Realistic? Also, yes.
Unfortunately.
“Why can’t you just do one goddamned thing I ask of you?” Stella looks close to tears but of the totally manufactured kind.
Fortunately for me, my parents see right through her act, too. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Stella!” Mom says. “Turn off the waterworks and get dressed so we can take pictures. The faster you do that, the faster your brother will go out there.”
That’s enough of a shock to my sister that it interrupts her mid-sniffle. “Mom!”
“No. Stop itrightnow. Let them get you dressed.” Mom flutters her fingers at the colorful coterie pressing ever closer to each other by the second. Like a flock of colorful, tiny birds huddling together for safety from a hawk. Whatever they’re getting paid it’s not nearly enough and should include a hazardous duty bonus.
Apparently realizing she isn’t getting her way this time, Stella grumbles and spins on her heel to storm across the suite to where the other women wait.
It strikes me that none of these women are my sister’s “friends.” They’re not even bridesmaids. They’re just window dressing paid to be there and carry out my sister’s vision.
I catch Leo’s eye and realize how sad it is that the closest person my sister could ever call a “friend” is cold in her Nebraska grave.
I don’t want to live my life like that, with only paid flunkies surrounding me. It’s doubtful Stella and Ellis even like each other, much less love each other. This is definitely a marriage of political convenience for them both.
No matter what it takes, I vow I will claw my way out of my self-constructed closet so I’m not living a version of their fate.
* * *
Fortunately,Stella’s wedding dress isn’t nearly as hideous as I worried it might be when I saw how her assistants were attired. Stella’s dress is a beautiful, floor-length, strapless satin sheath gown that looks like Stella let someone besides her own ego help her make the decision.
Once she’s dressed and her makeup’s freshened, the wedding photographer is summoned and the tropical troop steps aside so we can take staged “candid” family pictures.
To give Dad all due credit he’s good at faking a smile. “I’m guessing someone will tell me where and how I’m supposed to walk you down the aisle?” he asks her.
“Yeah, we timed everything last night at the rehearsal,” Stella says as she looks into the camera.
What?”
I turn at Mom’s hurt tone and spot her wide eyes, which now look a little too bright, like she’s close to tears. Even Dad looks stunned by my sister’s admission.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stella snaps. “Nowwhat?”
“You said there wasn’t going to be a rehearsal,” Mom quietly says. “When I asked if we should come down last night.”
Stella has the brass balls to roll her fucking eyes at Mom. “Yeah, I know I said that but—”
“Give us the room,” I roar, glaring at Stella. “Now. Everyone else except my parents, Leo, and Jordan—out.”
Stella’s eyes widen as my detail quickly clears the suite. Leo and Jordan both cross their arms over their chests in nearly identical fashion, wearing equally inscrutable expressions as they lean against the door to prevent it from being opened.
I hope to hell Jordan or Leo’s recording this right now. I really do. I don’t ever want to gaslight myself into thinking my sister’s not as bad as she is.
Pulling myself up to my full six-one, I slide my hands into the pockets of my slacks and stare down at Stella, who apparently realizes she’s stepped more than a toe too far over a line she never thought to check for before now, much less willingly abide by if she had.
I don’t bother keeping my voice down. “I know this is your wedding day but you and I also both know this isn’t exactly a Disney princess romance for either one of you. You getnomore chances with me today, Stella. Apologize to them.Now.”
“For what?”
“For being a goddamned bitch. For hurting their feelings. For lying to them. For just beingyou, Stella. And, FYI, as soon as the cake is cut and the first dances are over, we’re leaving. If that’s not before five p.m. then it sucks to be you, becauseAngelgoes wheels-up by 5:30. And I’m not posing for pictures with anyone, unless it’s a family photo, or they’re a kid.” I evilly smile. “Or they voted forme.”
The exaggerated cat-eye liner and fake lashes give her a cartoonishly obscene expression as she stares up at me. “You aren’t serious!”
I lean in, making her cringe which satisfies me way more than it should. “Tryme. Or, I can claim I’m needed back in DC in the middle of your ceremony and the three of us can quickly and publicly get up and leave while you’re in the middle of saying your vows. Your call.”
