The Wedding War

by Talley, Liz

  Both she and Melanie turned, their eyes widening when they saw the full effect of Emma in the confection that was the bridal gown. They knew this dress was the one because the sheer pleasure, the absolute delight was written all over Emma’s face. Becky looked fairly pleased herself. If she would have blown on her knuckles and brushed them onto her silk-clad shoulder, she would have deserved the boast.

  The gown was perfect and fit Emma like it had been made for her.

  Emma stepped onto the platform and met their eyes in the mirror. “Well?”

  Melanie sat down on the overstuffed chair a bit too hard, and when Tennyson turned and caught sight of her old friend’s face, she felt something inside her soften. Even though she was still super pissed at Melanie for her rude-ass comments, she understood what this moment meant to her. Emma looked breathtaking in the gown.

  “It’s . . . uh, it’s . . . I’m sorry. I just . . .” Melanie waved a hand in front of her face.

  Emma smiled, shaking her head. “Mom, don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it. You look perfect,” Melanie said, sniffling and probably getting snot all over everything. Tennyson reached over, grabbed another tissue, and gave it to her. Then she pulled about five more and handed those to her, too.

  And she took one for herself.

  “This one is exquisite on Emma, as you can see,” Becky said, coming around to the back of the dress and fluffing it, though it didn’t need it. The layered tulle lay perfectly, looking a bit like a ballet skirt with a barely perceptible uneven hemline that rose slightly in the front. The delicate pink blossoms were soft, flowery kisses trailing down the bodice, spilling onto the skirt. “Will you wear a veil?”

  Emma turned and studied herself in the mirror. “I thought I would, but now I’m thinking something with flowers that mimic the bodice or perhaps something jeweled. Not a tiara, but perhaps a hair comb? I’m not sure.”

  “Let me call Lisa and have her bring a few of our headpieces. We have some lovely new Maria Elena combs that might look nice. We can always add a simple veil to a peineta, which I think will look very nice.” Becky disappeared again, leaving them alone.

  “I heard you arguing, you know,” Emma said, turning toward them.

  Tennyson slid a glance over to Melanie. Had she heard her talk about Kit and a blow job?

  “Um, you heard what we said?” Tennyson asked.

  “Not the words. Just the anger in your tone,” Emma said. Melanie’s daughter looked so disappointed in them. But she also looked confused. It was obvious she was still in the dark about what had broken her and Melanie’s friendship.

  “Em, your mother and I have some things between us that . . . aren’t easy,” Tennyson said.

  “So I gathered. After the meeting with Marc and the weirdness in the car on the way over, I concluded that whatever it is between you—and my grandmother because I’m not blind to that either—is big enough to make everyone feel uncomfortable. But here’s the thing—what are y’all going to do about it? Because we can’t go on with my mom snipping at you about the dog, and you can’t keep making Mom feel bad because she’s . . . I don’t know . . . a mom.”

  “What does that mean?” Melanie said, her body stiffening and her weepy mother-of-the-bride reaction disappearing.

  Emma stroked the tulle and trailed her hands over the intricate flowers on the dress, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “You know what it means, Mom. You go to Cheapcuts to get your hair cut and colored. You wear clothes that don’t fit or flatter your figure. You wear horrible shoes. And you excuse it all by claiming practicality or saying you don’t have time. But the fact is, you just don’t try anymore.”

  Melanie’s mouth dropped open, and she looked truly . . . hurt.

  Emma was spot-on, but something about her saying so in front of Tennyson, especially after knowing they weren’t friends any longer, was damned bold. And that bothered Tennyson. “Emma, I don’t think—”

  Her son’s fiancée whirled around and looked at her. “And you, a lot of what my mom says about you is true, too. You’re so . . . so much, Tennyson. Besides, you drink too much. Two vodka martinis at lunch and two champagnes since we’ve been here.”

  Tennyson crossed her arms. “If you’re inferring I have a drinking problem, you’re wrong. I can go without booze. And really, it’s not your place to say anything to me about what I do and don’t do. And what you just said to your mother is not very well done of you.”

