Page 13

13

SAY YES TO THE DRESS

SHILOH

F ulton Cazzarelli has violated me. My heart, not my body.

I don’t know how he managed to elbow his way into my every thought and feeling, but I’m no longer preoccupied by work-related existential crises. I still can’t believe he went out of his way to research when the turtle hatchings were going to happen. And I can’t believe I’m even saying this—having been voted “Most Likely to Have Their Vision Board Come True” in high school—but having someone else take the wheel for once was actually… freeing .

That night on the beach was one I’ll never forget, even though I ruined everything by practically friend zoning him. I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet right now. I haven’t forgotten about that night in the hotel room, either. How is it that he was willing to sacrifice everything for me?

The longer I’m here, the tighter the potential for failure sinks its claws into my shoulders—a repulsive conglomeration of blood and flesh accumulating beneath rotting fingernails—and the only way I’ll ever be free is if I tear myself into pieces trying to live two separate lives. A life with Fulton, or a life dominated by work.Oh my God. I need to make up my mind. I can’t just keep going back and forth like this. It isn’t fair to him; it isn’t fair to me. Why am I trying to sabotage the best thing that’s ever happened to me?

My fingers curl around the stem of my champagne flute, and I polish off the last of my drink to disband the nausea currently staging a rebellion in my gut. The alcohol burns going down, but that doesn’t stop me from asking for a refill.

I’m not sure if Aeris invited me to her dress fitting because she felt bad leaving me out, but here I am. The bridal dress shop is family owned and quaint—a nice change from the rolling hills of wealth back at the hotel. A teardrop chandelier emits a golden glow over one of the small adjoining rooms, where upholstered couches have been positioned into a circle in front of a row of dressing rooms.

The east-facing window accounts for a lot of the natural light, flanked by long, chiffon curtains that dangle down its astounding length. Pink floral arrangements dot every flat surface, and portraits of wall-pressed flowers hang in bronze-brushed frames. Racks of silk, lace, and tulle advertise the perfect dress, alongside a complementary display of heels.

While the rest of the girls are all fawning over a gown that costs more than the down payment for my house, I’m all by my lonesome on one of the freakishly comfortable couches. And I stupidly think that my self-imposed exile has kept me safe until Aeris comes over to me and sits down, probably picking up on the depression emitting from my body like signals from a phone tower.

For someone tasked with choosing the dress of a lifetime, she doesn’t appear to be nearly as nervous as I thought she would be. “Are you okay?”

I startle. “What?”

Considering how direct Aeris has been this entire trip, I really shouldn’t be surprised. I guess I was just hoping to hide my emotions better.

“Sorry, you just…you’ve been really quiet today.”

This is the first time I’ve actually wanted to feel invisible. I should brush her off with a convincing, rehearsed smile. My problem isn’t her problem, and I don’t want to bring down the mood. Aeris is the last person who should be consoling the weird girl who tagged along on her trip.

But the words come tumbling out like a furious torrent of water perforating a hole in the hull of a ship.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not good enough? Like no matter what you do, you’re bound to end up disappointing the people closest to you?”

If you were good enough at your job, Shiloh, you wouldn’t have to pick between work or love. Hell, if you were good enough at being a partner , you wouldn’t be half as miserable as you are now.

Think about what Fulton said in the hotel room that night. You know how to swim, so why aren’t you trying to save yourself?

She ponders my words for a moment. “I used to,” Aeris eventually says, her tone tinged with a contagious sorrow—the type that’s lingering, subtle, and sometimes peeks through the cracks in her composure. I can deduce that if I’d asked her this question years ago, tears would most likely web down her cheeks. But it’s like her pain has been sieved slowly, consistently.

“I felt that way all the time about my brother. His name was Roden, and he lost his life to suicide. I was supposed to be his protector, and the self-blame only got worse after he died, you know? I kept replaying this narrative that everything was my fault, and if I’d only worked harder to…to keep him here…then maybe things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did.”

My belly wobbles, and it feels like there’s an emotional vacancy in my chest where my heart is supposed to be. I’m fortunate enough to be a stranger to loss and grief—at least in the conventional sense. Most of my relatives are still alive. I can’t even imagine what Aeris and her family must have gone through. The funny thing is you wouldn’t know it based on how she presents herself.

