The Truth About Ever After (21 page)

“A
slight drizzle,” Jen countered.

“Still.
You shouldn’t be out here in the rain. What if you get sick?”

“Being
pregnant doesn’t mean I’m going to be hurt by a little rain.”

“I
don’t care. You shouldn’t have to stand here in the cold. When’s it going to be
spring, anyhow? This rain is killing me. It’s like the weather is never going
to turn.”

“Kiki,”
Jen said, laughing. “You’re spiraling, hon.
You
’re letting
your bad mood about the
Vandermarks
turn into a bad
mood about everything. Let it go.”

Before
I could argue I heard the unmistakable sound of Sarah’s high-pitched voice.
“Kiki!” she called, hurrying down the street toward us, her mother at her side.
“Jen!”

“Hello,”
I called back, waving. I took quick notice of their matching Burberry raincoats
and felt my spirits lift. Her mother hadn’t changed much, always trying to be
one of the girls. I may come across as silly and spoiled sometimes, but at
least my mother and I never wore matching clothes.

We
entered the warmth of the bridal boutique and my spirits lifted even more. This
salon was beautiful and the selection was top-notch. I absolutely loved wedding
dresses. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I’m
still not sure about this,” Sarah said, her voice disdainful. “Won’t I get a
better quality if I have my dress designed for me?”

I
met Jen’s eye, trying not to roll my own, but she was smiling professionally at
the
Vandermarks
. “That’s always an option,” she said.
“But I figured we should see what’s readily available first. I promise, the
dresses in this boutique are the highest quality and will be made personally
for you if you choose one.”

“
‘Readily available’ are the key words there, Jen,” Sarah said, rolling her
eyes. “I hardly want to wear something that a hundred other girls will be
wearing this summer. I mean, if I had to count the number of times I saw that
same
tired
Amsale
dress a few
years ago. It was ridiculous.”

Jen
looked at me and gave me a half smile, and I did my best not to pull Sarah’s
hair. I would have bet half my trust fund that she was referring to
my
Amsale
wedding dress.
At least I didn’t look
like a starved giraffe in my dress
, I thought. Stupid brat.

“It
would be rude to cancel the appointment,” Mrs.
Vandermark
said. “We can always schedule a trip to New York if you decide you want
something designed. Daddy will make sure you get what you want, don’t worry,
sweetie.”

Our
bridal consultant came out at that moment, and Jen and I sent Sarah back with
her while the three of us went to wait on the floor. We were shown to a
comfortable seating area, and Sarah’s mom and I were given champagne. I did my
best not to drink mine too fast, though I couldn’t help but think it would calm
my nerves.

“It’s
so sweet of you to be here, ladies,” Mrs.
Vandermark
said. “It’s so hard on Sarah that Beth is indisposed during all this planning.”
The tone of her voice made it clear that she thought it the height of
inconsideration that Beth had chosen her daughter’s engagement as a time to
give birth.

“We’re
happy to be here,” Jen said. “It’s part of our job.”

A
few painful moments of small talk later, Sarah returned in her first dress, a
blinged
-out ball gown with a massive skirt and train. I
held my breath, anxious to see what she and her mother had to say. In my
opinion, it was just terrible, completely the wrong thing for her. Sarah was
tall and thin, almost angular, and the dress seemed to hang off of her, even
though the consultant had clearly pinned it in at the waist.

“Ooh,
Sarah, you’re gorgeous,” her mother cooed.

“Mother,”
she said, her voice cold. “I look like a five-year-old playing dress-up.”

I
stifled a laugh. At least she was honest. But it would have been nice if she
would have
given her mother the pleasure of seeing her only
daughter in a wedding dress without being so cold.

“It
does flatter you,” Jen said diplomatically. “It makes your waist look tiny.”

Sarah
only nodded, turning this way and that to see
herself
in the mirror. “I need something sophisticated,” she finally said, stepping off
the platform and heading back to the dressing room without another word, the
clearly terrified consultant hurrying along to catch up.

