Without another word she gets clothes from the dresser and hands them over, then goes into thebathroom to brush her hair and make herself presentable (her words—I think she looks perfect as is.).
I dress, careful of my sting.
Paisley returns, hair wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck. I reach for her hand, ignoring the pain in my leg.
“Let’s go spend some time with your family before we have to go to Shane’s place tonight.”
“Ugh,” Paisley groans. “The mixer. I forgot about that.”
Taking her hand, I open the bedroom door for her. “Maybe it’ll be better than you think.”
Paisley presses up on tiptoe, delivering a kiss to my cheek. “You’re going to be there, so it’s already better.”
CHAPTER 31
Paisley
Followinga late afternoon spent playing board games with my family, Sienna and I broke off from the group to get ready. Klein stayed with Ben, my mom, and grandma, locked into a serious game of Catan.
When Sienna and I were younger, we’d be in the same bathroom getting dolled up for an event. Now the ever-widening chasm between us had us going our separate ways to get ready.
Sienna was stiff all afternoon, smiling perfunctorily but not really a part of the action. I hadn’t worried because I’d been too busy laughing, too busy smiling, too busy enjoying Klein’s presence around my family. Everybody likes him, it’s easy to see. Who wouldn’t?
So much for that tiny step Sienna and I took while we were assembling favors earlier. Was it Wren’s story about Klein and Shane? I’d purposely kept my attention from her after Wren told us, it’s possible I missed an important non-verbal reaction.
I’m pressing a mascara wand to my lashes when Sienna slips into my bathroom.
“You look pretty,” she says, fingering the fabric of my ruffled mini-dress. Her voice is hesitant, but soft, like she’s silently amending this afternoon’s behavior. “I love the deep neckline.” She mimics the cut on her own chest. “And the color.”
Hot pink and bright orange floral is a color combo that can’t be pulled off just anywhere, but here it works.
“I like your dress, too,” I say, leaning into the mirror and applying a second coat of mascara before the first coat dries.
Through the mirror Sienna sends me a dismayed frown. “Don’t tell anybody, but I’m getting sick of wearing white.”
“Just because you’re the bride doesn’t mean you have to wear white all week.” I finish applying mascara to the corners of my eyelashes and secure the wand in the tube.
“I thought it would be fun.” She looks longingly at my outfit. “But I miss color.”
Grabbing her wrist, I say, “We could trade. You wear mine, and I’ll wear yours.” It’s not me being a pleaser, it’s me being kind, and it makes my offer feel good instead of many other negative emotions.
Sienna considers it, then shakes her head, her red-beaded chandelier earrings swinging. “You can’t show up in white, Paisley.”
She’s right, but only kind of. Technically, I can show up in anything I want. But convention says white is verboten.
“But I’ll take it with me on my honeymoon, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll give it to you when we leave.”
“Thanks.” Sienna leans into the mirror, running a fingertip along her lower lip that’s already perfectly lined and lipsticked.
“I asked Shane about what Wren said. His comment,” she clarifies, not that a clarification is needed. “He said it was a joke Klein took the wrong way.”
She looks like she needs me to believe it, or at least say I believe it. I could make a fuss, state my opinion, but for what? I know I’m trying to be more assertive with my family, but this doesn’t feel like a hill I need to die on.
“Sure,” I say agreeably.
“I just don’t want you to feel like Shane is being weird or anything,” Sienna adds, her words at 1.5x speed.
