Page 3

Chapter Three

Saturdays just aren’t the same. Ava used to volunteer at the animal shelter, and I would pack her a lunch and drop her off. Then Bek and I would hang out together all day, shopping, doing our nails, or watching T.V. But at the beginning of summer, Ava and Bek both got jobs at the pet store, and they almost always work on the weekends, so now I’m usually alone.

Today, however, I am doing the unthinkable and dress shopping with my oldest sister who is getting married in just four short months. My mom is acting like a wedding coordinator from hell, and we haven’t even left the house yet.

“I think you should dress nicer, Samantha. This is a special occasion, and you want to show your sister you respect it as such.”

I look down at my jeans and blouse. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“The jeans have holes!” Mother looks scandalized, though I know for a fact she owns several pairs in the same ‘artfully torn’ style.

“Mom, no one dresses up for stuff like this.”

She arches an eyebrow and I know I will never win this argument. If, by some miracle, I was to make it out of the house in this outfit, she would play the guilt card the entire time we were at the dress shop and all through lunch.

I curl my lip at her before I stomp up the arching staircase to my room. Truth be told, I have an adorable new dress that I’m excited to have an excuse to wear, but I’m not going to let Mom know that.

When I come back down, Mom is waiting with her purse over her shoulder and her car keys in hand. I do a dramatic model walk across the entryway, stop, turn, and model walk over to the entry hall table where I always toss my clutch. I strike a dramatic pose and look at Mom over my shoulder. “Better?”

“Perfect. That dress is adorable!”

I follow her into the five-car garage. I hang back because I’m never sure which car Mom will choose. She presses the button on the key fob she’s holding and the old baby-blue, two-seater, convertible Mercedes chirps. I smile. My favorite of her cars. She and Dad are total car junkies. They have a separate storage facility where they keep the rest of their cars and cycle through them every few months.

I pat Sunny’s hood as I stroll past. I imagine him frowning that we’re taking one of Mom’s cars and leaving him in the dingy garage on such a bright, balmy day. Sliding into the passenger seat, I pluck two scarves from the glove box, while Mom puts the top down. We both tie one over our heads to keep our hair in place. I slide my oversized sunglasses on and buckle my seatbelt as Mom pulls into the summer sunshine. My skin immediately warms, and I draw a deep breath of clean, fresh air. I love my Sunny with a passion, but I do wish he was convertible.

The bridal shop is downtown on the upper level of a five-story building. We tuck our scarves into the glove box when Mom pulls up to the valet station in the parking garage about a block down from the shop. We stroll the sidewalks, admiring the window displays we pass. Every display sparks a new idea Mom wants to suggest to Ines for either the wedding or the reception. My pulse starts to accelerate imagining the months to come and the battle of the wills that is sure to take place between Mom and Ines. They are way too much alike and always end up verbally sparring over who is right.

When we step off the elevator, we find Ines and her best friend Gayle have already arrived. They hold champagne flutes filled with a bubbly golden liquid. White tulle poofs out from behind my sister’s head, marking her as the bride. Mom hugs both girls and I tease Ines over her bridal style. The veil is in direct opposition to her ripped white denim capris and pink, cap-sleeved blouse. I turn to Mom with an arched eyebrow and point to Ines’s outfit.

Mom sniffs snootily. “Because she’s the bride, she doesn’t need to respect the event. But it is good for you too.”

Understanding dawns on my sister’s face and she laughs. “If it’s any consolation, sis, I had a moment of dress envy when you walked off the elevator.”

I shrug with false modesty. Her compliment does make me feel better though.

Our store concierge hands Mom a glass of champagne and then hands me a flute as well. By the darker hue, I can tell it’s sparkling cider. I frown at it.

The elevator slides open behind us and Bridget stumbles into the shop, looking disheveled and harried, as usual. And definitely not respecting the occasion with the appropriate attire.

“There you are, darling.” Mom hugs her last daughter to arrive before my sister has a chance to straighten herself. “How’s my girl of fire?”

Our names were chosen by our parents based on what was going on in their lives when we came to be. They were in Spain when they conceived Ines. Ew. And Mom had raging heartburn during her entire pregnancy with Bridget. They did a nationwide tour of motivational speakers the year I was conceived. Ew, again. I hate thinking about my parents doing the nasty. So gross. Anyway, Mom and Dad often use the motivation behind our names as little pet phrases for us. Mine usually only comes up when I’m doing the exact opposite, such as, “Now, Sam, you’re supposed to be the one who listens,” or “Pay attention, Samantha. You’re not living up to your name.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Bridget’s voice is muffled against Mom’s shoulder. “I got caught up in a sculpture.”