“I’m so sorry, Aeris. I had no idea.”

Despite the heavy topic, a small smile blooms across her face. “It’s okay. It took me a while to realize that punishing myself for his death wasn’t going to change anything. Reliving the past wasn’t going to alter the future. As devastated as I was, I had to remind myself that I was a good sister to him while he was still alive.”

I nod, and my insecurity suddenly seems like a flesh wound compared to her bone-deep trauma. I didn’t really intend to say anything, much less anticipate how she’d respond, but now I wish I’d never posed the question in the first place.

Can’t you do anything right?

But then, out of nowhere, she grabs my hand, and my sadness buckles under a compassion strong enough to usher in the yolk-colored afterglow of an impending sunrise. Her eyes glimmer with an understanding that I once believed to be extinct.

“You’re more than good enough, Shiloh. I’m sorry that the world’s tricked you into believing otherwise. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in my twenty-eight years, it’s that resentment can ruin you faster than anything else in this world.”

If I wasn’t so embarrassed about crying in public, I’d be knee-deep in tears by now. There’s a relief in knowing that I can confide in someone besides Fulton—a relief that I’m not the only person who’s struggled to carry the weight of a purposeless existence.

“You’re always so nice to me, and I’m practically a stranger.”

“Maybe we can fix that.” She squeezes my palm. “I know you’re probably going to think I’m crazy for asking this—and you can totally decline—but would you be one of my bridesmaids?”

Wow. That’s…is it wrong of me to think that she may be a little off her rocker? I haven’t done anything to deserve that title.

“Are you sure? That’s a really big commitment. I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be at all. Everyone wants to see you walk down the aisle with Fulton. And if we had met sooner, I know we would’ve already been friends.”

My fingers curl around hers with newfound hope. “I’d be honored.”

The fitting procession begins smoothly, and about an hour later, Aeris is on her third dress—this one having a long train and a curve-hugging silhouette that cinches in at the waist and emphasizes her generous cleavage. It’s beautiful. I mean, every dress has looked stunning on her, but I can tell this isn’t the one.

She twirls a few times in front of the floor-length mirror, turning back around with a frown draped over her lips. “Ideally? It’s gorgeous. But practical? Hardly. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Lila gives a low whistle. “If you choose that one, a hundred bucks says Hayes will get a boner before the ring ceremony.”

The bridal party devolves into wheezing laughter, the overlap of slurred voices warning other soon-to-be-wed customers of the dangers of a bottomless alcohol tab. Cali’s to the point of tears, Faye’s bent over at the middle, and Josie’s entered hiccup territory while her glass rocks in her hand like she’s on a boat.

“Three hundred says he creams his pants,” Cali says.

Aeris rolls her umber eyes, scoffing. “That would not happen. Hayes is a big boy. He can control himself.”

“Right, and Gage is a God-loving Christian who could never fathom the idea of placing his hands on a woman.”

“You’ve all had too much to drink.”

Lila thrusts an extra flute of champagne that just magically appeared out of thin air in Aeris’ direction, goading her with a conspiratorial eyebrow raise. “And you haven’t had enough. You’re getting married, Aer-Bear! You should be drunk off your pretty little ass!”

Aeris looks like she’s about to fold for a second, but she resists with superwoman strength, an amused chuckle curtailing her departure into the dressing room. “You guys are bad influences!” she shouts, the clink of hangers and the shuffle of fabric sounding like some kind of cage match behind those dandelion-yellow walls. “I need to be sober enough to pick the right dress, and you’re all about as helpful as tits on a bull. Except for you, Shiloh. You’re perfect. Thanks for being here.”

I feel my cheeks ignite, and when I swallow, it’s embarrassingly loud. “Of course. I’m honored that you invited me to come.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a part of the Reapers family now. It was honestly a given considering how long Fulton’s?—”

“Aeris!” Lila interjects, jerking so forcefully that some of her champagne sloshes in her glass.

The whole room goes cricket quiet, and I have no idea what just happened, but I’m a host to a plethora of fears right now, the silence startling and seemingly unnatural amongst a group of intoxicated twenty-somethings.

Why is everyone looking at me like I just killed someone? Why did Lila cut Aeris off? Do they know something I don’t?

