“Dane and I have been talking,” I say as she leads us past rows of sparkly green, gold, black, and red gowns toward the bridal section in the back. “We realized we have no idea why our families fight. Do either of you know?”
I have homework, and I’m not letting Dane down.
Not this time.
“The fruitcake house was before my time, but I know your grandmother says that was justone more thingthey’d done,” Mom offers.
It’s good to have her coming around. “But what other things did they do?” I ask.
“Your grandma has never elaborated. She’s always said I don’t want to know.”
Mrs. Briggs shakes her head. “It’s a mystery to the rest of us how it started. All I know is that my mom told me to never get involved in a fight between your families, and my dad was glad I was too young to date either of your grandfathers and too old for either of your fathers too.”
That actually cracks me up. “Guess I get to be the one to suffer instead,” I joke.
“No, dear, you’re going to live your happily ever after forever. Have you and Dane decided where you’ll live once you get married?”
“I can walk dogs from anywhere,” I answer, not looking at my mom, who quietly sighs like she doesn’t want to get caught sighing.
I want to believe that if I told her I’d been writing plays and my local theater was doing one and I wanted to be there for it, that she’d understand, but after the way I walked away from an acting career, I don’t want to share until it’s been a success.
I want to prove that I can see this through and that it’s the right path for me.
Mrs. Briggs lifts a brow. “Not much need in Tinsel.”
I’ve never wanted to squirm more in my life. “I can’t decide if I want to go with a white or ivory dress, or if I want to go full Tinsel and do something holiday themed,” I say. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re gonna be limited to what fits you on the racks because my seamstress is out on maternity leave.”
All of us laugh at that. “Fair enough,” I say.
The bells jingle, and a familiar voice calls a quick “Hello? Can we join you? We brought homemade tea cookies as a wedding-dress-party-crashing offering.”
Lorelei.
And Esme too.
Both of them.
I texted Lorelei that we were dress shopping and asked if she could make it, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the ornament shop.
Having herandEsme show up?
I think this is good.
Ihopethis is good.
I slide a glance at Mom. One of her eyes twitches, but she quickly turns it into a smile. “If that’s what Amanda wants.”
Progress.
This is progress.
I beckon them back. “Come join us. We were just talking about how silly it is that no one knows why our families fight.”
Esme rolls her eyes. “Whatever the real reason, I doubt it’s because of why Grandpa says it is.”
“Wait, Grandpa’s told you something?” Lorelei asks. “What did he tell you?”