I don’t know why she bothers to apologize anymore. We all know she’s going to be late and that it will be because of her latest art project. She isn’t a professional artist, yet, but she’s good enough to one day be one. She made a bust of me a couple of years ago. It looks nothing like me, but somehow captures the very essence of me at the same time. It’s my favorite thing in my room.

“It’s fine, dear. We haven’t even started yet.” Mom replies first, though I see Ines snap her mouth shut to stifle whatever her response would have been.

An employee hands Bridget her own flute of suspiciously dark liquid and she and I clink our glasses together. She’s nineteen, a year and a half older than me, so she’s still underage as well. Ines is the oldest of the five of us siblings and at twenty-five, seems like an old maid to me. That might just be her serious personality, though. Her husband-to-be, Lincoln, is super fun. Very outgoing. Pulls everyone into whatever he’s doing. Whether it be a card game or a DIY project, he wants anyone around to be involved. He’s always smiling and laughing and trying to get Ines to relax and be happy too. He’s good for her and I’m glad she found him .

“Let’s start with the bridesmaid dresses,” Mom says to the attendant.

Ines clears her throat. “I’ve already given Kyla the dresses I want the girls to try on as well as the gowns I want to try on after that.”

Bridget and I arch eyebrows at each other. Preventative strike by Ines.

Mom smiles but raises her nose in the air as she follows Kyla back to the dressing rooms.

There are long gowns in varying shades of blush hanging outside two of the dressing rooms and moss-colored gowns outside a third. The green dresses must be for Gayle who is my sister’s maid-of-honor, so I pull open the door to a room with the blush-colored gowns, and Bridget steps to the room next to it.

Kyla hurries over to hand us the first dress to try on. I enjoy dressing up, so I’m excited about the fashion show we are about to give, but I know Bridget hates anything that isn’t leggings and an oversized t-shirt.

“Don’t come out until everyone is ready!” Ines says, as we disappear into our changing rooms. She and Mom sit on chairs at the edge of a stage that the changing rooms are on, sipping their champagne.

When I get the first dress on, I curl a lip at my reflection in the mirror. The dress clings to my hips more than I like. The material pulls across the front of me, making my hips and thighs look larger than they are. The draping neckline is flattering but the color washes out on me, giving the illusion that I’m naked at first glance.

I turn to the door and wait for permission to exit the room. Then I realize no one knows I’m dressed and waiting, so I call out, “Ready?”

When a chorus of “ready” rings out, I swing the dressing room door open and step out.

Of the five siblings, Bridget and I look the most alike with the washed-out coloring we inherited from dad. She is shorter than me, but just as curvy, and the dress pulls in the same place on her as it does on me. We share a look that says neither of us like the dress before we turn our attention to a gushing Ines, who only has eyes for her best friend, a willowy figure with skin a few shades darker than ours and chestnut-colored hair. The sage green looks spectacular on her.

Mom sits next to Ines with a curled lip as she examines Bridget and me. “That style doesn’t suit your sisters’ figures, Ines, dear.”

Ines finally looks at us and her face falls. “No, it doesn’t.”

The attendant reminds everyone that the dresses will be made to fit like a glove, and I snort as I turn back to my dressing room. “I think she’s saying we have big hips, Bridge.”

“You think?” Bridget and I grin at each other.

Kyla hands us our next dress, and I disappear into the room again to slip it on. This one is very low cut, exposing the strapless bra I’m wearing. The back is low too. I feel naked and hate it immediately. The hip area has a more generous cut, so the material doesn’t pull, but it has a mermaid hem that is not flattering on a hippy girl. The blush color is a couple shades darker, so doesn’t wash out, but still isn’t flattering.

Bridget calls, “Ready?”

Gayle and I agree, and we step out. Again, Gayle’s tall, thin figure looks spectacular in the dress, and Ines is immediately captivated by her while Mom arches an eyebrow at Bridget and me. Ines sighs when she sees us, and we disappear into the room to try on the third option.

As I dress, I hear Kyla assuring Ines that they have many more dresses she can bring for us to try if this one doesn’t work. As soon as the dress falls into place, I know it’s the one. The blush color is a shade pinker than the other dresses and compliments my super white skin. It’s a strapless dress with a sweetheart bodice wrapped in organza, and the skirt flows to the ground from just under the breasts. It reminds me of something a Greek Goddess would wear. I spin and turn and look at the dress from all angles. It’s lovely.