Aeris’ accidental, almost bean spillage is like a flame to a goddamn powder keg, and I’m the poor bastard about to experience my first trial run through hell.

“How long Fulton’s… what ?” I ask, worrying my bottom lip, the words harder for me to chew than a mouthful of gristle.

A number of things could come out of her mouth right now, and Aeris doesn’t strike me as the type of person who’s good at keeping secrets.

The dressing room door swings open to reveal one guilt-ridden bride-to-be, the upper half of her dress pooled around her waist like she didn’t have time to fully slip out of it. The little line between her perfectly plucked eyebrows ratchets up my anxiety, and I don’t need to look around the room to gauge the expressions of horror exchanged between girlfriends.

It’s hot in here. I think I’m sweating. I can feel every hammer of my heart threaten to break my sternum in. That’s not normal, right?

Faye shakes her head, going all growly mama bear on her. “Don’t do it, Aeris.”

But it’s too late…because Aeris sings like a canary. The truth shoots out of her faster than the speed of light, a disjointed train of words mushrooming into the air and piercing my bubble of tranquility.

“Fulton’s had a crush on you for four years! He always talks about you. If it wasn’t for the wedding, he would’ve never gotten the courage to ask you out. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even entertained another woman since meeting you!” Aeris instantly slaps her hands over her mouth, turning red enough to compensate for the rest of the gang’s guilty silence.

Oh, okay.

I’M SORRY—WHAT?!?

Fulton’s liked me for four years? As in one thousand four hundred and sixty days? That can’t be true. They’re…they’re just joking around. Maybe this is like an initiation prank or something. Yeah, that would make more sense, right? I mean, if he’d had a crush on me for that long, surely he would’ve made a move sooner. Unless he thinks I’m unapproachable. Am I unapproachable?

The truth is Fulton caught my eye from the moment he stepped into my small, monotonous workplace. I didn’t even know he was a hockey player—there was just this quality about him that attracted me like a moth to a flame. Aside from his knee-weakening good looks, he was kind, considerate, and a breath of fresh air compared to some of the entitled customers that plagued me on a day-to-day basis. He saw me as more than just a worker to serve his needs. It’s ridiculous that the bar was even that low, but he saw me as a human being .

To think that he hasn’t been interested in anyone else since meeting me is…well, it just seems unbelievable. Fulton’s got girls lining up to simply take a picture with him. That line probably triples when it comes to his love life. Has he really turned down that many women because of me? An unextraordinary, hyper anxious barista who’s married to her work and shuns any form of social interaction? Fulton and I come from two different worlds. His is full of luxury and fame, and mine is full of taxes and tears—which, yes, are usually synonymous with one another.

Head swimming, vision shuttering like a choppy stop-motion picture, the faint taste of iron clings to the back of my tongue. “Is that really true?” I ask quietly, unsure whether to jump for joy or shrivel into a little ball.

On one hand, I’m flattered that Fulton’s liked me for so long, but on the other, this information is a high-risk danger for someone like me. I’m usually great under pressure—thank you, rush hour during UC Riverside’s orientation week—but I’m about to be pulverized into a sad, pathetic dust pile instead of being hardened into a diamond.

“You can’t tell him I said anything!” Aeris pleads with her head halfway out of the fitting room, and Lila—still toting her liquid courage—scrambles to the rescue to help her into the next dress. The partition snicks shut, forcing me to face a sea of saucer-wide, unblinking eyes that overflow with pity.

My worry-congested mind is racing toward a migraine, my pulse is skipping erratically like a stone across water, and I’m surprised my body is still functioning given the nuclear-sized truth bomb that just fell on me. I fix my desperate gaze on Faye for support, needing to excise this unwelcome fear before I’m drop-kicked back into Fulton’s and my one-bedroom reality.

“Do I tell him that I know? Do I pretend like I just found out about it? Do I act like I’ve always known? Should I be calm? Freaked out? Oh my God, he obviously didn’t tell me for a reason. And now I know something he doesn’t want me to know! That makes me a terrible person! What if he can’t stand to look at me because he’s so embarrassed? Or worse—because I betrayed his trust and found out from someone who wasn’t him? He’ll hate me! I?—”

Cali’s the one who cuts through my pessimistic waffling, shaking me by my shoulders, hard. Like, shaken-baby-syndrome hard.

