The Truth About Happily Ever After

  “You disappoint me, Princess. Go get dressed.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I grumble as I wander back toward my bedroom. When I get to the door, I glance at him in a last-ditch effort to get back to sleep. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into sleeping for another hour instead?”

  He smirks at me. “Damn, woman, you are relentless about getting me into bed.” Then he shakes his head. “Get dressed.”

  “I’m too tired to formulate a response to that,” I tell him, shaking my head as I close the door behind me and dutifully change into something more appropriate. He’s being such a pain in the ass—no way will I share that I’m actually pretty gleeful I have a date to the ball who’s this enthusiastic about picking out our attire for the event. That his early morning drop-in is reassuring considering the state Yael left me in at the courts.

  There are only three other people on the early morning shuttle, and the main gate to the park is still closed when we pull up before it. We enter through the after-hours, or before-hours in this case, staff gate and veer off the main path almost immediately to take a hidden side path that loops around to the costuming building.

  Even though I had a preview when I came with Rose and Camila, I have no idea where to start. At that time, I was convinced I wasn’t going to the ball. I hadn’t really let myself even look. And last year I came in knowing exactly what I wanted and was in and out in five minutes flat.

  “Okay, I’m officially overwhelmed,” I call to Miller, plopping onto a pile of out-of-commission costumes piled in the intersection between face character costumes, fur costumes, performance costumes, and retired costumes. I gaze around. “It’s like stepping into the world’s best game of dress-up ever.” When he doesn’t respond I yell, “Where are you?”

  Suddenly a convincing bellow breaks the silence, and I jump to my feet as Edwin Elephant, Aladdin’s trusted form of transportation, jumps out from behind a row of costumes and grabs my shoulders.

  “Oh my God!” My hand goes to my chest. “What are you doing?”

  Miller pushes up the costume’s trunk. “Might as well have a little fun. No one else is here yet. It’s all access.” He nudges me. “Come on … there has to be at least one performance costume or something you want to try on.”

  I chew on my lip, considering. “Okay, fiiiine.”

  And I’ll admit it, I get into the game. We try on several of the performance costumes in the shadows, surprising each other with hyena howls and birdcalls as we step out for the reveal. I laugh so hard when I emerge to find Miller posed on one leg, perfectly still and composed, in flamingo garb that I’m sure I pull an oblique muscle.

  When I somewhat regain my breath and my composure, I begrudgingly accept the Lizzie costume he’s holding in his outstretched arm.

  “What’s that face?”

  “I can’t believe I’m stepping back into fur. Even for shits and giggles.”

  “You never wore Lizzie when you were doing fur training,” he reminds me. “Lizzie is way too high profile for trainees. Lizzie is a privilege.”

  Lizzie is indeed an icon. Girlfriend to Drako the Dragon, she’s the other face of the park.

  That being said … Lizzie girl deserves an updated look. Her costume’s not at all cute, and her facial expression is stuck in permanent swoon mode, all pouty lips and batted lashes. Drako’s costume has several variations, but Lizzie always looks just a little bit dopey.

  But to appease Miller, I step inside one of the dressing stalls and struggle into the shiny green costume with the long scaly tail. I’m so not a fan of long scaly tails. Or claws.

  When I emerge, I find Miller standing tall and proud in the Drako costume. “Drako the Dragon. Man. Something a lowly kangaroo could never have aspired to,” he quips.

  I go stand next to him and giggle at our reflection in the large mirror. It’s a cute couple’s costume, for, like,… something else. Not the Character Ball. Pulling off Lizzie’s head, I meet Miller’s eye in the mirror, my expression one of business. “Okay, let’s get serious now,” I tell him.

  He takes off Drako’s head, surprise written all over his face. “What do you mean?”

  I tilt my head. “What do you mean what do I mean? Let’s find the costumes we’d actually wear to the ball.”

  “We could get Drako and Lizzie, Lys! Drako and Lizzie! They’re icons! Why pass these up? They’re perfect.”

