Too Good to Be True(78)

And sitting here, admiring my sister, I could finally see that, even back then before Andrew’s revelation, all those imaginings had felt a little…thin. I’d pictured that future with a determination that should’ve clued me in. It was all too good to be true.

“How was your overnight in the city, Grace?” Natalie asked, snapping out of her daze.

I glanced at Margaret, who’d been clued in before. “Well, I’m sorry to say that Wyatt and I are—” I paused for regretful effect “—taking a break.”

“What?” Natalie and Mom chorused.

I sighed. “You know, he’s such a great guy, but really, his work is just too demanding. I mean, you guys never even got to meet him, right? What does that say about the kind of husband he’d be?”

“Crappy,” Margaret announced. “Plus, I never thought he was all that.”

“Quiet, Margaret,” Mom said, coming to sit at my side to administer a few maternal pats.

“Oh, Grace,” Natalie said, biting her lip. “He sounded so wonderful. I—I thought you were madly in love. You were talking about getting married a little while ago!”

Margaret choked on her drink. “Well,” I said, “I just don’t want a husband who can’t really, um, be devoted to the kids and me. You know. Running off all the time to the hospital was getting a little old.”

“But he was saving children’s lives, Grace!” Natalie protested.

“Mmm,” I said, taking a sip of margarita. “True. Which makes him a great doctor, but not necessarily a great husband.”

“Maybe you’re right, honey. Marriage is hard enough,” Mom said. I forced myself not to picture last night, but of course, it was seared onto my eyelids, Mom and Dad…bleccch!

“How are you taking it, Grace?” Margaret asked, as she’d been instructed in the car ride here.

“You know, I’m actually fine with it,” I answered blithely.

“You’re not heartbroken?” Natalie asked, kneeling in front of me, a vision in her white dress.

“No. Not even a little. It’s for the best. And I think we’ll stay friends,” I said, getting an elbow in the ribs from Margaret. “Or not. He might be transferring to Chicago. So we’ll see. Mom, how’s your art coming along?” A subject guaranteed to take the focus off my love life.

“It’s getting a little dull,” Mom said. “I’m thinking of going male. I’m tired of all those labias and ovaries. Maybe it’s time for a good old-fashioned penis.”

“Why not flowers, Mom? Or bunnies or butterflies? Does it have to be genitalia?” Margs asked.

“How are we doing in here?” Birdie of Birdie’s Bridal bustled in holding another dress. “Oh, Natalie, honey, you look dazzling! Like an ad in a magazine! Like a movie star! A princess!”

“Don’t forget Greek goddess,” Margaret added.

“Aphrodite, rising from the waves,” Birdie agreed.

“That would be Venus,” I said.

“Oh, Faith, here’s your dress,” Birdie said, handing me a rose-colored, floor length dress.

“It’s Grace. My name is Grace.”

“Try it on, try it on!” Nat said, clapping her hands. “That color will be gorgeous on you, Grace!”

“Yes, maid of honor. Your turn to be super special,” Margaret growled.

“Oh, get over it,” I said, rising from the couch. “Try on your dress, Margaret, and behave.”

“Yours is right here,” Natalie said, swatting Margaret on the head. Birdie handed Margs a dress a few shades paler than mine, and Margaret and I went into separate dressing rooms to try our garments on.

Behind the curtain I went. I hung the dress on a hook, slid out of my jeans and T-shirt, glad for the new bra and panties set that kept me from feeling like a total slob. I slipped the dress over my head, freed my hair from the zipper and managed to rescue my left breast from where it got stuck in the bodice. There. A tug here, a push there, and I was zipped.

“Come on, let’s see!” Natalie called impatiently.

“Ta-da!” I said gamely, coming out to join my sisters.

“Oh! Gorgeous! That is really your color!” Nat cried, clapping her hands. She’d put on another wedding dress, a shimmering white silk creation with a demure neckline, a snug bodice that glistened with beads and huge, puffy skirt. Margaret, fast and efficient at everything she did, was already waiting, looking sulky and gorgeous in her pale pink.

“Come on, Grace,” Mom said. “Stand with your sisters and let’s see how you look.”

I obeyed. Stood on the little dais next to cool, blond, elegant Natalie Rose. On Nat’s other side was Margaret, her reddish gold hair sleekly cut into a stylish bob, sharply attractive, thin as a greyhound, cheekbones to die for.

My sisters were, simply put, beautiful. Stunning, even.

And then there was me. I noticed that my dark hair hadn’t taken kindly to the weather today and was doing its wild-animal thing again. A few dark circles lurked under my eyes. (Who could sleep after Mom and Dad’s foreplay?) In the past few months, I’d managed to gain weight in my upper arms, courtesy of all that quality time with Ben & Jerry’s. Based on the one picture we had of her, I looked like my great-grandmother on my mother’s side, who’d immigrated from Kiev.