“Get it together, woman! Fulton could never hate you. Hell, I’m pretty sure you could murder his entire family and he still wouldn’t hate you,” she says, prohibiting any more worries from making a dent in my subconscious. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. He’s obsessed with you. I mean, the truth was going to come out sooner or later.”

She’s right. Either he would’ve had to tell me—and it would’ve been very stressful for him—or I’d end up finding out another way. And Aeris just so happened to choose option B. The way I see it, she made Fulton’s life easier.

I’m afraid to remove Cali’s claws from my arms. “So, do I confront him about it?”

“Maybe you could just bring it up casually? But definitely don’t treat it like it’s a big deal,” Faye suggests, chugging the rest of her bubbly as an exit ticket out of this conversation.

Josie nods. “Let him know you feel the same way. That’ll probably take some of the edge off. I mean, it’s sweet, isn’t it? That he’s had a thing for you for so long and was gentlemanly enough to wait. It’s like the start of a romance novel.”

“Or a stalker romance,” Lila jokes from the tiny cubicle, to which a slapping sound ensues in the following silence, along with a high-pitched and undignified “Ow!”

“Don’t listen to her, Shiloh!” Aeris yells over the ruckus, sounding slightly breathless as she squeezes herself into whatever circulation-cutting death contraption is up next on the roster. “This is great news. Now you never have to question if he likes you.”

As twisted as it is, Aeris is sort of right. If that night in the hotel room was any indication, Fulton seems serious about pursuing a relationship. He’s not just going to abandon me when things get tough—not like Ace. And who says that our relationship can’t survive in the real world? Maybe Fulton and I fit into each other’s lives more than I thought.

A unified consensus creeps through the group, manifesting in supportive thumbs-ups and murmurs of agreement. And just like that, confidence chases away the initial sting of fear, leaving me with a buzz of euphoria that I only thought procurable through some grade A drugs.

I’ve never had a huge support system before. Sure, my family and Revlon would ride at dawn for me, but this is… different . I feel like I’ve been friends with these girls since elementary school.

The somersaulting of my stomach ceases, the cadence of my breathing resumes a natural progression, and my heart’s no longer trying to break the world record for six hundred beats per minute. I take a recreational sip of champagne for the first time in minutes, seeming to metabolize it easier when it isn’t panic induced.

With the topic of conversation having shifted to baby Eda, I’m the first person to notice Aeris opening the door to the dressing room, the bottom of her gown sweeping across the floor like the leisurely migration of steel clouds over a star-studded horizon.

Aeris comes slinking out in a showstopping dress, every lace intricacy sparkling underneath filaments of sunlight. The top is strapless, with a corset-like fixture holding up her breasts and outlining her natural hourglass figure. The waistline flares out from her wide hips in a waterfall of silk, spilling onto the ground with layers upon layers of ruffles, and her long train could cover the distance from here to the entrance door. But it’s the floral embellishments made of gems that pull the whole thing together. They compile a stunning configuration on her bodice, twining up the neckline and drawing the eye to a glistening replica of blooming foliage. And the rest continues downward, interspersed throughout the skirt in single vines and florets, with little pearls sewn into the fabric to add dimension and variation.

This dress was made for Aeris.

We all gather around her, some of the bridal party in tears as they take in the elegance of the dress, and a few sniffles even provoke some of my own. I could only hope to look half as beautiful as her on my own wedding day. I mean, if I get married.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always wanted to get married one day. But dating is hard. Putting yourself out there is hard. Pair that with my obligations and my baggage and, well, marriage becomes a thing of fairy tales rather than a conceivable reality.

There’s a pain in my chest that wasn’t there before, and it’s not from acid reflux. It’s something cancerous that lives beneath the surface, that thrives in the dark shadows of my heart, that constantly reminds me of a life I don’t know if I can ever have. It’s like the kind of parasite that wraps around one’s tongue, cutting off the host’s food supply without them even knowing. And then it sits there with its gluttonous mouth, feeding on every ounce of happiness, only to leave behind an emaciated husk with no autonomy, whose only avenue of calm is grouted in worry and dread.

I know I should be happy for Aeris—and I am—but God , I would be lying if I said I wasn’t envious.