  I stare at him, still outfitted in head-to-toe green scales. Oversize silly feet. Claws. I’m suddenly shedding my scales as quickly as I can. “Just … no. Miller, I am a fashion merchandising major, trained to worship names like Prada and Versace. I’m an Enchanted Princess! I don’t do lizards!”

  I leave the costume at my feet. Miller picks it up, carefully puts it back on the hanger, and then follows me toward the rows and rows of beautiful princess dresses. The closer I get, the better I feel.

  But Miller merely groans. “Seriously, why are you coming over here?”

  “To find our perfect costumes!” My voice is enthusiastic, and there’s a big smile on my face. Surely he’ll come around. He has to.

  “Alyssa. It is completely counterintuitive for you to go to the ball as a princess. The whole point of the ball is to go as someone you don’t normally play.”

  “I’m not planning to go as Cinderella,” I say innocently, flipping through the dresses.

  He chuckles once. “Nice try. You know what I mean. Can’t you even think about branching out beyond a princess dress? Look for something you can actually move in?”

  “I’m sorry, but”—I shrug daintily—“that idea holds absolutely no appeal to me.”

  I smile over my shoulder, surprised at Miller’s expression. I was kidding, but … he doesn’t seem to be finding me all that funny right now.

  “Stay right there,” I tell him. “Just … let me show you something.”

  I jog down the long row of princess dresses until I find it. I stand reverently before it for a moment, staring at the dress in all its exquisiteness. It’s too cumbersome for most, and few girls are bold enough to wear it to the ball, but man … this dress is a showstopper.

  The Swan Queen’s dress.

  It has a sleek, sculpted bodice and intricately layered skirt. A twenty-foot train made of feathers. A choker made of more feathers and fake diamonds that sparkle more than real stones.

  This year I might be ready for the Swan Queen dress. Taking a deep breath, I remove it from its garment bag and carry it gently into a fitting stall.

  I dress with my back to the mirror, not wanting to peek until I’ve gotten it on, which admittedly, is quite the struggle as a solo act. But I want to surprise Miller with the complete look, too. When I finally turn around, there’s no holding back the huge grin that erupts on my face. The ugliest of ducklings could look stunning in this dress, and with my hair pulled back in a tight bun, even with no makeup on, I look amazing.

  Ever so slowly, lifting the folds of the gown and being mindful of the long, delicate train, I walk down the aisle toward Miller. His back is to me, and I announce my presence quietly. “Ta-da.”

  He turns around. His face is passive as he studies me, looking me over from head to … well … tail. Miller doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Then, at last, he reacts. “You look ridiculously beautiful,” he says.

  It’s a compliment. I don’t understand why he sounds so defeated.

  “I know it’s a lot,” I acknowledge, taking a few steps closer. “But I totally think we can pull it off. And these costumes? Guarantee a grand entrance.” I beam and clap my hands. “The Swan Prince costume is cool, too. It’s this sleek tuxedo with a black feathered mask. It’s very dignified.” I stare at him pleadingly. “Can I go get it?”

  Miller drops his head and sighs as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, sure.”

  I go back to retrieve the corresponding prince costume, fueled by anticipation and excitement, and return to Miller lickety-split. Black garment bag in hand, I stare at the em
pty space before the mirror. Where’d he get to so quickly?

  I wander through the rows until I find him in front of the office, sitting on an overturned milk crate. His shoulders are slumped and he looks dejected.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask brightly, hoping to displace the cloud that seems to be hovering above him. I nudge his foot with mine. “You don’t look like you’re having fun anymore.”

  What happened to the guy who knocked on my door before sunrise because he was so eager to get over here?

  This guy looks up at me a minute later. “To be honest … I’m not.”

  My stomach sinks, and the garment bag falls to my side.

  “We haven’t actually talked about the other night, but maybe we should have.” Miller meets my eye only for a quick second before gazing into the distance. He chuckles once. “It was so awesome. I didn’t want to taint it in any way. I wanted to, like, preserve it. Just … keep living it over and over again.”

  He stops laughing. He looks back at me, apprehensive. “Why did you kiss me?”

