Make Me Hate You(11)
But Al owned the one and only beauty salon in town, one of just a few in the entire county, and it was she who I thanked for showing me how to shape my eyebrows and highlight my hair and paint my nails. Those things had seemed like rocket science to me before I moved in with her. I could watch my mom do her makeup and hair all day long, but I never knew where to start.
Sometimes, I even felt like I favored Aunt Laura more than my own mother. We both had blonde hair, whereas my mom was brunette, and our eyes were a bright blue, while Mom’s was more a shade of gray. Mom had curves, whereas Aunt Laura and I were more lean and toned.
But maybe I just wanted to have more in common with Al, to put even more space between my mother and me. Not that I had to try hard to do that — she hadn’t even attempted to reach out to me since the day she left for Phoenix, other than once a few years later when she called Aunt Laura and asked how I was. Of course, Aunt Laura told her she should go see me and find out herself, but my mom was too much of a coward to face the outcome after abandoning me.
And I was too hardened by resentment to ever reach out to her.
It had to be hard for my aunt, too, to lose her sister the way she did. The day my mom left us in Bridgechester had severed the two of them, driving the final nail into the coffin of their relationship. Aunt Laura didn’t approve of my mother’s actions, and my mother didn’t want to salvage their relationship if it meant giving up what she wanted in Phoenix with her boyfriend.
I didn’t even know if they were still together anymore.
More importantly, I didn’t care.
My stomach soured just at the thought of her, and I shook it off, focusing on Aunt Laura as she told me about the new dip stations for nails at the salon, and the latest hair trends that were making her go crazy. Conversation flowed easily from there, and we covered everything from the podcast to what shows we were bingeing on Netflix before the alarm pinged on my phone, letting me know it was time to head out.
I sighed. “Welp, that’s my cue. Time for the wedding madness to begin.”
“I can’t believe she’s planning this thing in two weeks.”
“You can’t?” I challenged.
“Well, okay, I can, but seriously, don’t most brides take a year? A year and a half?”
“Morgan isn’t most brides,” I said on a chuckle, standing as I fished cash from my wallet. Aunt Laura stood with me and stopped my hand before I could withdraw it.
“Don’t even think about it, Jazzy Girl. This one’s on me.” She pulled me in for a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for the party.”
“Pray for my sanity in the meantime,” I told her.
She laughed, pulling back and holding onto my arms as her eyes wandered over me. “I wish my sister could see the woman you’ve become.”
My chest tightened, and in lieu of acknowledging that statement, I just kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand in my own. “I’m just trying to keep up with my bad ass aunt.”
She waved me off, but I didn’t miss the glossing of her eyes. “I’m still so mad at her, you know,” she whispered, tugging on a strand of my long hair. “For leaving you. For leaving us. But, I miss her sometimes, and wonder what it would have been like if she’d stayed.”
“I don’t.”
It was a lie, but Aunt Laura didn’t call me on it.
I gave her one last smile and made my way out of the diner, out onto Main Street, which was already filling with tourists and residents alike. The buzz of excitement washed out any residual ick left over from talking about my mom, and I smiled, taking it all in.
Summer was just around the corner, and I could feel it in the air.
The promise of longer days and hotter nights.
The rest of the afternoon blew by in a blur of chiffon and diamonds.
I met Morgan and her mom at the only dress boutique in town right after breakfast with my aunt, and Morgan tried on every dress there until she found the perfect one. It was short and unconventional, a cream color as opposed to bright white, with lace details that covered the sweetheart neckline and an open back. It tapered at her slim waist, the skirt soft and flowy, and when she did a twirl and the skirt flew up like Sandy’s in Grease, she gave a squeal of approval and delight.
The seamstress pinned it with the minor alterations, promising to have it ready in a week, and then it was my turn.
Getting Morgan to decide on colors was apparently the most difficult task — one her mom had been trying to accomplish for the last few days. She had me put on every color from a forest green to Easter egg yellow. But when she saw me in a long, lilac dress with slim spaghetti straps and a long slit up the side, she gasped, clapping her hands together with glee.
And that was it, decision made.
The rest of the wedding would be tailored around the fact that she liked the way that purple dress looked on me, and I smiled, because it was so perfectly Morgan.
I was the only bridesmaid, and, news to me, Tyler would be the only groomsman. He and Oliver had grown close over the last year, apparently, and Oliver’s best friend was living abroad, teaching English in South Korea, and couldn’t make it home for the wedding on such short notice.
So, it would just be the two of us standing up there with the bride and groom.
Peachy.
Once the dresses were in order, we met Oliver at the jeweler. It was my first time meeting him in person, and I knew right away that I liked him. He was tall and sort of goofy, with dark brown skin and a smile that lit up the entire room when he flashed it. He was just like Morgan in the sense that he had an energy that seemed to flow off of him, permeating everything around him, filling each person he talked to with joy.