  “Maybe not, but you still drink too much. I share the garbage cans with you, and I know. Besides, I’m about to be part of your family, so maybe someone has to say what needs to be said here.”

  “Emma,” Melanie said, her voice a warning shot fired as she struggled to her feet. “That’s enough. Tennyson brought you over here, did all this for you, and you’re going to be rude? No, ma’am.”

  Emma laughed. “Well, that was easy. You just stuck up for each other after tearing each other down only minutes ago.”

  Tennyson frowned. “If you think you’re going to play games with me and your mother, think again. You weren’t meant to overhear us. Besides, what passed between us years ago won’t be something to disrupt this wedding.”

  Emma arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because every time we have gotten together for anything since Andrew and I announced we were engaged, you two have been uncivil and uncontrollable.”

  “We have not,” Melanie said, her expression growing more and more perturbed.

  Tennyson felt the same way. She didn’t need some knock-kneed twentysomething telling her how to behave. They hadn’t done anything too wrong. Okay, there had been a smashed cake, a near dogfight, and some choice words tossed about, but no harm had befallen either of their children. In fact, considering she and Melanie were pretty much enemies, they’d done fairly well. “Melanie’s right. We have not.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “You two need to figure out how you’re going to survive because in two months, Andrew and I are going to be promising forever to each other. And forever is a long time . . . Teeny . . . and Melly.”

  “Okay, ladies,” Becky said, breezing back into the salon with a tall, thin woman who carried a case and looked pretty much like a runway model. “Here’s Lisa with some of our finest pieces.”

  Emma stepped off the platform and turned to Becky. “Before we go much further, I would like to see the Caroline Castigliano ‘En Fleur’ dress. It has pockets.”

  Becky looked confused. “But, this dress . . .”

  Emma held up a hand. “I love this one, but I want to be certain.”

  Becky shrugged. “Let me go pull it.”

  Tennyson stepped in front of Becky. “No. Wait. Emma, the one you’re wearing is perfect. I mean, I have never seen a dress be more you than that one, and I can tell you love it. When you came in, it was like magic.”

  Melanie nodded. “She’s right. The one you’re wearing is the one. Emma, it’s perfect. It was your dress the moment you put it on.”

  Emma gave them another smile. “So you both are once again agreeing? This is the dress?”

  Tennyson and Melanie looked at each other. No one liked to be manipulated by a twenty-two-year-old who thought she was smarter than them combined. Melanie ripped her gaze away.

  “Yes. We agree. The one you’re wearing is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen on you. I can’t imagine another dress, even one with pockets, overshadowing the sheer beauty and rightness of this dress,” Melanie said.

  Emma’s grin was triumphant.

  “We’ve been played.” Tennyson sucked in a deep breath and then flounced back to her seat, wishing she’d seen through Emma’s machinations earlier.

  “Sorry,” Emma said, her grin not disappearing. “I just needed to make sure the last time you agreed wasn’t an aberration. Try to do that more. Now, let’s see what works for my hair. I’m thinking a low gathering of my hair into . . . well, let me show you.”

  Emma pulled out her phone, ignoring both Melanie and Tenn
yson as she showed Becky and Lisa something no doubt on a Pinterest board. After a few minutes of checking her email and scanning Facebook, Tennyson rose. “I’m going to look for a dress for myself.”

  Melanie set the phone she was using to take pictures of Emma in the dress on the table and nodded.

  “You want to come look, too?” Tennyson asked.

  She could tell that Melanie wanted to go with her. Melanie had never been good at waiting. By nature she liked to move and have purpose. “I don’t know. Emma may need me.”

  “Em?” Tennyson called to the girl still tapping, scrolling, and mulling over a myriad of hairstyles. “Can you narrow it down to two or three possibilities while your mother and I take a look at the cocktail dresses?”

  “Sure,” Emma said with a wave of her hand.

  Tennyson looked at Melanie. “Come on. I saw a royal-blue Lanvin that might work for you.”

  Melanie exhaled, dropping her phone into her purse. “Okay. Fine.”