  I do a double take at his question. “It wasn’t obvious? Because I wanted to.”

  He looks dubious. “You were kind of out of it.”

  “I would’ve kissed you stone sober. Which, by the way, I was more than I wasn’t.”

  “Would you have?”

  I shake my head in confusion. “Yes. What does that question even mean?”

  I stare at Miller, wanting to say more. Where is this coming from? And why?

  “Miller. What is this?”

  He looks me over again. By the time he finishes, his eyes are sad. “Look at you. You’re a princess. You want your grand entrance. You want your fairy-tale ending. The one you lost with Jake.” He sighs again.

  I try to laugh, but it doesn’t quite come off. And I really wish I didn’t still have this dress on. “Miller, come on.”

  But he doesn’t come on, he just continues with it.

  “It’s true, at least to some extent, you have to admit,” he continues. “Right now, you can’t even think beyond it. For a party.” He rises, coming over to stand before me. We’re still the same height, as we’ve always been, but for the first time, we’re not seeing eye to eye.

  “You are a princess, and I”—Miller swallows hard—“am woefully human. I’m no prince in shining armor.” He shakes his head. “You can’t just insert me back into the story.” He looks down at the garment bag and shakes his head. “And that costume won’t even fit me,” he states matter-of-factly. “The pants are too long, and we’re not allowed to alter them.”

  I drop the garment bag like a hot potato. “Forget the damn costumes, then. This is stupid!”

  He stares at me evenly. “It’s not really about the costumes, Alyssa.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought things were…” I struggle to come up with the right word. Natural. Right. Perfect. “… flowing.” I throw my hands in the air. “You want to talk about the other night, fine. I kissed you. Again for the record, I wanted to. And I just…” Suddenly I feel bashful and need to look away. “I just like you.” I like you … so much … and I like me when I’m with you. I don’t worry about what I eat. I don’t worry about what I look like. I’m too busy being happy. “I want to see what happens here. I was under the impression that you did, too.”

  Did I misread something again? What did I miss this time? With Miller, it had always seemed like we were on the exact same page. And with him sticking around now, it just seemed like those pages would keep turning on their own.

  “Problem is,” Miller begins, wincing toward the distance, “I know what happens.”

  Something occurs to me, and I fold my arms across my chest. I nod knowingly. “She got inside your head, didn’t she?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Yael. She shared her little rebound theory with you. She’s trying to convince you to walk away.”

  Miller looks confused for a minute, and then he shakes his head. “Yael hasn’t said anything to me.”

  I stand there, stumped. If she wasn’t responsible for this seemingly sudden change of heart, then who … what … was?

  “She didn’t need to,” he says quietly. “The thing is … I’ve been down this road before, Alyssa.” He shrugs. “I don’t know exactly what vibe it is I give off, but it’s like I make girls feel … safe. And plenty of times in the past, these girls…” He smiles ruefully. “… girls who look like you do, they find their way to me. The cheerleaders. The sorority girls. Always seems like it’s when they’re having a rough time. They stick around long enough to get their confidence back, I guess. They stick around long enough to make me think it’s real, then when push comes to shove, it’s not. Sooner or later the girl always wants the prince again, the fairy-tale ending.” His voice turns quiet. “And in the story, nice guys finish last.”

  “That’s not what’s going on here!”

  Miller studies me. “I don’t know that. And to be honest, I don’t think you know that yet. And … you’re not just one of those other girls, Alyssa. You … I’ve always…” He trails off. “I don’t want to go down that road with you. I like you too much for that.”

  “I think you’re being ridiculous,” I tell him.

  “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. I haven’t really let myself … think … about the other night. I’ve just been going with it, because I didn’t want to let go of it. I didn’t want to think.” Miller’s face is pained. “But then you came out here in that dress, so caught up in wanting to be the princess, the grand entrance, and I just feel like eventually you’re going to want the fairy tale again.” He shakes his head. “And once you do, chances are you won’t really want me to be the one by your side.”

  I recoil like I’ve been slapped. It takes me a minute to speak. And when I do, the words that come out are not very princessly. “Um, screw you, Miller.”

