“Abby. You’re awake. Listen, we need you to come to the east side right away. Rachel is trying on wedding dresses, and we want your opinion.”
I sit up, suddenly wide awake. “What? It’s barely eight. Can’t this wait until later?”
“No, we have an appointment at La Belle Bridal at nine. You need to be here. It’s important to your sister.”
I should say no. My gut agrees, but then I remember Sarah’s apology. Maybe Mom and Rachel want to apologize to me in person. Why else would they invite me, right? And I’d love it if we could be more like John’s family. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
As I hang up, my throat tightens, and the bitterness hasn’t gone away. If my family wants to apologize, why do it at a bridal salon? Then again, Rachel’s needs come first, as always. But I can’t imagine her wanting my opinion on her wedding gown, so they must want to make amends.
I drag myself out of bed, feed Powerfluff, and shower.
Two minutes to nine, I step into La Belle Bridal. Everything is pink except for the white and ivory dresses, though I glimpsea couple of blush-colored gowns. Mom and Rachel are near the back of the store, surrounded by a mountain of white tulle, satin, and a smiling salesperson.
“You made it finally,” Mom says, not seeming to notice I arrived a couple minutes early. “Isn’t that dress stunning on your sister?”
Rachel twirls in front of the mirror, beaming. The dress has appliques, poofy sleeves, and a flowing train. It’s a lot of dress. The kind of dress royalty might wear at a wedding held in Westminster Cathedral or wherever they get married these days.
“It’s nice,” I say.
Rachel’s face falls. “You hate it?”
“No, it’s lovely,” I backpedal. “But will it fit the vibe of the venue?”
Mom shoots me a disapproving look. “Rachel deserves to feel like a princess on her big day. That dress will work anywhere.”
I bite my tongue, and tension builds at my temples. Their apology had better be worth it.
As Rachel returns to the dressing room, I wander through the racks of dresses. The beautiful fabrics and sparkling embellishments fuel a daydream about my wedding to John. He would look so handsome in a tuxedo.
“Earth to Abby!” Rachel snaps me out of my fantasy. “What are you doing?”
I turn to see her eyeing me suspiciously. The mermaid style she’s wearing looks better on her than the other dress. “Just looking.”
She smirks. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about getting married. To who? That John guy?”
“Yes,” I say defensively.
Rachel’s harsh laugh grates on my nerves. “Oh, come on. Someone like John Barrington would never marry you. He’s way out of your league.”
Ouch. But I don’t need her approval, even if some part of me still wants it for an unknown reason. “You know nothing about my relationship with him.”
“Please,” Rachel scoffs. “He’s just using you for some reason. No way is he serious about you.”
Something inside me snaps. “Let’s make a bet about who’ll be married first.”
Rachel’s eyes widen, then narrow dangerously. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Satisfaction rushes through me. “Try me.”
“Mom!” Rachel shrieks, turning to Mom. “You can’t let her do that. Tell her she can’t get married before me. She can’t.”
Mom steps between us, holding her hands up placatingly. “Now, girls, calm down. Rachel, honey, you’re the oldest. Of course you’ll get married first. Abby’s joking around.”
Her words are like a slap to my face and break me completely. Years of being second-best, of having my feelings and desires dismissed, rush to the surface. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change. They only want me here so Rachel can rub her upcoming wedding in my face. Neither of them will apologize to me.
“I’m not joking.” My voice is tight. “I’m done with this. All of it.”
The lines on Mom’s face deepen. “Stop being so dramatic. People are watching.”