  Fifteen minutes later Tennyson had Melanie inside the dressing room with six different options to try, the silk Lanvin with the sheer cape one of the final selections. Melanie came out wearing a Carolina Herrera tulle dress in a flattering shade of watermelon. It was strapless and sexy. And it looked good on Melanie.

  “That one is nice,” Tennyson said, hanging a bright-red Akris Punto jersey dress back on the hanger. “Good color on you.”

  “I don’t know. It shows a lot of skin,” Melanie said, tugging the bodice up.

  “You have good skin. You always have. Go out by the pool and let the sun kiss your shoulders. They’ll be perfect.”

  “I don’t have a pool.”

  Tennyson almost said come use mine before she caught herself. Besides, even if she’d blundered into that invitation, Melanie wouldn’t be caught dead poolside at Tennyson’s house. “It might not be a good mother-of-the-bride dress, but it would be perfect for the bridal shower. In fact, it looks very romantic and Italian. You might get laid in that dress, Mel.”

  Melanie made a moue in the mirror, tilting her head, trying to decide if she liked it enough. “Teeny . . . I mean, Tennyson, don’t be ridiculous.”

  But Tennyson had caught the old nickname and the knowledge that, for a few seconds, Melanie had forgotten she was supposed to hate Tennyson.

  “I’m just saying. It might be worth the price tag.” Tennyson disappeared into the dressing room, taking a short, sequined, retrofete wrap dress that was appropriately called “unicorn.” The fun vibe might work for the shower, especially if she paired it with platform sandals and wore her hair swept up with large chandelier earrings.

  “Well, it is on sale, and it’s sort of timeless,” Melanie said.

  “As all Carolina Herrera dresses are,” Tennyson called back, shrugging into the dress. She liked that it dipped to frame her décolletage. Maybe she could talk Officer Rhett, a.k.a. Hot Cop, into coming by and peeling the dress off her. She smiled at herself in the mirror.

  They’d been texting and Snapchatting each other, and gradually those Snapchats had gotten a bit . . . well, titillating. She’d never realized a gal could practice foreplay with her phone. Of course, flirting with sexting was one thing, but actually going there . . . well, she wanted to do that, too.

  Definitely.

  Next, she pulled on a David Koma one-shoulder dress in a bright green. There were tiny round reflective mirrors sewn in swaths that swirled around the dress. It was a statement dress, sophisticated but somewhat daring, and it looked nice against her sun-kissed skin. Because some people had a pool and used it.

  Tennyson walked out of the dressing room. “What do you think?”

  Melanie was still clad in the strapless dress, swirling and most likely talking herself out of buying it. She turned and looked at Tennyson. “That looks incredible on you. Fits you perfectly, and while it’s sexy, it doesn’t look like you’re about to go clubbing.”

  “So you’re saying the unicorn sequin was too young for me?” Tennyson asked, heavy on the sarcasm, as she tried to tug up the zipper.

  “Here,” Melanie said, spinning her around and shoving her hair out of the way. She zipped the dress and then stepped back, narrowing her eyes. “You might want to take it up under the arms. It gapes slightly here . . . and here.”

  Melanie had reached under her arms and pinched the fabric together. Nostalgia hit Tennyson so hard she nearly stumbled. They’d done this countless times, slipping into dressing rooms, chatting about boys, and trying on things they shouldn’t or couldn’t buy. She’d zipped Melanie up hundreds of times, seen her bare-assed naked, and knew she couldn’t wear peplums or too many ruffles. So this situation was almost too familiar, and something about remembering how they had both once been silly girls who loved each other and made sure each bought the exact right dress for the occasion made her wish she hadn’t been the hotheaded, foul-tempered jealous bitch she’d been back in college. Because if she’d just accepted that Melanie and Kit were together, then maybe they wouldn’t be so damned far away from each other.

  But the Tennyson of the past hadn’t realized the waves she created would still be rippling around her. Of course, she also hadn’t known her son would go to her father’s alma mater, sit beside a pretty brunette, and fall in love with Melanie and Kit’s daughter.

