“Oh, um, sure.” Does he mean whenwe’remarried or when he’s married to someone else?
God, I’m so confused.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Matilda
“I thinkwe’ve got a shot at it this year.” Kimmy’s assessment of our chances of winning the costume contest are greatly exaggerated. There are a ton of excellent costumes at this party. Many of them look to be original, not store bought or rented.
“I don’t know. Did you see Frankenstein and his bride?” The guy wearing that costume has to be six foot five on his own. What makes his costume original is it’s two-sided. From the front, he’s Frankenstein in a suit. On the back, it’s his bride, dress and all. The face of the bride is part of the wig or something. Honestly, I’m so fascinated by it, I sorta want to talk to him to see how he made it. The bride’s face looks to be made of papier-mâché, but it’s painted realistically. “I vote for Frankenstein.”
“You can’t vote for someone else!” Kimmy says, sounding affronted.
We all get to vote on the best costume. I always vote for myself or Kimmy, but I’ve gotta tell you, this is going to be tough. There’s nothing especially creative about our costume except the background. It’s an actual framed canvas of a photo of the house with the Gothic window. Kimmy had the image printed on canvas, then had someone at a frame shop do the rest. We’re tethered to the canvas with a strap on each side. It means we’re connected to the painting and unable to leave each other’s side even to go to the bathroom. It’s not convenient, but people have given us great feedback, so there’s that.
“I can vote for whoever I want, Kimmy. You’re not the boss of me.”
That earns me a smile from my friend.
“I’m gonna go talk to Frankenstein to find out more about his process.”
“If you go, I go, duh.”
I snicker because I did forget. “Fine. Come on.” I start to walk forward when I feel it. “Ouch. You poked me with your pitchfork, bitch.”
“Oops. Sorry.” She’s lying. She’s not sorry.
As we weave our way around the party, we take care not to knock into things since our costume is double-wide. On the way through the living room, someone calls Kimmy’s name. She turns, causing me to go along for the ride.
A man wearing a giant, red, upside-down U around his neck approaches. “Adrian,” I mumble to myself.
“Kimmy, I thought that was you. What are you guys supposed to be?” He’s frowning at our costume. “A farmer and a farm wife?” His frown deepens. “I don’t get it.”
Kimmy does her best to explain the intent of our costume, which earns us a shrug from the man. “Never heard of that painting. Sorry.”
Yeah, well, I’ve got a question for him. “What areyousupposed to be?”
Looking smug, he points at the small, yellow, furry chicks hot glued to each end of the red U. “I’m a chick magnet.” He points to the yellow chicks again. “Get it?”
“Right.” Kimmy nods. Then she does the unthinkable. She laughs. “Kinda cute.”
“I am, aren’t I?”
Ugh, Adrian Marchesani is the worst.
Tugging on my friend, I do my best to sound polite. “Sorry, we’ve got to go, Adrian.”
“You’re leaving?”
Kimmy quickly answers, “No. This one”—the witch nearly jabs me with her pitchfork again—“wants to talk to Frankenstein.”
No need to tug her along since we’re connected, moving away from Adrian, I weave around the other guests until I’m next to him. I tap the tall man on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Mr. Frankenstein.” He rotates slowly, then looks down at me. “Your costume is great.”
He grunts, then nods.
Wow. He’s in character.He’s good.
“I was wondering how you made your costume.”
