Her lashes flick from her notes and her eyes meet mine. My heart is instantly filled with fight or flight emotions. Everything in me petitions to avert my gaze from hers, but I can’t, and my lips refuse to move from a straight line. I’m flooded with visuals of what she must look like through Jayden’s eyes. What was his reaction when he first saw her? When those cold blue eyes held his gaze? When he first took her to bed …?
Then she smiles at me and returns her gaze to her notes.
I take my hand from Rae’s and dig my nails into my chair. That sly little homewrecker.
Rae passes me a folded piece of paper, which I open with shaky hands.
Do we need to leave?
I flip the paper over and steady my hand long enough to write the word No, and slide it back to her.
She looks at me carefully, and then quietly crumples the paper and stuffs it in her bag.
I’m definitely seething, but I’m not going anywhere. I came here for Rae, and because I hoped the meeting could give me more insight to Grandma Jackie’s Bible. When Rae asked me to come with her to a Bible study of all things, it felt like fate that just one day beforehand, I had come across my grandmother’s majestic old Bible. It felt like this night … being here … was meant to be a special, story-book kind of event that was meant just for me. And I refuse to let Hadley take anything else from me than she already has. Leaving would be like another victory for her, and just like getting vengeance on Jayden at this point, it would show her that I still give a damn.
“So per tradition,” Kaya’s voice filters in through my thoughts, “We will go ahead and start the session off with a little ice breaker.”
She passes around sheets of blank paper.
“I want you to write down your name and something fun about yourself, then fold your paper into an airplane. From there, everybody get up out of your seats and throw your airplane. For about thirty seconds, go around the room, pick up any airplane that’s been thrown and throw it again, so that all the papers get good and mixed up. After the thirty seconds, everyone select an airplane and take your seats. One by one we’ll read what the person has written on the paper. Whoever’s name you have, they will say how long they’ve been attending with us, and it’ll be their turn to read next.”
My jaw tightens when I receive my paper, a plethora of possible ‘fun facts’ coming to mind.
My name is Grace Rains, and I hate cheaters. My name is Grace Rains, and I know what you did. My name is Grace Rains, and you better watch your back.
I take a minute to breathe and steady my temper before trying again.
My name is Gracelynn Brielle Rains, but I go by Grace.
I know that Rae wrote the same thing about her name for her fun fact, because it was always our go-to icebreaker fact all through high school when every English and Performing Arts teacher insisted upon ‘fun, interactive introductions’.
We fold our paper airplanes and throw them around for thirty seconds, steering clear of Hadley’s line of direction. I lose track of mine within the first ten seconds between the forty or so women circulating around the room. Some people didn’t know how to make paper airplanes, so they simply throw around crumpled up wads.
We all sit down after the time is up and begin to go around the tables with our papers. Kaya kicks off the reading, and several girls take their turn after her, but I can hardly focus. My mind feels blurry from trying to process what’s happening.
“I got Hadley Harris,” The sound of her name snaps me back into the present as a young pregnant woman takes her turn, “and she wrote that she enjoys singing in the shower.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Singing in the shower? Go on, Hadley, tell everyone what you really enjoy doing in your spare time. Let’s all take this perfect opportunity to get honest.
Hadley smiles, raising her hand, “That’s me!”
I smirk. Her voice is higher pitch than mine or Rae’s. It instantly irritates me.
“I’ve been regularly attending A&B meets for about four months now I guess, and it truly has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.” she says.
How interesting that she started attending regularly just one month after Rae stopped. What is she even doing, going to a Bible study? Doesn’t the Bible have some pretty clear scriptures about cheating?
“Okay,” She unfolds her airplane and clears her throat, “I got Gracelynn Brielle Rains — Ooh, that’s a pretty name — and her fun fact is that she goes by just Grace.”
I swallow. What are the odds that she would get my paper, of all the forty that were floating around the room? Was she trying to be facetious when she called my name pretty? Or by her personal insertion of the word just right before ‘Grace’?
I realize everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I stare down at my airplane which has been decorated on the outside with a dark, swirling design. I start to open it and then remember I have to say how long I’ve been attending.
“Oh, this is my first time at an A&B meeting.”
A round of clapping passes through all five tables, and I smile politely, “I got Zoe Catrina, and she loves photography and art.”
A girl with a dark-colored pixie cut stands. Her arms are covered in ink, she wears black, winged eyeliner, and a delicate necklace with a polaroid camera charm. She tells us that this is her sixth time in attendance.
The cycle continues on like this until the last person has been introduced.
Soon the ice breaker is over and Kaya gets on with her presentation. I don’t hear most of it — only bits and pieces of background noise. I’m too exhausted from the extremely coincidental run-in this evening and from the forced interaction between us that has ensued.
After about thirty minutes, I hear Kaya’s personable voice concluding the message, “If you take nothing else from this night, let it be one of the Lord’s most gracious promises to us: ‘I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.’”
She closes her Bible, “Please feel free to stick around for awhile. Have some food and some fellowship, and thank you for coming out tonight.”