  But that was the way of life, right? A gal had to live with the decisions she’d made—both good and bad—and try, try to find some peace.

  Yet she wasn’t sure it would ever be possible after what she’d done at Melanie and Kit’s wedding reception. But as her mother loved to say, “If wishes were fishes, we’d all be throwing nets.”

  “So what do you think? I had an off-the-shoulder swing dress I was going to wear for the shower, but I like the vibe of this one,” Tennyson said, dashing away her regrets. Because regrets were always there. They were in the faint lines she tried like hell to erase on her face, in the memories that refused to leave her alone, in the check she wrote every month.

  “I like this one. I wouldn’t think that color would do well on you, but it’s nice. And it doesn’t look like you’re a teenager,” Melanie said.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You know, you’re prettier when you don’t try so hard, Tennyson.”

  “And you’re prettier when you stop trying to hide yourself.” Tennyson looked at Melanie in the mirror. “Get the Carolina Herrera. You look good in it.”

  Melanie’s eyes brightened. “You think so? I’m going out of town with Kit, and a new dress might be nice.”

  “When?”

  “At the end of next week. Right before the shower. Kit has a conference in Destin, and I’m going down for a few days,” Melanie said, looking at her in the reflection of the mirror. “You don’t need help with the shower, do you?”

  Melanie’s expression was sincere, the way it had always been. If someone needed help with something, from cleaning her room and making spirit goody bags to volunteering as the designated driver, Melanie had always been willing to pitch in and help. But then Tennyson could see in Melanie’s face that she’d forgotten they weren’t friends and were instead enemies because she frowned, shook her head, and stepped away.

  “I’m paying Marc Mallow enough that everything should be taken care of. But it’s nice of you to ask. I want Emma and Andrew to enjoy being showered with gifts and well wishes. They’re our kids.”

  For a moment their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. Melanie looked like she wanted to say something. Now was the time for Tennyson to apologize. To say she shouldn’t have done what she did. She opened her mouth, but something shifted in Melanie’s eyes. Something hard returned, and the moment was over.

  Melanie turned away. “They’ll have other wedding showers. My book club and a few of the moms from the PTA are doing a Rock Around the Clock shower.”

  “I know. Marc told me that one of her friends called about the bachelorette party, and he had a brilliant idea.” Tennyson tapped the fastener on the nape
of her neck. “Would you?”

  Wordlessly, Melanie reached out and unzipped her, retreating to her own dressing room as if she’d slipped up too much and now had to gather herself and mount her normal defensiveness.

  This was what they had come to—two former friends who could never find their way back to one another. Because of a man. Because of ego. Because one of them had destroyed what they’d been with words that should have never seen the light of day.

  It was something Tennyson couldn’t change.

  No matter how much she wished she could.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Melanie sat out in the driveway of her mother’s house, checking the time on her phone and tapping on the steering wheel. Her mother’s gardener was pulling out the scraggly snapdragons that should have gone weeks ago and replacing them with jolly red begonias. The June sun had gotten warm quickly, reminding her she needed to pick up some sunscreen before she headed to the beach in a few days. She didn’t need to go to the bridal shower looking like a lobster.

  Not to mention she’d found no swimsuits on sale in her size. Which meant she’d paid full price for the stupid one-piece she’d be taking to the beach. Of course, she didn’t feel too guilty because she hadn’t had a new swimsuit in five years, and the elastic was shot in her old one, anyway. Her credit card bill would be astronomical this month since she’d bought the Carolina Herrera dress on the Dallas trip, but damn it, she deserved a few nice things. No use in the money she and Kit had being hoarded away for her kids to squander.

  She tooted her horn.

  Where was Hillary? They had to be at Marc Mallow’s office at two. He’d squeezed the cake tasting in between two other appointments and made it clear he appreciated promptness.

  Finally, the door opened, and her sister emerged. She wore a long, loose dress, and her hair had been curled. Hillary’s thin body made Melanie wince every time she saw her sister.

  She noted Hillary didn’t have her purse and came around to the driver’s side. Melanie rolled down the window, knowing what was coming. “Hey, what’s wrong?”