Page 52 of Things We Left Behind

“I can’t help it. It’s so perfect for you. Just like Nash. It just makes me so…happy,” Bonnie wailed.

I wondered for the briefest of seconds what it felt like to be standing there wearing a beautiful dress knowing that I was going to marry the man of my dreams. Would I have thatmoment? And if I did, would it be dimmer because I knew my father wouldn’t be here to walk me down the aisle?

Tears prickled behind my eyes. Damn it! No crying. No self-­pity. I was Comeback Sloane, Truly Excellent Bridesmaid. Not Debbie Downer of the Whomp-­Whomp Family.

“It is beautiful, and it is me,” Lina conceded. “But what shoes would I wear?”

“Your black lace-­up Jimmy Choo boots with the crystal bands,” Stef said.

“Ooh, edgy, comfortable,andregal,” I said.

“Shit. They would be perfect with this,” Lina said, fingering one of the black appliqués.

“This dress was made for you,” Ahmad decided. “It would be an absolute travesty to let anyone else even try her on.” His minions bobbed their heads in agreement.

Lina spun back around to study herself in the mirror. Her eyes met mine. “What do you think, Sloane?”

“It’s so perfect I can barely look at you,” I admitted.

“It is, isn’t it?” She brought her hand to her chest.

“Are you having premature ventricular contractions?” Bonnie demanded.

Lina rolled her eyes. “No, Mom. I’m falling in love with a damn wedding dress.”

All the occupants of the little pink couch erupted in cheers.

“Now, let’s talk about bridesmaid dresses,” Lina said.

“I can’t believe I found a dress.” Lina pushed her plate away with a gusty, satisfied sigh. “No one else had even tried it on. It’s like fate or whatever you weirdo romantics believe in.”

We were squeezed into a small booth in the back of a trendy bistro. Stef had skipped lunch under the guise of having a conference call. Personally, I thought he was just avoiding being heckled about his lack of movement on the moving-­in-­together front.

I shot a glance at Naomi over my fancy-­ass grilled cheese.She beamed all her happy newlywed vibes in Lina’s direction as they dissected every detail of the dress.

A good friend called the bridal shop and preordered the perfect gown. A great friend pretended like fate was the real hero.

My phone vibrated on the table, and I picked it up. It was a call from my sister.

“Hey, Maeve,” I answered, plugging my ear with my finger and sliding out of the booth.

“Hey, I got your message, but I was stuck in court. What’s up?” she asked.

I ducked behind a large potted plant next to the host stand. “Did Dad ever mention a Mary Louise Upshaw to you?”

“Dad mentioned a lot of people to me. Is she from Knockemout?”

“She was local-­ish. She worked at the post office. I didn’t have much time to do any digging, but it looks like she was convicted of drug charges. I think she’s the mother of Dad’s law school protégé Allen.”

“It’s ringing a vague bell. But this was probably a few years ago. Before the cancer and the move,” Maeve said.

Before the beginning of the end.

“Yeah. That’s probably the right timeline,” I agreed.

“He wasn’t her attorney, was he?” Maeve asked.

“No. I think she had a public defender. She got twenty years. First-­time offender.”