The women begin filling the room with chatter. Rae scuffs her chair against the floor, “Ready to go?”
“Yep.” I say, following suit.
We leave the building without any goodbyes and enter my car in silence. Both of us just sit there a moment letting everything sink in.
“I am never going back there,” I breathe.
Rae shakes her head, “I don’t blame you.”
6
Rae - Thursday
I usually drive with the radio on, but today en route to the dress fitting, I have too much to think about.
I never got to see, or even talk to Adam yesterday, and after everything that happened at A&B, I have the overwhelming urge to call him and give him an update. Something about the patient way he listens to me as I sort through my thoughts always helps me gain a better grip on things.
He picks up after just a few rings.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I smile, “Hey.”
“I missed talking to you last night,” He says.
“I missed it too, but I knew you had an early morning today. I didn’t want to wake you when I got back from A&B.”
“So how did it go? Do you feel better about the whole thing?”
I know he means about appeasing my mom once and for all.
“Well,” I grimace, “I basically made a bee-line out of the building. Didn’t pause to say goodbye to mom or Livia, or even catch up with Kaya, as she specifically asked.”
“That bad, huh?”
I shake my head, “Not the message — no. Just the company.”
“Hm,” He says, “What do you mean?”
I grimace again, “You know the girl Jayden cheated on Grace with?”
“Not personally, no.”
“Well, she was there.”
&n
bsp; “Ohhh,” He says, “Was Grace?”
“Yes …” I lament, “Thanks to me. I asked her to come with me.”
“Damnnn.” I can hear his smile, “What kind of friend are you, anyway?”
“I didn’t know,” I frown, “I feel really bad about it.”
“Don’t feel bad, baby girl. You haven’t been there in ages. There’s no way you could’ve known, and I’m sure Grace isn’t holding that against you.”
“I know,” I say, “But like, I also didn’t come across super friendly to Kaya or my family by leaving so quickly, you know?”
He laughs, “You’re overthinking this, I promise. Who’s Kaya again?”
“The leader.” I say.
She hadn’t made a big deal of my presence, but had still managed to make me feel welcome. She didn’t mention anything regarding my absence or how long it’s been, only her genuine happiness in seeing me again. It was actually me who had called myself out on how long it’s been since I last came to a meet when I mentioned how much the group had grown since then.
I’d said, ‘You all must have doubled in size since I was here last.’
You all.
As though I’m not even a true member of the group, but some sort of outsider looking in. Kaya hadn’t missed a beat, though. She simply smiled and smoothly carried the conversation.
Adam shifts on the other line, “I’m gonna have to let you go, babe. Second period is about to start back up and I’m supposed to be lesson-planning.”
“Oh,” I say, “Sorry to hold you up. I just … this is all I could think about during my trig class this morning,” when I really needed to be paying attention to the lesson. “I just needed to like, info-dump on someone, you know? Process everything.”
“Of course,” He says, “And I fully expect a more thorough update when I come by after work. Sound good?”
I smile, “Sounds good.”
We hang up and I’m almost to the bridal boutique.
At a stop-light, I open the messages on my phone, scrolling past the recent ones from my mother asking if I’m okay, and finally read the texts from Kaya over the past few months.
From: Kaya (A&B)
Sent: 5/25/19
Time: 9:04 am
“Hey, girl! Just wanted to say we missed you last week. Your mom said you weren’t feeling good - can I bring anything by for you?”
_________
From: Kaya (A&B)
Sent: 6/2/19
Time: 10:14 am
“Congratulations on your engagement!!!! May God bless both you and Adam throughout your union. I’m SO happy for you!”
_________
From: Kaya (A&B)
Sent: 8/11/19
Time: 6:01
“Love you, Rae. Hope you are doing wonderful. Keeping you in my prayers <3 Hugs!”
_________
The light turns green and I set my phone down as a little more guilt piles itself on my shoulders. I had ignored these thoughtful messages so long. But I mostly feel guilty because my mother was right: The message last night had been good.
I found myself enjoying Kaya’s words and the spirit of the group, but part of me still feels like I don’t belong there. Like I’m less worthy than the rest of the attendees to claim what they call ‘grace’, and it’s the very feeling I’ve been trying to avoid the entire time I’ve been absent.
It used to seem like every time I’d go to an A&B meeting, it was mostly these women talking about how they can better themselves spiritually, which is totally cool and everything, but it was the things they suggested that made me feel lesser than them. They’d suggest things like visiting orphans and widows more often together, which is usually something you do when you’re really scraping for things to improve on. It’s not what you’re thinking about when you’re where I am — at the bottom of the improvement scale, still focusing hard on issues like keeping my language pure and my hands off of Adam ... which I suck at. Or, dare I say it, not hating certain aspects of my body, which is supposedly ‘God’s own creation’. The truth is, the part of my body that I hate is not His creation or even slightly His doing. It’s mine. It’s all mine.
***
I pull into the boutique parking lot and park in a spot labeled: Reserved for VIPs and Our Brides to Be!
