I’d just pushed open the door to the guest room when Nathan asked, “Whitley, are you okay?”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Do you care?”
“Yeah—of course.”
“Why?”
Nathan raised an eyebrow at me.
I shook my head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” Before he could say anything else, I walked into the guest room and shut the door.
“Yeah, I’m having a great time,” I lied when Mom called on Wednesday.
“Are you and your dad spending much time together?” she asked.
She wasn’t asking for my sake; I knew that. She wanted me to complain. She wanted an open invitation to bitch about him.
I didn’t want to hear it.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “He, um, wants to go mini-golfing this weekend.” I forced a laugh. “How lame is that, right?”
“It sounds nice…. I was worried about you, you know.”
No you weren’t.
“Well, things have gotten better,” I maintained. “I overreacted the other night. It’s not so bad, really. We’ve all been hanging out and watching movies. It’s the same as always, just with a few more people in the house. It’s great.”
“Don’t get used to it, sweetie,” Mom warned. “Things are happy now, but your dad will mess it up. He always does.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “I don’t want you to be surprised or upset when it happens. It’s bound to go downhill.”
“Uh-huh.” I took a swig from the Margaritaville Gold while she went on and on, the whole time insisting that telling me this was for my own good.
She didn’t know what was good for me.
I wasn’t sure anyone did.
CHAPTER 9
Sylvia came home from work early on Friday afternoon.
“Are you girls ready to go?” she asked Bailey and me. We were watching American Pie on one of the movie channels in the living room. Or, at least, we had been. Bailey had switched off the TV as soon as Sylvia opened the front door. She must not have been allowed to watch R-rated movies. Oops.
“Go where?” I asked.
“You didn’t tell her, Bailey?”
Bailey looked sheepish. “I forgot. Sorry.”
Sylvia shook her head, laughing a little. “It’s okay. Well, Whitley, it looks like you’re in for a fun surprise today. Come on. Let’s go.”
I had to be a bridesmaid.
That was the “fun surprise” that Sylvia sprung on me twenty minutes later, when we pulled up in front of the bridal shop in Oak Hill, a city in the next county over from Hamilton. My summer was just full of awesome surprises.
“Oh, something like this would look great on you,” said Sherri, Sylvia’s just-as-blond, just-as-perky older sister.
She’d met Sylvia, Bailey, and me at Gwyneth’s Bridal Boutique that afternoon, wearing a bright red blouse and sipping Starbucks coffee. She wasted no time in giving me a hug, telling me I was beautiful, and informing me that I was free to call her Aunt Sherri whenever I wanted.
I couldn’t tell if she was a total phony or if she was just clueless.
I already disliked Sherri. Probably because she was so much like Sylvia. But right now she was making matters worse by holding up a sickening baby-blue dress, complete with puffy sleeves and a high neckline, saying how it was just right for me.
“Yeah,” Sherri agreed with herself. “This would be excellent with your figure. And this shade is definitely a good color for you.”
I couldn’t help but think of what Harrison would say to this woman if he saw the horrible dress she was showing me. He’d flip his shit. Have an aneurysm. The sight of this thing might have even killed him. I know I wanted to die at that moment.
“Oh, Sherri, put that away!” Sylvia laughed from the other side of the small parlor. “You know Bailey and I already have the dress picked out. We just need to get Whitley’s measurements.”
“Fine.” Sherri sighed. “But Whitley might still want to try on some of these, just for fun.”
“No, I’m good,” I said. “Really.”
“Whitley, come look at the dress we’ve picked,” Bailey said, waving me over. Given a choice between Bailey and Sherri, I chose Bailey immediately. I skirted around the racks of colorful gowns until I was standing next to the little blond and her mother. “Sorry about her,” Bailey murmured. “Aunt Sherri gets excited easily.” She cleared her throat. “So, this is it. This is the dress.” She pointed to the one Sylvia was examining.
It was bubblegum pink—an instant reason to hate it—and floor-length. The sleeves came to mid-forearm and the bodice was decorated with a spray of tiny yellow fabric-and-bead flowers going up the middle and over one half of the sweetheart neckline. Exactly what you’d expect Sylvia to pick out for bridesmaids’ dresses.
And exactly what I wouldn’t be caught dead in.
“It still needs to be altered,” Sylvia said, as if reading my mind. “I’m going to have the sleeves taken off and the hem shortened just a little. The wedding is in early September, so it will still practically be summer. I think that will look much better.”
“What do you think?” Bailey asked.
“Gorgeous,” I grumbled.
“Did someone need measurements?” called a woman from the front desk just as a redheaded customer exited the boutique carrying a large frilly dress wrapped in plastic.
“Over here.” Sylvia stepped out from behind the wall of hanging dresses. “One of my bridesmaids needs to be measured for her dress.” She beamed before ushering me toward the desk, where the clerk waited. “This is Whitley. She’s a bridesmaid for the Johnson-Caulfield wedding. You should have me on file.”
“I do,” the clerk said after a few seconds. “The pink gown with the flowered bodice, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Great.” She turned to me then. “All right, Whitley. I’m Lexie. Follow me back into the fitting room and we’ll get your measurements done.”
Lexie was one of those overwhelmingly pretty people. Not beautiful, but pretty. Stick thin. Black hair cut just below her chin. And she walked like a Victoria’s Secret model, strutting down the runway. I couldn’t help admiring her as she led me to the back room of the shop. This chick had it going on.
“Step in here,” she said, gesturing to a dressing room hidden behind a white curtain.
“Why?” I asked. “I thought we were just doing measurements.”
“We are,” Lexie replied, picking up a strip of measuring tape from a nearby table. “But this is a form-fitting dress, and to get an accurate measurement, I’ll need you to strip down to your underwear. Unless you’re cool with everyone seeing,” she added, gesturing to the door as Sherri, Sylvia, and Bailey entered behind us.
I groaned and walked into the dressing room, Lexie on my heels.
Not that I had a problem with my body—for the most part, I didn’t—but these were the last people I would want to see me in my purple bra and thong. They’d probably be scandalized by all that (currently sunburned) skin.
Though I really didn’t want Sexy Lexie to see me practically naked, either. I could feel her eyes on my flat butt, my less-flat stomach. The smug expression on her face when I pulled off my T-shirt told me exactly what she was thinking:
I’m hotter than this chick.
Or maybe she was inwardly laughing at the blistering sunburn that covered the back side of my body. That was possible, too.
“Arms up,” she said, unwinding the measuring tape.
I raised my arms above my head and winced as she wrapped the measuring tape around my chest, the edge of the strip cutting painfully into my inflamed skin.
“Might try a higher SPF next time,” Lexie commented, moving the strip down to my midsection, not bothering to be any gentler, despite having noticed the burn.