Once and for All(15)
“This from a person who is basically the brightest thing in the room right now.”
She looked down at her yellow romper, which out in the actual sun had almost blinded me. “Yes, but I like color and can therefore pull it off. Try the next one.”
“I like color,” I grumbled. As I turned back to the room, a salesgirl studying a laptop by the register gave me a sympathetic smile.
“My turn!” Kitty bellowed. “Now!”
“Work it out or nobody plays,” Jilly told them in a tired voice, then said to me, “Try the A-line next. That’s the blue one.”
“I know what an A-line is.”
“Do you, though?”
I rolled my eyes at my own reflection, reminded again why I always hated being on this side of the dressing room door. I was used to tagging along shopping with Jilly, who believed strongly in the power of retail therapy. But things always worked better when I was flipping through magazines waiting for her to model the looks. Our friendship worked because we each knew our strengths, and now I felt like we were both miscast.
The blue dress was better color-wise, but it made my boobs seem sort of pointy. This seemed strange to opine aloud, however, so I went back outside without comment.
“Nope. Your boobs look weird.” She squinted at them. “Although it is kind of interesting; torpedo-like. You’d definitely get attention.”
“That’s not the kind of attention I want.” I went back to the dressing room, shedding the dress, then eyed my last selection, a deep plum sheath with a V-neck. “Are you serious with this purple? Really?”
“It’s eggplant, and very much in fashion right now,” she replied. “Put it on.”
I did, glancing at my watch as I pulled my arm through. It was just after three thirty, which meant I didn’t have long to stop by my mom’s office to check in, then get home and change before meeting her and William at school for the ceremony. They were coming straight from a meeting for Bee Little’s wedding, about which everything, it seemed, was happening last minute.
Bee was lovely, which was good, because her event, despite William’s initial confidence, had become your basic wedding planner nightmare. First, the venue—a gorgeous old house with expansive gardens and a pond—had caught on fire just after she put down a hefty (last-minute) deposit on it. Then the caterer she insisted was her only deal breaker in terms of vendors had a nervous breakdown, although not over this wedding. (My mother was not yet convinced of this.) All this would have been bad enough even if her own mother’s event—which had gone so well, her son’s vanishing act aside; oh how we loved a third wedding!—had not resulted soon after the honeymoon in a separation due to “incompatibility issues.” (Even my mother and William had been blindsided: they didn’t bet on third weddings, feeling that by then you should know what you’re doing.) The upshot: with nine weeks to go, they now found themselves in the busiest part of the wedding season with no venue, no caterer, and a mother of the bride who was even more cynical about the process than they were.
I pulled on the last option Jilly had chosen for me, slipping it over my head. When I glanced in the dressing room mirror, it did seem awfully purple, although I liked the plain yet classic neckline and the way the skirt’s hem flared up and out at the bottom. I had just stepped out to see what Jilly thought when the salesgirl gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.
We both looked over at her. “What is it?” Jilly asked.
She looked up at us, startled, like she’d forgotten we were there. “Sorry. I was just . . . it’s the news. There’s been a shooting.”
I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, hairs raising up. Immediately, Jilly glanced at the twins, who were still absorbed in their game, then put a hand on my arm. “This one looks good. Who knew eggplant was your color?”
“What kind of shooting?” I asked the salesgirl, although I could swear I already knew. There was something in her face I recognized.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She dropped her hand, shaking her head. “It’s a school. In California. Just breaking news, right now. They don’t have any—”
“Come on,” Jilly said, her voice firm as she steered me back into the room, shutting the door behind me. From outside she said, “You don’t really need a dress. Like you said, you have tons. Let’s just go.”
I stood there a second, looking at my reflection. I could see myself blinking, quickly, before I turned away, fingers fumbling to pull the dress up over my head. Ignoring the hanger, I left it in a heap on the bench in my haste to put my shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops back on and grab my purse. Outside, Jilly was waiting, reaching down wordlessly to take my hand. As we walked behind the counter, with the twins in tow, the salesgirl was still focused on her computer, and I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t see the screen. But I knew what was most likely there, as well as to come. A long shot of a flat, nondescript building, maybe with a mascot on the side. People streaming out doors, hands over their heads. The embraces of the survivors, mouths open, caught in wails we were lucky not to hear. And, in the worst case, pictures of kids just like the ones in my own yearbook, lined up neatly, already ghosts.
By the time I got to my mom’s office, I’d somewhat calmed down. Jilly had helped, turning up the radio loud as she drove us through town, now and then taking glances at me she thought I didn’t notice. It was gorgeous out, with a bright blue sky, and people were out on the sidewalks and in their cars, windows down—while elsewhere, someone’s worst nightmare had only just become real. It seemed wrong, like there should have been a stain on the day or something.