Love & Other Disasters(23)

They had been watching a movie in their room, had come downstairs to get junk food from the gas station across the street.

“A.m./p.m. run,” London said, after they stopped in front of each other and a second of awkward silence passed. They tilted their head toward the door. “Want to come?”

Dahlia seemed to think about it. London shoved their hands in their pockets to prevent them from touching her. Eventually, she nodded.

London opted for silence as they picked out white cheddar popcorn, Reese’s peanut butter cups, and powdered-sugar doughnuts. Dahlia followed quietly behind. London almost cheered when she finally uncrossed her arms to pick up a pack of peach gummy rings.

“It’s been a long week,” she said as they stood in line to check out. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.” London shrugged.

Dahlia made a vague noise in her throat and looked down. She was wearing a fitted pink T-shirt today, a black polka-dotted skirt, and sneakers. She was one of those girls who could really pull off skirts and sneakers. Probably because her legs were so damn pretty. Probably because she could pull off anything.

London scratched at the back of their neck as they walked back toward the hotel. They had never been very good at being comforting. Whenever they wanted to make Julie feel better, they just made fun of her until she yelled at them. Yelling at London always made Julie feel better. But they didn’t think that strategy would work here.

They paused when they reached the sidewalk outside the hotel. Something at the corner of the building caught the edge of London’s vision. Out of simple desire to not leave Dahlia yet—they feared as soon as they walked back inside the lobby she would scurry away like a very cutely dressed mouse—they followed it.

Golden light and muffled noise spilled out from a tall window on the first floor. London peeked through the narrow slit where the heavy drapes of the window parted, offering a glimpse of a ballroom.

Dahlia waited silently behind them. London watched the swarm of bodies inside for a minute more.

And then they made a decision.

“Dahlia.” They swiveled back around to face her. Her head was cocked to the side, her eyes tired but curious. “Did you happen to have any plans this evening?”

“Um.” Dahlia bit her lip. “Sleeping?”

“Or”—feeling suddenly bold, London gripped her shoulders—“come crash this wedding with me instead.”

Dahlia’s eyebrows shot up into her forehead.

“Come again?”

“Crash this wedding with me.”

Dahlia shook her head. “What?” And then, “We’d get in trouble.”

“I don’t think so. Look at them.” London pointed their now-healed thumb behind them at the window. “This is clearly a huge wedding, and everyone’s trashed. Like, they are duh-runk. No one will even notice us. Look at that bride! She would probably give us a hug and thank us for our years of friendship at this point.”

Dahlia stared at them. London, a complete fool, kept their hands on her shoulders. Because it was the weekend, and because it felt good.

And then a ghost of a smile appeared on Dahlia’s lips.

“Are you a frequent wedding crasher?” she asked.

London shook their head. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“A first time for everything,” she repeated.

One of them could get kicked off next week.

But right now? It was Saturday. They’d survived a long week. And London had almost turned Dahlia Woodson’s frown upside down.

Whatever happened from here on out was worth it.

“We’ll have to get changed.” Dahlia’s face turned thoughtful now, plotting. Damn, but London loved that Thoughtful Face. “Do you have wedding attire?”

London hadn’t thought this far. “Maybe I have a bow tie? I don’t know. I’ll fake it.”

“I have . . . a dress,” Dahlia said slowly, like the existence of it was precarious, and London’s stomach flipped, imagining the possibilities of this dress.

“Okay.” Dahlia stepped away, nodding. Her smile was shaky, but it was there. “Okay, let’s do this thing. I’ll meet you at your room in fifteen?”

London nodded.

And now she was really smiling. “All right, London. Go make yourself dapper.”

Dahlia’s head tilted to the side.

“Are you listening to Tegan and Sara?”

“Is that weird?”

London glanced at Dahlia once before retreating back into their room, picking up their phone to stop the music. They couldn’t spend any longer than that brief second staring at that dress. It was a silky black thing with a severe neckline that dropped between her small breasts, practically down to her navel. Jesus Christ, it was indecent and incredible. No wonder she had paused before she mentioned it.

It was the first thing that sent flares up in London’s brain that perhaps this had been a bad idea.

“No, I guess it’s not weird,” she said. “I just expected you to listen to like . . . a lot of hip indie rockers I’d never heard of, or something.”

London did listen to hip indie rockers Dahlia had probably never heard of. But when they were nervous, they retreated to their playlist of early-to-mid-2000s music they and Julie had grown up listening to when they were just kids: Tegan and Sara, The Shins, Modest Mouse, Death Cab, stuff they listened to before they could even understand the lyrics. Being twins, they and Julie fought constantly, especially in elementary school. But as the two of them grew into adolescence, music had started to tether them to each other. It likely always would. This playlist always made London feel grounded and calm.