For
the next hour we watched as Sarah snarled and sniffed her way through a dozen
or so dresses. No sooner would she reach the podium than she would sneer, tell
us exactly what was wrong with the dress (too cheap-looking, too glittery, not
enough cleavage, way too slutty), and flounce back to the dressing room. I
began to wonder why on earth she bothered to come out at all.

Jen,
meanwhile, seemed to be struggling to keep her last saltine down. Her face
looked pale and was covered in
a sheen
of sweat. She
continuously rubbed at her belly, taking deep breaths as if she could force
herself to keep it together.

Finally,
I could take no more of her repeated assertions that she was fine. I pulled out
my phone and sent off a quick text to Matt, telling him where we were and
asking him to come get his wife. He immediately texted back that he was on his
way and I smiled. He was such a good husband.

“Jen,
Matt will be here in five minutes,” I said, slipping my phone back in my purse.
For a moment she looked outraged and ready to argue, but then an expression of
relief washed over her face.

“I’m
so sorry, Mrs.
Vandermark
,” Jen said, turning to
Sarah’s mom. “I’m not feeling well. Would you mind terribly if I left this in
Kiki’s capable hands?”

“Of
course not!” Mrs.
Vandermark
said. “You go home and
rest, dear. Take care of that baby.”

Her
tone was sympathetic and caring, but her expression was clearly distasteful. I
found out why as soon as Jen left the boutique.

“What
a poor, poor girl,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t even imagine if my
daughter had to work during her pregnancy. It’s such a shame that some men
can’t support their families. A pregnant girl working, can you even imagine?”

I
forced myself to count to five before I answered. “I don’t think Matt could
make Jen stop working if he tried,” I said, my voice trembling slightly with
suppressed emotion. “She loves her job very much.”

Mrs.
Vandermark
only shook her head again, clearly
choosing to not believe me. Sarah came out once more, now dressed in a sleek
silk shift dress. She didn’t comment on Jen’s absences, and I wondered if she
even realized she was gone. “This isn’t it, either,” she said, her voice flat.
“Honestly, you would think someone in this store would have enough common sense
to understand what the word ‘elegant’ means.” She glared at the consultant, who
shrank backwards as if she’d been struck.

“Sarah,
why don’t you try the Monique
Lhuillier
?” I
suggested, proud that my voice was calm. I turned to the trembling consultant
and gave her a big smile. “Do you know the one I mean? It’s a mermaid style,
with the rhinestones along the bust line?”

“Of
course,” she squeaked, her wide eyes darting between Sarah and myself.

“Fine,”
Sarah muttered.

Once
they were gone, Mrs.
Vandermark
turned back to me. “I
hope it isn’t too hard on you, dear, seeing your partner go through this
pregnancy. Sarah tells me you’re absolutely desperate to have children
yourself.”

I
stared at her, feeling shocked. Besides our brief conversation at the coffee
house, the subject of children had never come up. I wondered if Sarah had
caught my look of longing when she told me that Beth had given birth.

Or maybe she’s just trying to create
drama, like always
, a
skeptical voice in my head reminded me.

“She
must be misinformed,” I said as sweetly as I could. “Eric and I would like
children but we aren’t actively trying.”

Mrs.
Vandermark
gave me a look full of fake sympathy.
“That’s right, sweetie,” she told me, patting my hand. “You be strong.”

I
turned my head so she wouldn’t see me roll my eyes, and caught sight of Sarah
heading our way again. She looked beautiful, really stunning. The dress fit her
well, creating curves where she had none and adding a softness that she
normally didn’t possess. I crossed my fingers that she liked it.

“Wow,”
her mother said as Sarah stepped up on the pedestal, her
voice
sounding
sincere for the first time all day. “Sarah, you look beautiful.”

“I
agree,” I said firmly. “It really suits you.”

Sarah
peered at herself in the mirror for a moment.
Say you like it, say you like it. Stop being stubborn and snobby for
once in your life.

