"Ooh, you know how I get when you speak Portuguese." Paisley shakes her shoulders, the gold necklace she wears bouncing on her chest.
Paloma throws her head back, laughing throatily. "Stay focused," she instructs us over the table. "We're here for a reason."
Paisley salutes her. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
A restaurant employee approaches, dropping off our drink order and maple bourbon scones. When they are gone, Paloma begins her instruction. She shows me how to thread the needle and knot the thread. I feel a bit like a malfunctioning human for not knowing how to do this, but Paloma doesn't mention it.
We're hunting through the box, assembling our doll outfits on the table beside our lattes, when Paisley says, "My grandma has this really fun, cute way of dressing. Living, really. We call it 'Coastal Grandma'. You'll meet her at the wedding."
This is Paisley's way of opening up the conversation, letting me know it's time to start talking. We're here for me.
I look up, expecting to be met with two pairs of waiting eyes, but both Paisley and Paloma are intent on their tasks.
I grab the large fabric scissors and cut the edge of what will hopefully resemble a shirt. "She sounds lovely," I start. "The person you heard Dominic referring to is my grandma. Savage Grandma. She's not mean or anything like that, but she says whatever she feels like saying. She earned the nickname years ago when my little sister wore her hair parted down the middle and gathered it into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Grandmatold my sister she looked like a thirteen-year-old Colonial boy ready to start his woodworking apprenticeship."
Paisley sucks air between her bared teeth. Paloma nearly paints our doll outfits in spat-out coffee.
"I know. And the thing is, she delivers these remarks without fanfare or tone." A smile spreads across my face as I think about her. But then a shadow accompanies these memories, passing over each one and darkening it. "The emergency family meeting she called was to let us know she has final-stage heart failure and won't live much longer." My throat clogs. My eyes burn. I'm realistic enough to know everyone must die one day, and naïve enough to think it can't happen to someone I love as much as my grandma.
From Paisley and Paloma are the murmured wordsI'm sorry.
"You both already know my family isn't exactly easy to be around, but it's complicated." I sigh, trying to put it all into coherent thoughts. "Or, maybe it's not complicated. Maybe everyone has childhood trauma sitting in their adult bones." The vulnerability makes me uneasy, so I rush ahead and say, "Grandma's dying wish is for me and my siblings and my parents to go on a road trip with her." I'm too intent on crafting a tiny shirt collar to look up. The focus and distraction make it easier to talk, just like Paisley said. "And my new husband, too. Which, of course, was supposed to be annulled today until Dom accepted the gummy my grandma offered him. And now, apparently, he's going to hold the annulment hostage until after the road trip."
Why? Why would he do that? Why does he want to be married to me, even when it means nothing? It's not as if he cares about me.
"That's a lot," Paisley says kindly. "Thank you for sharing with us. For trusting us."
"Why do you loathe Dom?" Paloma asks, using the same word I chose when things were getting heated between us in front of Paisley and Klein's house.
I wait for embarrassment to fill me like it does every time I think about what happened with Dom on our first date, but it doesn't arrive. Maybe the events of the last three days have diluted what happened nine months ago. There are more pressing things to be upset about now.
I tell them what happened at Obstinate Daughter, about how our chemistry was sizzling. "It was like adding a tablespoon of butter to a hot cast-iron skillet. Crackling. I've never felt that before. Ever."
"What happened?" Paisley asks, dread deepening her tone.
I tell them everything. Every word Dom said, verbatim. My hands work to make Doll Dom's caramel tufts of hair, and I recite everything the real Dom said in that dim hallway.
"He still doesn't know I overheard. He believes I ghosted him. And he has the gall to be indignant about it." Using the fabric glue, I adhere each curl to the light brown sweep of hair I cut.
Paisley says, "Don't kill me for saying this, but it doesn't sound like Dom. Honestly."
"I heard him. Clearly. With my own two ears."
I look over and see Paisley has stopped crafting. Her arms cross over her stomach, teeth nibbling her lower lip. "I know. That's what makes it extra odd. It means he's either the opposite of everything he presents himself to be, or there's an explanation."
"You need to talk with him," Paloma says. She's putting a baseball hat on her doll.
"I know I do."
"It could be a miscommunication," Paisley says hopefully.
"I don't know how it could be." The whole thing is so embarrassing. Pointing at her doll, I ask, "Who is that?"
"Some asshole I saw litter yesterday. Not just a gum wrapper, either. A bag of fast food tossed from his car window." Paloma swipes my needle off the table, thread dangling, and stabs it into her doll's hand.
"Ow," Paisley yells.
Paloma laughs. "Anyway. You need to talk to Dom before this road trip. You need to clear the air before you're sharing the same air for three weeks."
