“I agree,” I tell Mom as I head into a fitting room. “After all, it’s your wedding. You should have a say in what we wear.”
“And worst-case scenario,” Paige calls from her room, “is that we have to get our dresses specially made. But I know a certain designer who might be willing to help us out…”
I laugh as I pull the rose-colored satin dress over my head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Dylan Marceau would drop everything to make Paige a gown.”
“Especially if I promised to wear it on our show,” Paige says. “Are you ready yet, Erin?”
I strain to zip the fitted dress, then emerge from the dressing room, holding my hands out. “Ta-dah.”
Paige presses her lips together then shakes her head. “Too boring.”
I go over to the three-way mirror to see for myself. “I don’t know. I think it’s got potential.”
“This one is much better.” Paige strikes a pose in the lacy pale pink dress. Admittedly she looks pretty. But what else is new?
“It seems too frilly to me,” I tell her.
“Too frilly?” She looks at me like I have dirt on my face.
I glance over at Mom, comfortably seated on the velvet-covered divan, and I can tell she’s unsure. “I think you both look lovely.”
“But which dress do you like better?” Paige asks as she struts back and forth like she’s on a runway. “See how this skirt moves. And this delicate pink shade would look gorgeous in a garden wedding.”
“But it doesn’t really go with Mom’s dress,” I tell my sister. While Paige and I were in Paris, Mom found a two-piece dress at Neiman Marcus. It’s an elegant ivory satin. Mom tried it on and fell in love with it and, despite her promise to let Paige help her with this, she impulsively purchased it. Paige acted like that was okay, but I could tell she wasn’t too pleased. I suspect she’s not overly fond of the dress or that Mom made the decision without consulting her. But I keep thinking, this is Mom’s wedding—why shouldn’t she get what she wants?
“Of course it goes with Mom’s dress,” Paige argues. “Almost anything would go with Mom’s dress … anything stylish that is.” She frowns at my choice.
“This is stylish,” I say. “It’s a classic style and Mom’s dress is a classic.” I point at Paige. “That dress looks pretty on you, but it’s too fairy-princess-like to look good with Mom’s sophisticated dress.”
Mom nods. “You know, Paige, I think Erin might be right.”
Paige’s expression looks like Mom just slapped her. “What?”
Mom points to my gown. “I’m not saying that dress is the exact right dress, but it would go well with my dress. They do have a similar style.”
“As in boring.”
Mom sighs. “Maybe some of us prefer boring, Paige.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Paige holds up her hands. “I think your dress is lovely. But I don’t see why Erin and I need to mimic you. We can express a little more creativity than that.”
“But it’s Mom’s wedding,” I finally say. “Maybe she wants something more classic. Something timeless like pearls and roses,” I suggest.
“Yes.” Mom stands and comes over to where Paige and I are standing in front of the three-way mirror and nods. “I do like the idea of pearls and roses, Erin.”
Paige is scowling now. “So suddenly Erin’s the fashion expert. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m not trying to step on your toes or diminish your gift of fashion sense.” Mom shakes her head. “We all know that this is your territory. But perhaps Erin’s style is more like mine.”
“But Erin doesn’t really have style,” Paige says quietly. And, okay, maybe that’s true. Or maybe it used to be true. Lately I’ve been trying harder; even Helen and Fran think I’ve come a long way. So why is my sister trying to pigeonhole me again?
I look at our reflections, the three of us, in the mirror. There’s Paige, the tall, willowy, beautiful blonde—often compared to our handsome dad when he was alive, and more recently to a young Grace Kelly. And then there’s Mom and me … average-looking brunettes of average height with green eyes and even features. Can’t Paige see the difference?
Mom, who’s standing between us, slips her arms around our waists and smiles. “Two beautiful daughters. I don’t care what you girls wear to the wedding—I know it will be perfectly lovely.”
And so, not wishing to cause any further ado, I go back to the fitting room and remove the rose-colored dress and try on the next. But it’s horrible compared to the first one, and the third one is all wrong.
“I don’t think this shop has what we’re looking for,” I tell Paige quietly. The saleswoman is hovering nearby nervously and I suspect she knows who we are, which is just one more good reason we decided to do a reconnaissance mission before allowing the show to film us shopping for bridesmaid dresses. We wanted to avoid pressure.
“Thank you for your help,” Paige tells the woman politely. “We’ll keep these dresses in mind.” Then we gather our things and leave.
“So I think I understand what you want,” Paige tells Mom as we walk down Rodeo Drive. “Do you have any objections to checking out Chanel?”
“Well …” Mom sighs. “I would prefer to stay within our budget.”
“But if we do the wedding episode, Chanel might be within your budget.” Paige pauses in front of the Coco Chanel boutique. “We can at least look.”
“You’re right.” Mom nods as she reaches for the door. “We can look.”
“And if we like what we see here, we can ask Fran to speak to them and perhaps we can use their boutique in our show.”