“Well,
it’s not terrible,” she finally said. “But I don’t know if I’m sold.”

Inwardly
I groaned as she turned to me. “Didn’t you get your dress in New York?” she
asked. “Maybe I should just go there.”

“I
did,” I said. “But I was having trouble finding something to suit me. You’re so
much more classically proportioned than me, Sarah.”

That
got a small smile out of her. She turned back to the mirror, studying her
reflection. “It does make my boobs look good,” she murmured. I crossed my
fingers under the folds of my skirt.

“Maybe
we should think about it,” her mother said. “You don’t have to choose anything
today.”

“That’s
true,” I said. Behind Sarah, I could see the consultant visibly deflate with
relief. I couldn’t help but smile. “We can always keep looking.”

“I
suppose,” Sarah said, stepping off the pedestal again. She looked at herself
one more time in the mirror. I had a feeling she really liked the dress, but
simply wasn’t ready to give anyone an easy time about it.
Fine by me
, I thought as Sarah headed back to the dressing room.
Jen and I had done our bit. Let her and her mother head to New York and
terrorize some poor designer. That was one trip I would not be taking.

Chapter Twenty-two

As
Jen’s pregnancy progressed, I found myself more and more overwhelmed by the
planning of Sarah’s wedding. The simple fact was that Jen was just not well
enough to put in the kind of work a wedding of this size required. Though her
doctor assured her everything was fine with the baby, her pregnancy was clearly
a difficult one. When she wasn’t nauseous, she was tired. She was getting
headaches on an almost daily basis, and had begun to forget the most basic
things.

“I’m
useless,” she told me one day, staring at her planner. She had just missed a
meeting with the caterer. Luckily, I had been there and it hadn’t been a big
deal, but she still felt awful about it. “I can’t remember anything. And I feel
sick all the time.” Suddenly, her brown eyes were filling with tears. “And you
didn’t want to do this wedding at all, and now you’re doing all the work.”

“Jen,”
I gasped, dismayed. This was so unlike her. Jen Campbell was the most together,
confident girl I knew. It was heartbreaking to see her break down like this. I
wrapped my arms around her and let her cry on my shoulder. “You’re being
silly,” I chided. “Everything is getting done. We haven’t missed a single
appointment or vendor payment. Sarah’s mom is pleased with how everything is
going. You need to cut yourself some slack.”

“I
just don’t feel like myself,” she sobbed. “I feel like I’m not in control of
anything.”

I
had to smile at that. “Maybe this is your baby’s way of getting you used to
that fact. You like to control everything around you, Jen, but if there’s one
thing you can’t control it’s a newborn baby. Maybe this is just your wake-up
call.”

She
sniffled against my shoulder. “When’d you get so smart, Kiki?” she muttered.

“Maybe
when my partner got knocked up and left me to do all the work,” I teased.

She
laughed,
then
suddenly squeezed me hard. “Thank you
for doing all this, Kiki. I don’t like how much work you’re putting in, but I
do appreciate it.”

Eric
was another person who didn’t like the work I was putting in, and he
appreciated it a good deal less than Jen.

“You’re
spending all your time with
her
,” he
muttered one night during dinner. I’d been late getting home after a meeting
with Sarah’s photographer, and then had to leave the table to take a panicked
call from Beth, who, despite her best efforts, was not yet able to fit into the
bridesmaid dress that Sarah had ordered for her. She’d probably ordered it
intentionally small to encourage Beth to lose weight. I wouldn’t put it past
her.

“It’s
my job, Eric,” I said. “What can I do?”

He
grumbled something inaudible and returned to his dinner. We had been having
this argument a lot lately. Eric was of the opinion that the workday should end
when one came home for the evening. He hated when I had to make dinner and
weekend appointments, and particularly hated it when it was with Sarah. He
could usually accept my arguments that my clients worked during the week and
often didn’t have time to meet during business hours, but had less patience for
the
Vandermarks
.