Page 51 of Best Woman
“As clearly stated on your receipt, Born to Bride does not accept returns on items that have clearly been worn.” There’s more of Lorraine’s horrid pink lipstick on her teeth than her lips, which have been turned down into a grimace since I walked into the store.
“I only tried it on at home,” I insist again. We’ve been doing this for at least five minutes already. “That’s why it has those deodorant stains.” Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn her attention to those.
“Not to mention you’re outside the thirty-day return policy,” Lorraine says, sneering at me from behind the counter.
“By one day!” I’ve only been back from Florida for a week.
One week of ignoring Mom’s calls, double tapping Aiden’s honeymoon photos, and staring at my text thread with Kim, trying to figure out what to say, if it’s even worth saying anything.
I’m guessing she found someone else to take to that party.
“Listen,” I say, leaning over the counter toward Lorraine, “can’t you just bend the rules this one time?
The dress is in pristine condition!” She snorts.
“ Near pristine condition.” I attempt pleading puppy dog eyes.
“I could really use the money back.” Things are still precarious between Everett and me after our discussion upon my return.
He says we’re taking it one day at a time, but he’s certainly not in a rush to give me any more responsibility, meaning a raise—and a generous Christmas bonus—are probably out of the cards.
I’m accepting it as penance for my various sins.
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just please, if you have another wedding to attend, shop somewhere else .” She yanks the dress laid on the counter and starts typing away at the register as I breathe a sigh of relief. Looks like I’ll be making rent this month after all.
“Thank you. And don’t worry, I’m never going to a wedding again. They’re miserable.”
She looks around furtively. It’s Tuesday morning and the shop—like most of the mall—is empty. Now sure the coast is clear, she sags against the counter, going from poised to exhausted in half a second.
“ Tell me about it, honey. I spend every day of my life talking to people about their weddings, this one day they think is going to be special enough to make up for how empty and meaningless the rest of their lives are.” She’s clacking away at the register again, processing my return, but her motions are lethargic, robotic.
“They come in here and buy dresses they can’t afford to marry men who will divorce them.
The brides torture everyone: the bridesmaids, their mothers, me . Insert your card, please.”
I do.
“But they torture themselves most of all. Am I going to be too fat on my wedding day? Will he think I’m beautiful? Will I be able to hold on to this one moment for the rest of my life?
“I’ll let you in on a secret, honey: weddings bring out the worst in everyone .
Everyone is stressed out and hungry and worried about spending too much money to act like rational human beings.
People say things they don’t mean at weddings, they make bad decisions when the booze is flowing. I assume it was an open bar?”
“Of course. God, can you imagine?”
We share a shudder.
“If the marriage lasts, they’ll only remember the good parts. And maybe they’ll have kids, and kids always help smooth things over. If they don’t, no one is gonna wanna remember the wedding anyway.”
She tears off my receipt and hands it to me.
“You’ll be fine, honey. Now go buy yourself something nice with your refund.” Her face smooths over, back into business mode, as the front door rings open behind us. “Good morning, how can I help you today?”
There’s an Auntie Anne’s across the corridor from Born to Bride, and I buy myself a piping hot cinnamon pretzel, which burns my fingers but tastes like a memory.
I walk slowly, aimlessly through the mall, pausing occasionally to check a window display or pop inside a store.
Thanksgiving is next week, but there are already Christmas lights decorating the cavernous hallways of this temple to consumption. My phone buzzes in my bag.
“Do you still like whales?” my dad asks.
“Yes, whales are cool as hell. Why?”
“Maybe we can go to the Natural History museum, I haven’t been there since the seventies.
” Dad is flying in to Boston next week to spend the holiday at his brother’s house upstate.
I’ll see him there on Thanksgiving and he’ll drive me back to the city on Black Friday and spend the day with me.
We’ve been trying to figure out things we can do together that won’t drive one of us crazy.
“It’ll be super crowded.” I can already imagine the sheer amount of screaming children. “But yeah, that would be cool.”
“You were obsessed with whales as a kid. You had this little set of toy whales and you wouldn’t play with anything else for months.”
“Yeah, I remember. I threw one of them through a window when you and Mom told us you were getting divorced. The glass exploded everywhere.”
I expect an awkward silence but instead my dad laughs, loudly and gleefully.
“I forgot about that! Oh my god, I felt so bad for you, kid,” he wheezes. “But it was really funny!”
He’s right. It is funny. One of my most crystal clear memories of foundational emotional trauma, and it’s really fucking funny now. That’s nice. One day, I’ll laugh about the wedding too.
For now, I’ll shop. There’s gotta be something in Hot Topic that will give my mother a minor stroke.