As we walk through the boutique, I realize that I’m not nearly as irritated as I used to be when Paige would drag me to shops like this. It’s not that I enjoy it exactly, but after being in Paris and experiencing the language barrier combined with some of the Parisian attitude, I don’t find Rodeo Drive nearly as intimidating as I used to. Naturally, the salespeople recognize Paige, and as soon as she lets our intentions out of the bag, we become the center of attention—the manager even offers us wine and chocolate.
“We only want to look today,” Paige explains. Then she tells the manager that our mom already purchased her dress and we now need to find something compatible. “Something classic and timeless,” she says, using my exact words, “that would go well with pearls and roses.”
And, okay, I’m trying not to gloat here, but maybe I’m not as fashion-challenged as my sister would like to have me think. As it turns out, Chanel has some good, albeit expensive, options. The manager even offers to have a few more things sent to the store that we might like to consider when we return.
Paige gives her a business card and promises that someone will call to see about setting up a show. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to do it during normal business hours,” she tells her. “We don’t want to disrupt your regular customers.”
“I’m sure we can accommodate your needs,” the woman assures her.
“Well, I think we’re on the right track,” Mom says as we walk down Rodeo Drive. “And, really, hasn’t this been fun?”
I’m thinking “fun” might be overstating it a bit. But I try to maintain my party face as we walk over to the restaurant where Mom had made late-lunch reservations. Fortunately, Paige seems to have forgotten our earlier disagreement, and she tells Mom another amusing story about something that happened in Paris.
“It’s hard not to be jealous,” Mom says when our salads arrive. “But Jon has promised me that we’ll go to Paris sometime.”
“Why not for your honeymoon?” Paige suggests.
“I’d rather go in the fall or spring,” Mom tells her. “Besides, Jon is looking into an Alaskan cruise.”
Paige makes a face. “Really? That is what you’d want to do?”
Mom smiles. “I think it sounds rather nice … and relaxing.”
“Not to mention beautiful. I’d love to do something like that just for the photo opportunities alone.”
>
“Not me …” Paige gets a dreamy look. “If I were going on a honeymoon, I’d choose a location like Paris. Or maybe somewhere in Italy … like Tuscany … or maybe even the Riviera.”
“Maybe Eliza will let you use her place,” I tease.
Paige gives me her exasperated look. “Yeah … right.”
“And if you were taking a honeymoon somewhere on the Riviera,” Mom persists in this line of craziness, “who might you be taking it with?”
Paige laughs. “Oh, that’s undetermined.”
“So you don’t see either Benjamin or Dylan in that picture?” Mom’s tone is hopeful.
I watch Paige’s reaction. She and I talked about this very thing on our last night in Paris. Maybe it was because I’d surprised her with the Birkin bag, but Paige turned very sisterly that evening. And during a heart-to-heart about our recent relationships, we both decided we weren’t in a good place to be seriously involved with guys right now. As I recall we agreed to put the show ahead of romance. We both felt there’s enough drama without adding more of our own in the area of romance. At least that’s how I remember it.
But now Paige almost looks like she’s in another world—as if she’s imagining herself honeymooning with someone, like Dylan or even Benjamin, on the Riviera. “Oh, you never know,” she says mysteriously to Mom.
Mom sort of laughs, but I can tell she’s uneasy with this response. I simply stab my fork into my salad and realize that when it comes to Paige and matters of the heart, I probably should not trust my sister too much.
Paige excuses herself from lunch early. She doesn’t say why or where she’s going, but since we came in separate cars, it’s not really a big deal.
“Do you think she’s seeing Benjamin?” Mom asks me as we share a piece of lemon cream pie and coffee.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “The truth is, I’ve been wondering.”
“Paige didn’t tell me too much about his unexpected visit to France …”
I give Mom the nutshell version of how Eliza subversively invited Ben, and how he surprised everyone by showing up with Blake in tow. “I know Eliza’s reason for inviting Ben was to distract Paige from Dylan. But it seemed like Paige kept both guys at a distance. And when Dylan returned to New York, I got the impression that he wasn’t too happy about it.”
“Meaning he wanted to be more involved with Paige?” Mom scoops some of the meringue off the top of the pie with her spoon.
“That’s what I suspected. And Paige seemed to confirm it by telling me that she didn’t want to be seriously involved with anyone.” I frown down at my coffee. “In fact, we kind of made a pact.”
“A pact?” Mom looks surprised.
“To keep our romantic lives on hold … you know, so we could focus on the show better.”
Mom smiles. “Perhaps that’s easier said than done.”
I nod. “And when Benjamin showed up in Paris a couple days later … it was the night before he was going home and Paige went to dinner with him … and now I’m starting to wonder.”
“If they’re getting back together?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“What about you and Blake?” Mom persists. “Did you go to dinner with him in Paris too?”
“No … Blake had to go home a couple of days before Ben. He had classes and stuff.”
“Smart boy.”
“I guess. He’s been smart not to pressure me too much about our relationship. I kind of told him that I was taking a break for now.”
“Because of your pact with Paige?”
I consider this. “Maybe. Or maybe I think I need a break.”
Mom chuckles. “Smart girl.”
“Why?” I study her.
“Oh, it just sounded like you were getting in a little over your head.”
Okay, now I sort of regret confiding in Mom after I got home from Paris. I told her a little about Gabin and Blake and Lionel and how weird it was to have three guys semi-interested in me at once.