Gayle calls, “Ready?” I think I hear excitement in her voice.

We step out and Ines and Mom exclaim at the same time. Mom is grinning and nodding. Ines has a hand clapped over her mouth and her eyes are shimmering with tears as she tries to take us all in at once.

“Turn around,” Mom commands.

The three of us spin, sharing excited smiles with one another.

“That’s the dress!” Ines calls. “That is perfect on all of you.”

Mom is still grinning. “Do you girls like it?”

The three of us chorus our acceptance at once and Kyla calls over two more employees to get our measurements. We must put a rush on the order because Ines and Lincoln decided to get married so fast. I wonder if that’s why we have so many people helping us, or if that’s normal in a bridal shop. Mom is going to be spending a lot of money, so my guess is that has something to do with the excellent service.

When we are finally done, I change back into my street clothes and take a seat on the other side of Mom from Ines. As Bridget and Gayle finish, Kyla and another attendant walk up with two wedding gowns. Kyla puts the gown she’s carrying directly into the dressing room and the other girl hangs the second one outside the room.

Ines leaps from her seat and disappears into the dressing room. It’s the most excited I think I’ve ever seen her. Her face glows with anticipation. Happiness transforms her, making her look her age instead of like an uptight thirty-something. It takes her a while to get dressed, but when she comes out, my breath hitches.

My sister is a bride!

It’s a simple dress with spaghetti straps and a v-neckline. The white satin skims her curves—not as pronounced as Bridget’s and mine—and the hem floats just over the floor. Now I see why Ines took extra care with her hair and makeup today. She’s stunning.

“I don’t like it,” she says. “Too simple.”

“Agreed.” Mom sips her champagne.

I slam my mouth shut. But Bridget leans over and whispers, “I think it’s lovely.”

I nod and shrug. We both know there is no changing Ines’s mind, so why bother sharing our opinion?

The next dress is the exact opposite of simple. It’s an hourglass figure with a lot of lace and cutouts and it’s far too busy for Ines to carry off. Thank goodness she agrees. The attendants bring more dresses while Ines changes. The third is a beautiful ball gown with a wide bell skirt. It has long lace sleeves and a crew neck, that doesn’t suit Ines.

Mom considers Ines and says to Kayla, “Let’s try a ball gown with the same strapless, sweetheart neckline as the bridesmaid dresses.”

The attendant nods and scurries away.

Luckily, Ines didn’t hear Mom giving instructions, or she might hate the dress on principle. The attendant is back in a flash with the dress and puts it into the room immediately, by-passing the four hanging outside the room. Ines shrugs at her reflection. “I like it, but something isn’t right.”

Mom smiles and nods. “Yes, something is off.”

When Ines disappears into the room to try the next dress, I wrap my hand around Mom’s and lean my head on her shoulder. I’m so proud of her for not being the know-it-all, even though she is, totally, a know-it-all. She kisses the top of my head, and we sit like that until Ines comes out of the room with a huge grin on her face and tears in her eyes.

I sit up and slap my hands over my mouth. Bridget and Gayle both exclaim and clap like they are at the circus and the trapeze artist just landed a particularly difficult trick.

“I feel like Cinderella.” Ines examines herself in the mirror and we all sing praises for the dress. Gayle snaps pictures. The attendants bring several choices of veils, and Gayle snaps more pictures. The attendants take measurements and make fitting appointments. And finally, we spill into the elevator to head to lunch, Ines still proudly sporting the tuft of white tulle on the back of her head.

The image of Ines in the gown won’t leave my mind. Even though she’s been out of the house for years now and she acts like a stodgy old lady, it’s still hard to accept her as grown up enough to be married.

She’s glowing. I take Bridget’s arm and whisper, “Do you think we will ever be that happy?”

Bridget studies Ines. “Sure. I just never thought she would.”

I laugh because I must agree. I think of my serial dating ways and frown. I know, I’m only seventeen, too young to worry about settling down, but it worries me that I can’t seem to find a guy worth dating more than twice. Why do I always find a reason to break up with him? I tell myself it’s to avoid hurting his feelings later, but secretly, I wonder if I do it to avoid me getting hurt later when he inevitably leaves me.

When the elevator doors open, I follow everyone out of the building and onto the sidewalk and push my negative thoughts from my mind.