by Amelia Stone
Gods, I hated meetings. I needed to get away from that office. Soon.
Mom tutted, chastising me once again for working too much. But I tuned out her well-worn complaints as my thoughts turned back to the reunion. If I joined in on that schmaltzy trip down memory lane, I would probably make a fool of myself in every way possible.
But what if I really could make amends with Seth? If there was even a sliver of a chance that I could make things right, then I had to go. I owed it to myself, but more than that, I owed it to him. Though I had to admit I was fearful – so fearful – that ultimately, there wouldn’t be any chance at all.
I was still on the fence as I grabbed my purse and coat. It was a good thing the reunion was still months away, because I didn’t think I could solve this problem tonight.
However, a thought struck me as I checked my phone, quietly groaning at the messages that had piled up on my rare day off. I couldn’t fix things with my former best friend right now, but I could make headway on another item on my mile-long task list.
“By the way, Dad,” I said as I left the room. “I expect a full report on Order of Alexander by the end of the week.”
Ellie was right. Though it made my stomach twist to admit it, the dress she’d picked out for me was perfect.
I caved, obviously. In the end, the temptation to see Seth in person, to get close enough to actually speak to him, was too much to pass up. So here I was, getting ready for the one event I’d always known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I’d never attend.
Socrates was right, too, I supposed. The only true wisdom was in knowing you know nothing.
I gawked at my reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. I hardly recognized the woman gawking back at me, though her surroundings were familiar enough: I was standing in the tiny Jack-and-Jill bathroom I’d shared with Jess growing up. I’d driven home to South Bay that morning, and I would be spending the next ten days in my parents’ house.
I’d certainly never worn anything like this when I was a child, though. Even a fashion noob like me could see that the navy dress Ellie had chosen was both pretty on the hanger and flattering on me. The cap sleeves and yoke (Ellie’s highly technical word for the fabric draped across my chest and shoulders) were made of sheer lace with scalloped edges. The lace showed just enough skin to tease, but the form-fitting bodice hugged everything. Even I had no idea my hips looked so… well, sinful was the word that came to mind. I turned, taking in the low back – so low I couldn’t even wear a bra. Luckily, some sartorial genius had thought to construct underwire cups into the bodice.
I bit my lip as I pinned my hair into a twist at the nape of my neck, then double-checked to make sure my simple, classic eye makeup – the only look I knew how to do – was even on both sides. Finally, a pair of sparkly pendant earrings completed the ensemble.
I took a deep breath as I gave myself another head-to-toe inspection. I expected to feel a sense of panic, as I usually did in these kinds of situations. I didn’t like attention, or people staring at me. And this dress was clearly made to be seen. But much to my surprise, I didn’t feel uneasy in it. Maybe it was because my mind was already overflowing with Seth-induced anxiety, and I didn’t have room for any other thoughts. Or maybe it was because I was so perfectly put together that even I couldn’t find fault with my appearance.
It might even have been because I hadn’t looked – really looked – at my body in a long time, hadn’t taken in all the curves and shapes, all the colors and textures, separately or as a whole. I normally avoided mirrors, since the woman in them looked nothing like the person I thought I was. But this dress felt like it was constructed with me, and only me, in mind. And that made me want to straighten my shoulders and stand up tall, for once in my life. To own my body in a way I hadn’t ever done.
Gods. If it were anyone else, I’d even go so far as to say the woman in the mirror was smoking hot.
“Wow, you look smoking hot,” my sister Lindsay said as she carefully entered the small bathroom space with her not-so-small baby belly. Her dog, who was actually Ethel’s daughter, followed behind her.
“No, Rory,” she scolded the wolfhound, when she tried to push her huge, furry body into a room that was barely big enough for me and my very pregnant sister. Rory was a good girl, though, so she immediately dropped to her haunches just outside the door. But she also whined softly to protest her exclusion, because she was a bit of a diva.
Her dog now settled, Lindsay plopped down on the closed toilet seat, watching as I touched up my lipstick.
“I love the look,” she added, sweeping a hand up and down as though to encompass my whole body.
