If You Only Knew(63)

Better to have her focused on me than on Rachel. It still cuts, though, my mom’s constant need to win, to have had a better life, a better marriage, a bigger, truer love than her daughters. I honestly think Rachel’s having triplets made Mom feel outdone. After all, Rachel has a third more daughters than Mom managed. Add to that my sister’s glowing happiness, and that sweet, innocent sense that emanates—emanated—from her, and Mom always has to slip in a zinger. Her ease of getting pregnant. Two children being the perfect number, according to “studies I’ve read.” Such studies could never be found, but she still claimed that that’s what the experts said.

And of course, Saint Dad, perfect father, better husband.

Then, as always, irritating pity trickles in, mixing with the anger I feel. She loved my father. She’ll never get over his death. “Come on, Mom,” I tell her. “Let me take you to lunch. They redid Hudson’s, and it’s really cute now.”

“You should eat at the new place in my town,” she says. “Really top-notch. The best French food in the Northeast, the Times said.”

“Yeah? What’s it called?”

“Oh, I can’t remember.” She waves her hand dismissively. This is because if she did remember, I could Google the restaurant and thus disprove her claim on the Times review. “Betty and I had lunch there. The chef came out to greet us and made us a special appetizer. It really was amazing. Completely unique.”

“I get it, Mom. Whatever Hudson’s has won’t be as good as what’s in Hedgefield. Would you like to go out with me, anyway? My treat?”

“Fine,” she says, adopting a wounded look. “I just thought you’d be interested in a nice place. No need to get so touchy.”

Two hours later, Mom kisses my cheek goodbye. I text Rachel to warn her that our mother may well stop by, and Rach gives the preemptive phone call, pretending to check in from a doctor’s appointment. Mom warns her about vaccines, both pro and con, essentially saying that the girls are doomed whatever choice Rachel makes.

I wonder if Mom would be happier in some odd way, knowing that Dad wasn’t perfect. If she might have moved on. Mourned less somehow.

It wouldn’t be fair to tell her now. I’m almost positive. In her odd way, she’s happy in her misery.

But I wonder if I should tell Rachel. Then again, maybe it would devastate her, knowing our dad had strayed. Or maybe it would reassure her to know that Dad did love Mom, tremendously, and an affair doesn’t necessarily mean the end of happiness.

I don’t know. The last thing I want to do is make things worse.

“Mind if I go home early today?” Andreas asks, sticking his head into my office, where I’m sketching a mermaid gown for one of my new clients. “Seth and I have a date.”

“Fine,” I say. “Rub my face in it. Why can’t Seth have a straight brother, huh?”

“He has a lesbian sister. Want to give it a shot?”

“Some days, I do,” I say. “It’d be easier than dealing with men.”

“Tell me about it,” Andreas says.

Alone in my shop.

I have plenty of work, but...I don’t know. Something’s still missing. I’m on autopilot these days. I still love making dresses, but I haven’t been truly electrified in a long time. I’d hoped that owning my own shop would reinvigorate me, but so far, I feel horribly like I’m phoning it in. The dresses are still gorgeous, my brides are still thrilled; I’m probably the only one who knows something’s amiss.

I look at one of the display dresses—this gorgeous, sweet hippie-vibe confection with off-the-shoulder sleeves and empire waist. I loved making that dress. The bride called off the wedding; hence the reason I still have the dress, but it suited her perfectly, and she adored it. The guy was the problem, not the gown.

The bell over the door rings, and in comes my afternoon appointment. Kimber, in to see the muslin dress I made, based on the sketches she (and Mrs. Brewster) approved.

Unfortunately, the Dragon Lady is here, too, her iron-gray hair sprayed into its fiercely chic helmet, her face set in those frigid lines.

“Hello!” I say, hugging Kimber, who beams at me. “So nice to see you both! Come on in to the dressing room. Can I get you coffee or tea?”

“Let’s get this over with,” Mrs. Brewster says. Kimber’s smile twitches, then dies.

“Sure,” I say, ever chipper with my clients. “Now, the dress is obviously going to be in that gorgeous silk we picked out last time. This is just for fit and to give you an idea of how it will look on. I’ll show you the lace choices, and we can get to work making it really special.”

“I can’t wait,” Kimber says, clapping her hands.

Because covering the tattoos was deemed critical by Mrs. Brewster—and because Kimber dutifully agreed—I’ve come up with a very elegant, fitted dress with a sweetheart neckline and a graceful, draped skirt. Three-quarter lace sleeves and lace over the bodice will camouflage most of her colorful tattoos. The back is also lace. The material will be ivory silk and with a very delicate, sheer lace—the wedding’s in July, after all—and with Kimber’s figure and olive skin, she’ll look amazing in it.

“Let me help you get dressed, and then we’ll show you, Mrs. Brewster.”