The Truth About Ever After (Three Girls)

by Rachel Schurig

  “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 sud
denly 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.

  “What work do they do?” he had muttered when I tried to use that line of reasoning. “What purpose do they serve except to spend Daddy’s money?”

  I had no argument for that. Sarah had been working at a PR firm for the last several years, but had quit the moment she got engaged, saying that she wanted to focus on creating a home. No doubt, her creation of anything would be limited to calling someone and hiring them to do the work for her. I was not at all surprised. Most of the girls I went to school with stopped working when they got married. It was just how things were done in that circle.

  After a few moments of eating in silence, Eric sighed. “I’m sorry I’m grouchy,” he said, looking up at me. “I just feel like I never get to see you.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I said. “But we shouldn’t waste the time we do have arguing, don’t you think?”

  He grinned at me. “Always put me in my place, don’t you, Kiks?”

  I leaned across the table to kiss his cheek. “Let’s talk some more about how much you miss me.”

  He smiled, but then a worried expression came over his face. “We need to talk about something else.”

  I didn’t like the tone of his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly. “I just…” He put down his fork and knife and turned to me. “Kiki, they’re talking about giving me a promotion at work.”

  I gasped and reached out for his hand. “Eric, that’s amazing!”

  I was surprised to see a shadow cross his face. “Yeah. Real amazing.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s going to mean a lot more hours, a lot more work. I’m going to have to really prove myself.”

  There was something about his tone that I didn’t like. “Isn’t the promotion proof enough that you’re doing well?” I asked. “I mean, I hardly think they’d promote you if they weren’t pleased with your work.”

  “You might not think so,” he muttered.

  “Eric—”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m being grumpy again.” He closed his eyes for a moment then squeezed my hand. When he opened his eyes he looked more like himself. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m just thinking of the hours I’ll have to spend away from you. I don’t like the idea much.”

  I felt my heart swell. “I don’t like it either,” I told him. I got up from my chair and went around the table to put my arms around his neck. “Let’s promise each other that when we’re together we make the most of it, okay?”

  “I can deal with that promise,” he said, smiling up at me. “And I can think of a few things I’d rather be doing than eating right now.” He raised his eyebrows at me and grinned, making me laugh.

  “You’re so predictable,” I laughed, smacking his shoulder. His eyes grew wide and suddenly he was standing up. He grasped me around the middle and swung me up over his shoulder, making me squeal.

  “Let me go!” I yelled, hitting his back and laughing.

  “Just trying to bring some surprise into the relationship,” he said seriously, marching me toward the bedroom. “I aim to please, Kiki.”

  ***

  “So, what’s the plan here?” Ginny asked, plopping down next to me on the floor.

  “Besides drinking a lot of wine and eating yummy food,” Annie clarified, joining us.

  “The plan is to take these daffodils and replant them into these pots here,” I told them, gesturing at our materials. “But first we have to paint the pots with these stencils.”

  “And these are party favors?” Annie asked skeptically.

  “Party favors and place settings,” I corrected. “I made these little plant stakes to put in each pot that will have the guests’ names on them. That’s how people will know where to sit.”

  “Wow, Kiks,” Ginny said, looking around at the mess surrounding us. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you?”

  “I want Jen to have the best shower ever,” I said firmly. “She deserves it.”

  “Good point,” Annie said. “I’ve never seen that girl so sick.”

  “I feel terrible for her,” Ginny said. “And so, so lucky that my morning sickness ended at the second trimester.”

  “Okay, so the first thing you want to do is tape down your stencil,” I explained. “If you don’t, your paint will probably bleed through.”

  Annie was looking down at one of the terracotta pots. “Kiki, did you paint this or did they come this way?”

  “I painted it,” I said. “I used green for the base color then went over it again with yellow. I used a rag for the yellow to give it that effect.”

  “These are really, really cool,” Annie said, clearly impressed. I felt a rush of pleasure at her words. “This must have taken you ages.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I had been working on the pots, as well as about a hundred other things, every night after work for the past few weeks. Might as well stay busy, I thought to myself grimly. Since my husband is never home anymore.

  “Like I said, Jen deserves an awesome shower,” I said.

  “All right, let’s get to work,” Ginny said.

  The girls and I set about taping our stencils. We then used a dark green paint to stencil the words “A precious new life to celebrate.” The finished effect was very nice, in my humble opinion.

  Painting took a lot longer than I thought it would. It was easy to fall into conversation with Annie and Ginny. The two of them argued like an old married couple, probably the effect of being friends since they were five years old, but it was all in good humor. We quickly went through an entire bottle of Merlot while we worked, and the more we drank, the slower we painted. Finally, all the pots were ready for the flowers to be replanted.

  “We need to wait for these to dry,” I said. “Then we can do the flowers.”

  “Wanna eat while we’re waiting?” Ginny asked. “I’m starving.”

  I looked at my watch and was shocked to see that it was nine p.m. already. I knew I had been neglecting my own eating lately, what with all the extra hours I had been putting in. Eric was complaining that I was losing too much weight, and now I could understand why. I was simply so busy I was forgetting to eat.

  We decided we were in the mood for Middle Eastern and I called to place the order at the carry-out place down the street. While we waited for the delivery guy, Annie and Ginny started to explore my condo.

  “Kiki, this place is amazing,” Ginny said, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. “You can practically see all the way to Detroit from here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable. For some reason I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of Ginny finding out that this was my dad’s condo. I hoped it wouldn’t come up.

  “Have you seen th
is bedroom?” Annie called from down the hall. Ginny looked at me, slightly abashed.

  “This is probably kinda rude, isn’t it?” she asked. I laughed.

  “Not at all. Feel free to explore.”

  Ginny gave me a quick grin, then ran down the hallway to my bedroom. I followed, a smile on my face. There was something very reassuring in the girls being comfortable enough with me to exclaim over my place. So many people were awkward or anxious around me because of my money. The girls’ reaction reminded me of the way I myself had been when we first moved from our smaller house to the new big place in Bloomfield Hills.

  “Holy crap,” Ginny called. “This is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. All three of us could fit on here!”

  I joined them in the bedroom. They were both giggling and lying on my bed, arms stretched out like they were about to make snow angels. “Our fingers don’t even touch!” Ginny laughed.

  “Kiki, are you aware that there’s a fireplace in your bedroom?” Annie asked.

  “There is?” I gasped in mock surprise.

  “There is,” she said seriously. “There is also a ginormous window that has an even better view than the living room. And I’m not sure if anyone told you, but your entire bathroom is covered in marble.”

  I laughed, feeling unaccountably happy. My phone rang and I rushed to get it, assuming it was the delivery guy.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey, babe,” Eric said. He sounded tired and I felt my heart clench. I’d barely seen him in the last few weeks. He was working later and later every night, and my weekends had been almost completely occupied with Sarah and the wedding.

  “Hi,” I said softly, walking over to the window. I looked off in the direction of the city, thinking how far away it really was. I wished he were here instead. “How are you?”

  “Pretty beat,” he said. “Look, we still have a ton of stuff to get through before this presentation tonight. You shouldn’t wait up.”

  I frowned. “You know I don’t sleep well if you’re not here,” I told him. “I don’t mind waiting up.”

  “It’s gonna be late, Kiki,” he said firmly. “You’re not sleeping enough as it is.”