice me? Head to the seafood buffet so I could be first in line for the crab claws that were longer than my arms? Or march right up to Charlotte and thank her for picking out, with such great care and concern, the dress I’d be spending the next fourteen to eighteen hours of my life trapped within?
The crab legs were calling my name, and since my mom had her back turned, maybe I could pile a plate up with them without being shamed into eating less. I was just marching toward the buffet line when I noticed one of the nearby restroom doors shove open, and out came a familiar face.
Boone took a few long strides before he noticed me. He froze in the middle of rolling up his sleeve and gave me a head-to-toe inspection.
I pointed at the zipper. “Zipper busted. Clara stuck.”
Just when I couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh or shudder, he raised his palm at me in a “stay there” kind of motion before disappearing back inside the bathroom.
He looked like he’d survived the day of golfing and country clubbing it with the boys, and if he was here now, he hadn’t gotten himself arrested for breaking Ford’s nose—as he nearly had back in high school—nor was he on the run for having murdered Ford as I knew he’d been fantasizing about for years. He was here, present, and accounted for . . . and hadn’t wound up looking like he could play lead sidekick in James and the Giant Peach. Good for him. Sucked for me.
I wasn’t waiting longer than a couple of minutes—and starting to get impatient when I saw people circling the crab legs like a bunch of vultures—when the men’s bathroom door exploded open, and out came Boone . . . looking as I’d never seen Boone before.
“What in the hell happened to you?” I asked, shaking my head to see if my vision needed to clear.
“Let’s see . . .” Boone kicked his foot up to show off a pair of knee-high lavender-and-mint-colored argyle socks that were pulled up to his knees, below which were tied a pair of matching golf shoes. “Ford happened to me. In case the pastel didn’t give it away.”
“Crap, Boone . . . they didn’t make you wear this all day, did they?”
Boone’s jaw stiffened. “No one makes me do anything. Nobody.” After adjusting his beret-looking golf hat, he pinched at the lavender bow tie. “I chose to wear this all day to prove to those elitist bastards that there’s nothing they can do to make me feel inferior. As hard as they damn well might try.”
I shook my head at his outfit, no longer feeling like the only one dressed like they may or may not have been under the impression that Halloween had come four months early. “What are those things?” I poked at the khaki-colored material. “Pantaloons? Britches?”
“If they have a name, I don’t need to know it. I don’t plan on stocking my wardrobe with every shade of them.”
“I’m so sorry.” I felt guilty I’d left Boone alone with my dad and the rest of the “elitist bastards.” Here I thought I’d had it bad with the girls, and it turned out Boone had suffered for eighteen holes looking like a deranged metrosexual had gotten his hands and glue gun on him.
Boone swatted away the tassel swinging from his beret when it bounced in his face. “But I’m not the only one standing here like the butt of every joke.” He thrust his hands in my direction—my dress’s direction. “What happened to you?”
I was surprised he had to ask. “Charlotte happened.”
Boone’s eyes cut through the crowd of guests, landing on my sister. His eyes narrowed. “Well, aren’t the little princess and prince just made for each other?”
“Perfectly made for each other.”
“Why are you still wearing it if this was all Charlotte’s idea?” Boone leaned into the wall behind him and went to slip his hands into his front pockets. He wasn’t wearing his typical worn-in jeans though, and the “pantaloons” were pocket-free. He muttered a curse.
 
; “For two reasons.” I gave the hem of his sweater vest a tug. “Because I want to prove to that elitist bitch that there’s nothing she can do to make me feel inferior.”
He lifted his chin and urged me on when I paused before giving him my second reason . . . which was more like my first.
I withheld a sigh and lifted my arm as high as it would go before I lowered my gaze to the zipper. “Avalee and I busted the zipper when we were trying to get it off of me, and the bridal store didn’t have a seamstress on staff today—because why in the hell would they have one of those at the ready on a Saturday?—but there will be one available tomorrow to fix the zipper and free me from this thing.”
Boone lifted a brow, gauging to see if I was done. “You don’t need the zipper to get out of The Thing.”
I shoved his arm when he used my designation for the dress, making it sound like the nemesis in some sci-fi flick. It was certainly my nemesis.
“Actually, I do, because in case you missed it, this thing is suctioned tighter to my body than the casing around a bratwurst.” I give the fabric a pinch and pull to show him just how impossible it was to free it from my skin. I felt like someone had super-glued it to me . . . although the copious amounts of sweat I’d shed might have had something to do with that. “No amount of tugging, wiggling, sucking, or sliding will get The Thing off without that zipper functioning. Not even if I lathered my body with butter.”
Boone smiled when I copied his ominous tone when referring to the bridesmaid dress from hell. “Then why didn’t you just cut, rip, or slash it off? That should show her what you think of the dress she picked out for her bridesmaids.”
“Bridesmaid,” I corrected, pointing at myself. “Just lucky me.”
“You’re the one she expected to wear This Thing? The only one?” The muscle running down Boone’s jaw popped through his skin.
“Told you I was lucky.”
Boone muttered another curse before grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the bathroom. “Come with me. I’ve got a pocket knife in my jeans. I’ll get you out of This Thing, and when we’re done slicing it into shreds, we’ll go sprinkle the pieces into her lap.”