  Miller takes a step back. It doesn’t ruffle him. “I don’t want to fight with you. This is precisely why…”

  Maybe he’s just protecting himself. Maybe he’s been hurt, and maybe the way those other girls treated him became something of a pattern. Maybe this isn’t entirely about me.

  But … something occurs to me, and it’s something really crappy.

  “You’re as bad as he is.”

  He turns around. “What?”

  “You’re as bad as Jake. You’re reducing me to this … one-dimensional person. The girl who cares more about her happily ever after than what the story even looks like. The girl who’s nothing more than the princess she portrays.” My eyes fill and my throat tightens as this realization comes into focus. “And that hurts, Miller.” I shrug. “Jake, apparently he always saw me that way. I thought you actually saw something more,” I whisper.

  He looks conflicted. Frustrated. “I do. Just…”

  “You’re sure as hell not acting like you do.” I reach around and yank the zipper on the back of the dress. I think I hear something pop, but I’m too upset to care. “You’re reducing me to a stereotype. You’re reducing this to nothing.”

  “Alyssa…”

  “Chrissi. Blake. Yael.” I tick their names off on my fingers. “They all seem to think this story only ends one way.” My eyes fill with tears. “I thought you were the one other person who got how it really was. Who saw how it could be.” I clutch my midsection, because suddenly I feel so entirely alone. And lonely. Lonelier than I felt when Jake walked out my door.

  I shake my head fiercely. “Forget this.” I turn on my heel, whipping all those stupid feathers out of my way. “Forget the ball. Forget everything.” I give him one last look before I go. “You were so worried about a crappy ending. Well, there you go. You just wrote it. And now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  chapter 24

  “I hate boys,” I moan. Lying with my head in Chrissi’s lap, staring up at my ceiling, I continue my rant. “I hate lying, cheating boys. I hate the nice boys. I just hate boys.”

  “Maybe yo
u should swear off boys for a bit,” she responds tentatively. “Not at all in an ‘I told you so’ way, but this is sort of what I was worried about when we talked last week. The last thing you need is another boy hurting you right now.” She pats my cheek.

  I tilt my head to look her in the eye. “You’re still saying ‘I told you so,’ by the way. Ugh! And that’s the thing. I wasn’t looking for someone to help me get over Jake. Miller was the last person I expected to start falling for. I didn’t go after this. It just happened.” My lips curl downward. “He was also the last person I expected to hurt me, like this or … any kind of way.”

  “I’m sorry, lovey.”

  “It hurt more than when Jake said it,” I acknowledge out loud. I shake my head and laugh mirthlessly. “I didn’t think anything could hurt more than the night Jake broke up with me, how he broke up with me, but when Miller said those things to me…”

  A moment later I push myself up on my elbows and scramble to my feet. “I hate boys!” I shout with renewed vigor. I dart to the kitchen and rifle through my junk drawer. I find a long, thin lighter in the back and whirl around, holding it up triumphantly.

  Chrissi jumps to her feet, eyes wide, looking instantly panicked. “Um, what are you doing?”

  Without bothering to give her an explanation, I stride toward my bedroom. As I dig around in the piles in my closet looking for It, I hear Chrissi on her phone. “Are you home? Get down here. I think I need backup.”

  By the time I find it, toss my clothes back onto the floor of my closet, and go back to the living room, the troops have amassed. Camila and Rose are standing beside Chrissi.

  Rose has her hands on her hips. She surveys the scene—me, holding a lighter and a binder covered in lace and sparkles. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

  Staring down at the binder, I feel remarkably calm. “I’m burning my wedding binder,” I announce.

  “Your what?” Rose asks.

  “My wedding binder. I’ve been amassing dresses, and floral arrangements, and lighting fixtures, and DIY projects, and cake designs, and boudoir pictures since I was sixteen.” I shake my head. “But if seriously no one out there believes there’s anything more to me than the pursuit of this binder”—I hold it up over my head for their examination—“then I’m going to prove them wrong.”