“Ellie picked everything out,” I deflected automatically, feeling a flush creep across my cheeks.
“Yeah, but you are wearing it all,” my oldest sister replied. “And quite well, I might add.”
I gave her a shy smile. “I was kind of just thinking that,” I admitted.
Lindsay grinned at me, her dark blue eyes – a mirror image of my own – twinkling with amusement. “Egomaniac.”
“Hey, I think I earned a little vanity,” I joked, because we both knew I was anything but vain. “I was the ugly sister for a long time.”
She reached over from her perch on the toilet and patted my arm. “You were never ugly. You just took a bit longer than the rest of us to blossom into the beautiful flower you were always meant to be.”
That made me chuckle. “Thanks, Mom the younger.”
She grinned at me. “She’s a cornball, but it’s the truth.” Her smile fell a little. “Well, it’s what I keep telling Fiona, anyway. I’m not so sure it’s working, though. You know she asked me the other day when her breasts would be coming in?”
My mouth popped open. “She did not.”
She threw her hands in the air in that classic frustrated-mom gesture. “She did! Like I can order them on Amazon or some shit.”
“But she’s my little squirrel.” I was eighteen when my oldest niece was born, and I still remembered the day like it was yesterday. She would always be that tiny bundle of freckled, redhaired perfection to me. “She’s not allowed to grow up,” I concluded.
Lindsay groaned. “Well, your little squirrel wants tits. ASAP.”
I gave her a rueful smile, because as much as I wanted my babies to stay babies, I could also remember being the girl who desperately wished she could order boobs on the internet.
“I told her it’ll happen when it happens, but you know how well that works with kids.” Lindsay let out a frustrated sigh.
I gave her a mischievous smile. “You could get her some of those silicone thingies, if you get desperate.”
My sister groaned and shook her head. “Jesus. I can see it now. She’ll leave them laying out on the kitchen counter, because she’s pathologically incapable of putting things where they belong. Then my husband, in his bumbling efforts to be helpful, will set the house on fire trying to cook the ‘chicken cutlets’ for dinner.”
I leaned on the bathroom counter, laughing harder than I had in a while, because I could just picture it. My brother-in-law had many great qualities, but make no mistake: he should never, ever be allowed to use the stove. Ever.
“And then, my almost-ten-year-old will throw a fit because never mind the house, Daddy torched her new boobs!” Lindsay cackled, her eyes filling with tears of mirth.
“Stop!” I waved a hand in front of my own eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to keep my makeup from getting ruined. “You’ll make my mascara run.”
She clutched her belly, her own laugh coming out in high-pitched wheezes. “I swear, that kid is going to put me in an early grave. She’s barely a tween!”
I waited a minute to let the giggles subside. “Yeah, but she’s pretty great, too.”
Lindsay nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, I guess she is.”
“They all are, Linds,” I assured her, feeling suddenly serious. “You’re doing a fantastic job.”
> She looked at me for a moment, her eyes swimming again. “Okay, now my mascara is going to run.” She hoisted herself up, then folded me into a tight hug. “You’re the best, little sister,” she whispered in my ear. Then she pulled back and slapped me on the ass. “Now put your shoes on and sashay downstairs for Mom and me. We want to be vicariously glamorous for five minutes.”
I slipped on my silver satin heels and grabbed the matching clutch, double checking to make sure I had everything I needed. I could have sworn I was missing something, but I couldn’t put my finger on what, so I snapped the purse shut and followed Lindsay and Rory down the stairs.
“Speaking of the kids, it’s been awfully quiet here for the last hour,” I observed. “Where is your brood?”
The whole Walsh clan had come down from Westchester county for the holiday weekend. I knew Owen was in the garage, tinkering with my dad’s lawnmower. But the kids must have been elsewhere, judging by the relative silence around the house.
“Dad walked them into town for ice cream,” Lindsay replied. “Which means that about an hour after you leave, they’ll come back all hopped up on sugar and screaming like banshees. I told Owen he’s responsible for bedtime tonight.”
I chuckled. “May the gods have mercy.”