“You’re only eighteen,” Mom continues.
“Almost nineteen,” I remind her.
She smiles. “Yes. And a mature almost nineteen. But I still think you’re wise not to get too involved right now. Take your time.”
I nod as if I agree. And, actually, I do agree. Yet there’s something about my mom telling me to take my time that makes me want to do just the opposite. Unreasonable, yes. But it’s true.
Mom glances at her watch. “Well, as delightful as this has been, I’ve got to get back to the station.”
“And I have an appointment with Helen at four thirty,” I tell her.
“That’s kind of late in the day for an appointment.”
“It was last minute. She called this morning.”
“So you’re meeting Paige there?” she asks as she signs the check.
“Paige isn’t going.”
“You mean just you and Helen are meeting?”
I suddenly realize that I never really told Mom about Helen’s new plan to make me Paige’s costar. The truth is I’ve been avoiding this sticky subject, especially when Paige is around. But I realize that Mom will hear about it sooner or later. So as I drive her back to the station, I give her a quick rundown.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Erin,” Mom exclaims. “I can understand Helen’s thinking—that’s a great plan.”
“I guess.” I let out a frustrated sigh.
“But you’re still reluctant?”
“The funny thing is that I’m actually willing.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I glance at her and wonder why she doesn’t know the answer to her own question. But then, when it comes to Paige, my mom can be a little dense sometimes. It’s like Paige is her blind spot. Once again, I miss my dad. I have a feeling that if he were alive he would totally get this. “The problem is” — I try to think of a good way to say this—“Paige.”
Mom nods. “Oh … is Paige reluctant to share the stage?”
“What do you think?”
Mom laughs. “I think you have your work cut out for you.”
I’m pulling into her station’s parking lot now, maneuvering my Jeep toward the entrance to drop her off.
“But if anyone can make this work, you can, Erin.”
I frown at her. “How’s that?”
She taps the side of her head with a knowing smile. “You’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.”
“Thanks for the lift,” she tells me as she gets out.
“And thanks for lunch.”
“By the way, I really did like the bridesmaid dress you picked out.” She winks at me. “And Paige is coming around too.”
I nod and wave, watching as my mom hurries into the building. Not for the first time, I consider the dynamics among the three of us—Mom, Paige, and me. I realize that I’ll never completely figure out what it is about Paige that makes Mom treat her the way she does. It’s kind of like she’s protecting Paige. I guess, to be fair, I’ve learned to do pretty much the same thing. But sometimes … I wonder, is it a good thing? Or are Mom and I simply allowing Paige to get away with being a brat—she throws a tantrum and we turn our heads and look away, almost like a form of enablement? And yet, Paige is Paige … even when she’s acting spoiled, most people seem to still love her. And, according to Helen Hudson, Paige’s fan base just keeps growing, so why would Helen want to change anything about her? Of course, Helen doesn’t have to live with my sister. Even if she did, she might eventually discover, like Mom and I have, that it’s a lot easier to let Paige have her way.
Someone behind me honks, and I realize I’m still parked in the loading zone by the news station. As I pull out into traffic, I decide that I’ll probably never fully understand my sister.
Chapter
3
As I drive through town, my phone rings and, seeing it’s Mollie, I pull into a handy parking lot to answer it. “What’s up?” I ask, knowing that with Mollie it could be anything
. Her hormones combined with her broken heart are playing havoc with her emotions lately.
“Where are you?” she asks in a slightly desperate tone.
“Uh … Seven-Eleven.”
“Why?”
“Because I just pulled in here to answer the phone.”
“Where are you going?”
So I tell her about wedding shopping with Paige and Mom and how I’m on my way to meet with Helen Hudson.
“Meaning you don’t have time to talk?”
I glance at the clock on my dash. “Actually, I do have time. What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I can do this, Erin.”
“Do what?”
“Have this baby.”
“But… you’re like six months pregnant, Mollie. You need to have the baby—”
“I don’t mean the giving birth part. I mean I don’t think I can keep it and raise it.” She starts to sob and I don’t know what to say. What in life prepares someone to counsel her best friend about being a single mom?
“So what brought this up today?” I ask a bit helplessly.
“I saw this real estate commercial on TV,” she sobs. “This family—a dad and a mom and two little kids and a dog. I just fell apart.”
I’m trying to wrap my head around this. “A TV ad upset you?”
“Yes—they were a family, Erin,” she cries. “They were buying a house! Don’t you get it? I will never be able to do that. My child and I will be destined for—for poverty.”
“Oh …” I try to think of something comforting. “A lot of single moms make it, Mollie.”
“I’m not strong enough to parent this child alone.”
“Then maybe you need to rethink this, Moll … I mean, maybe the baby needs a different kind of home.”
“You’re telling me to give my baby up?”
“I don’t know.” Okay, now I know I’ve stepped over the line. I also have an overwhelming sense of déjà vu; this is what happened the last time Mollie and I talked about the baby.
“You’re just like my parents, Erin. And everyone else for that matter. Why is it that no one encourages me to keep my own baby? Why?”
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