“Rue-Rue!” Remy’s voice sings down the hall toward my office, echoed by catcalls from Reese and my mother. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“This is ridiculous,” I shout, eyeing myself in a warped mirror leaning against a wall.
A little money in the account and my mom couldn’t help herself. When she showed up with a vintage wedding dress in hand, I almost lost it, but now here I am, wearing the damn thing after she and my sisters insisted I try it on.
With my shoulders exposed and chest and arms covered in delicately embellished cream-colored lace that leads to a satin pleated skirt, it fits like a matrimonial glove. As annoyed as I am, it’s beautiful. I spin to examine the back—low enough that myentire shoulder blades are exposed. It’s so much better than the simple white dress I picked out for my wedding with Jonathan.
Jonathan.
Even after his public display of asshole, I regret how things ended with him. It was the right decision, but never in a million years would I have chosen to do it like that.
When I got back from Charleston, we exchanged boxes of things left behind, along with a few tears and a single awkward hug.
“You’re someone else with him,”he said when I was getting in my car.
I shrugged with a smile.“Maybe I was someone else with you.”
“Rue!” Remy shouts. “Get your ass out here!”
I take a swig of champagne, take one last look at myself being the bride I was never meant to be, and make my way toward their voices, skirt rustling above my bare feet as I go.
I’m almost to the counter where Remy and Mom are huddled—Reese on the line from Chicago—when the “Wedding March” starts playing through a small speaker. They laugh like we’re in the middle of a ’90s rom-com.
Idiots, every single one of them.
I cut the music and give them ahappy now?look.
Remy stills, her mouth open as she goes from leaning over the counter to standing upright. “Oh my God, Rue,” she whispers. “You’re a vision.”
Reese, who is a mere face filling the screen, falls silent.
Self-conscious from their stares—I must look as ridiculous as I feel—I wrap my arms around myself as if they can hide a full-grown woman standing in the middle of an antique store in a wedding gown.
“Okay, stop looking at me like that.” To the phone: “Reese, be the bitch you are and put me out of my misery.”
“Even I would claim you,” she says with a tilt of her champagne flute.
When I look at my mother, she puts her hands to her chest as if needing to feel her own heart to confirm it’s still beating.
I am overcome.
As is she.
Because I know that look. It’s the same one I give Bennie when she takes my breath away.
For better or worse, we learn how to mother from our own mothers.
“Rue, it’s beautiful,” Mom says, hugging me, crying even though I’m not getting married.
I smile slightly, looking down at the dress. “You did good for once.”
“Gorgeous,” Remy agrees. “Now gimme that champagne.”
I take another sip then pass her the bottle.
“Fill me in on everything,” Reese says. Remy passes the bottle to Mom. “How are all my systems working?”
There are so many.