Lindsay shot me an evil grin over her shoulder, tucking her chin-length black hair behind her ear. “Payback’s a bitch. I’ve been the ringmaster of the Night Circus all by myself for way too long.”
In addition to his days spent teaching the teenagers of Tarrytown how to write essays in MLA format, my brother-in-law also taught GED classes at night, so he was almost never home.
“That man has earned his turn. Wait ‘til he finds out he needs to read ‘The Cat in the Hat’ exactly six times before a certain four-year-old will let you tuck him in.” Lindsay shook her head as we reached the family room.
“Georgie is certainly a rare and unique flower,” our mother said as she came in from the kitchen. She’d clearly overheard the tail end of our conversation.
Ethel followed behind her, and the two wolfhounds barked in joy, gamboling around each other as though it had been years, not minutes, since they’d last seen each other. Mom cooed and scratched both their heads, and the dogs ate up the attention. But she stopped short when she saw me.
“Oh, Krista, you look gorgeous!” Her cheeks flushed pink as she beamed at me.
“Smoking hot.” Lindsay nodded in agreement.
Fighting the urge to downplay the compliment, I looked away, checking the time on the mantel clock. “I better get going,” I said. “The party started ten minutes ago.”
“That’s nothing. Fashionably late,” Mom argued, waving a dismissive hand. “Let me take some pictures before you go.” She reached into her pocket, fumbling for her phone. “Fiona showed me how to put them on Facebook. The kids are just so much better with technology than I am.”
Lindsay made a face. “And less than a week later, we’re all regretting her little lesson.”
Mom gave me a mischievous smile. “I posted one yesterday of your Uncle Chris picking his nose. Aunt Rita was not amused.”
My mother’s sparkling eyes told me Aunt Rita’s reaction had actually been her intention. She and her sister-in-law were lifelong frenemies, though neither of them would ever say why. It was one of the only instances Mom ever allowed herself to be unkind, though her darts were more passive aggressive than outright mean.
“Well, I hate to rain on your parade, Mom, but I’m not going to pick my nose for your Facebook friends.” I shook my head firmly.
“Well, no, of course not, honey,” she replied, smiling patiently.
“And I’m not going to the prom, either. It’s just a reunion. It’s nothing more than an excuse to get drunk and show off for a whole bunch of people you’d rather forget.”
“Yes, but as you well recall, Krista Marie, you didn’t go to your prom, thus depriving your loving mother of a proud parent moment. I never got to take photos of you in a princess gown.” The dark blue eyes that she’d passed down to all her daughters were reproachful as she peered at me over the top of her phone.
I rolled my own eyes just as the camera flash blinded me. There was that perfect timing again.
I blinked to clear the white spots dancing across my field of vision. “Didn’t you have enough proud parent moments with your other three daughters?”
“Each of my daughters is a beautiful, unique flower, and you all make me proud in your own ways.” Lindsay gave me an impish smile, but Mom soldiered on. “And you all look perfect in princess gowns.”
“Phoebe didn’t wear a princess gown to her prom,” I pointed out peevishly.
My sister Phoebe was a fashion designer, and she now lived in Paris. When she was a high school senior, she designed and constructed a prom dress for herself that was decidedly more fashion-forward than anything St. Erasmus High School had ever seen – and she paired it with combat boots and a freshly shaved head. By the time my senior prom rolled around five years later, people were still talking about it.
“Phoebe marches to the beat of her own drummer,” Mom said, as though that explained everything.
And really, when it came to my middle sister, it kind of did.
The tip of Mom’s tongue was now poking out the side of her mouth as she leaned her head back. “Oh, shoot. I don’t have my glasses. Is that right?” she asked, holding the phone up for Lindsay to see.
“Perfect. Great caption, too, Mom.” Lindsay’s eyes glittered wickedly at me.
“Do I even want to know?” My shoulders hunched in anticipation of whatever malarkey my mother had just cooked up.
“Just be glad you’re the only person in South Bay without a Facebook account,” my sister replied.
A shudder of unease rippled through my spine at the thought. “I don’t need a Facebook account.”