Despite everything going on, I still can’t help but smile every time I get to enjoy my status as a bride — every time someone admires my ring or says, “congratulations!” when I buy something bridal.
I walk into the store which is bustling with groups of women and stylists pulling various gowns for their clients to try on. Hanging from the hooks on a dressing room in the corner is my dress — an unsightly thing with far too much fabric.
My stylist is propped on a chair in front of my dressing room’s runway, checking things off on her clipboard.
“Good morning, lovely lady!” She says with enthusiasm.
“Hey,” I say as she squeezes me into a hug.
If I could describe Sonya in one word, it would be “bubbly”. She’s a voluptuous woman in all the right areas, but dressed like a professional in her lady suit. She’s probably the most energetic and optimistic woman I know, but I’m sure that’s just how someone who works off commission has to be in order to talk a bride into deciding on a dress.
“Do you need anything before we get started? Bathroom? Hot tea?”
I smile, “I don’t think so, thanks.”
“Alright then!” She says, unhanging the dress, “Let’s slip this baby on!”
A few minutes later, I’m standing in front of the runway mirrors, tugging on the sleeves. The neckline of the dress goes up high enough to cover my chest scar and the sleeves fall loosely down my arms, which is not something I wanted, but I worry that trying to alter the delicate lace will rip it somehow or completely ruin the pattern. The worst part of the dress is the skirt, which ruffles all the way down to the floor, instead of gracefully outlining my hips gliding down.
“So,” Sonya says with anticipation, “How do you feel?”
I flick my eyes down the length of the dress. It’s hideous, really. Makes me feel anything but bridal.
“It’s very … Victorian.” I swallow.
She fluffs out the bottom for me to see the skirt in all its ruffled glory, “Are we having second thoughts?”
I scan the dress again, searching for any redeemable qualities. I know I picked this one because it covers everything, but I should still feel beautiful on my wedding day, and this dress doesn’t do it for me.
“Could I maybe still …” I bite my lip, “try another one? Is it too late?”
She smiles, “Honey, it’s never too late!”
Of course it’s not. I am every commission stylist’s dream. The bride who literally buys a dress only to find she hates it the next time she tries it on for sizing and opts to buy yet another dress.
“Ridiculous,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head when I send her away with a description of my dream dress.
Moments later she comes back with a strapless, mermaid-style gown with a sweetheart neckline. My lips moisten slightly as I take in the site of it — the stunning details in the beading. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
She unbuttons the back of my Victorian dress and helps me slip into the modern one — a design that she told me just hit the market.
I step out of the dressing room and onto the runway, convincing myself to walk all the way down before I look in the mirror. I feel strangely underdressed without any bracelets on my wrists; but at the same time, it’s also kind of liberating. Like my traditional shackles have been shed.
When I reach the end of the aisle, I glance up at the mirror. For a moment, my eyes widen with joy. The dress fits my curves like a glove. It would need no alterations at all.
But then …
I notice how the fluorescent white lights of the dressing area bring notice to the light-colored marks on my bare arms and I look away. I don’t even want to see how much
the scar on my chest pokes out through the top of this dress, which is lower cut by a lot.
“You are glowing!” Sonya beams.
I wrap my arms around my waist, staring at the floor.
To the left of the runway, a little girl in a flower girl dress stops and looks up at me. She doesn’t say anything, but her lips part slightly.
I’m so uncomfortable, I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel like a spotlight’s been placed on me, revealing every insecurity I have. The idea of me having to deal either with this feeling on my wedding day, or the feeling of being in a hideous dress is enough to draw tears to my eyes.
“I have to go,” I say, turning on my heels and walking right back into the dressing room.
I dress quickly in my regular clothes and rehang both dresses before stepping out.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Sonya, “I should have known better than to come without my maid of honor. I’m too indecisive.”
She laughs, “Aren’t we all, hun. That’s alright. When would you like to reschedule the fitting?”
“Um,” I say, rubbing my temples, “Can I get back with you on that? I need my … day planner.”
Day planner. Sonya and I both know I use my phone calendar for everything.
“No problem,” She brushes it off, “We’ll see you next time!”
When I get out to the car, the tears really start to come. I turn the key and drive straight home, not bothering to burden anyone with a phone call.
It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to wear white. In the summertime, I feel comfortable wearing tank tops and casual clothes — but never white — because white enunciates the light color of each scar I have like glaring beacons of my flaws. Hanging out with my closest friends and family at a grill out is another story than my wedding day, when every girl dreams of looking flawless.
When I reach home, I go straight to my bedroom and lay flat on my bed.
I stay there long after my tears dry.
***
I was four years old when it happened, and yet I remember it so vividly. My mother was always the ideal homemaker. She stayed home with us from the time we were babies until we were old enough to go to elementary school. Before that, she homeschooled us, and she taught us a plethora of useful domestic skills. How to bake, sew, garden, and more, but a personal favorite hobby of hers was candle making, and it was something she never let us help her with.
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