Mom clucked her tongue. “But Facebook is so wonderful! I can keep up with all my friends and family so easily. And I can see all the pictures of my grandkids without Lindsay having to email them to me.”
“And you like those recipe videos,” Lindsay added helpfully.
“Oh, yes!” Mom’s eyes lit up. “I saw one yesterday for a chocolate braided bread. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”
Gods, did it ever. But instead, I said “It sounds like I’d have to run an extra three miles every day this week if I want to fit into my dress next Saturday.”
Mom shook her head. “Oh, honey, you’ll look beautiful no matter what.”
“Tell that to Phoebe,” Lindsay retorted, and I nodded fervently.
Our sister was making Jess’s wedding gown, as well as dresses for the wedding party. She had been haranguing all of us for months, warning us not to gain so much as an ounce in anticipation of our final fitting later that week.
“Well, I saw this exercise routine on Facebook that you can do at home, with just a kitchen chair!” Mom gave me an encouraging smile. “You really should be on there. There’s so much cool stuff.”
I shook my head vehemently. It wouldn’t matter if Athena herself commanded me to get a Facebook account. I wasn’t going to do it.
“You are missing out, honey,” Mom sighed.
Lindsay gave me a sympathetic look. Unlike Mom, she knew why I wasn’t on any of the social media platforms. My mother had no clue about all the horrible things that had happened when I first started Golden Goddess, and if I had my way, she never would.
“I don’t need to be updated every time a random acquaintance goes to the gym,” I said instead. “This whole trend of telling seven hundred of your closest friends when you go out for sushi or watch Game of Thrones is disturbing. I don’t want to post the highlight reel on the internet for everybody I’ve ever met. I just want to live my life.”
“You’re extra cranky tonight,” Lindsay observed, eyeing me thoughtfully.
Mom elbowed her gently, careful to avoid her belly. “She’s nervous about seeing Seth again,” she whispered loudly enou
gh for the man himself to hear, wherever he might be at the moment.
Lindsay snorted. “Well, it’s her own fault things got so bad there. You should have just jumped his bones like a dozen years ago.”
I snorted. “Yeah, sure.”
I could just see it. On the one hand, we had Seth, the star athlete and all-around cool dude who could have had any girl in school with minimal effort. And then there was me, the girl whose only dating experience to date was a cruel middle-school prank – because no one actually wanted me, the short, overweight, four-eyed nerd. Nope, the idea of dating me was a joke, one everybody but me was in on.
Oh yeah. We totally could have had all the sex.
“Well, she’s getting her second chance now,” Mom countered. “That’s all that matters.”
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress a fresh wave of nausea at the thought of what I was about to do. Thanks to the dress, the banter, and the social media evangelizing from Mom, I’d almost forgotten.
“Thanks for reminding me. And seriously, I need to leave now.”
“Okay, honey, have a wonderful time.” Mom stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing in a reassuring kind of way.
“But don’t bring him home,” she added, her eyes widening as she stepped back. “The kids will have too many questions. Better to go to his place.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m pretty sure this is at the top of my list of conversations I never wanted to have.”
It was also unnecessary. Even if I managed to patch things up with Seth, it was highly unlikely he’d be coming home with me, tonight or any night. Not for that, anyway.
“Well, the kids are probably as scarred as they’ll ever be, Mom. Owen and I go at it like rabbits, especially when I’m pregnant. It’s the hormones,” Lindsay said, rubbing her belly. “And I’m a screamer.” She tossed me a wink.
“Oh good. Another to add the list,” I muttered as I headed out.
“Have a good time!” they trilled in unison, just before the door shut behind me.
My insides were writhing like a nest of asps by the time I pulled into the parking lot at the Hotel LeGrand, a huge resort that had been built during the Gilded Age. The LeGrand had always been one of my favorite spots on the island. The building had been sited and designed to take advantage of the natural beauty of the cliffs that ringed the north end of the island, and the view from the promontory around the back was unparalleled. I promised myself that if I could make it through the night, I would reward myself with a few minutes on the cliffside.