Losing Me, Finding You(5)

“Thanks, Aunt Megan,” I tell her as she sniffs and her eyes slide down the sidewalk. She notices me noticing her and stuffs her pepper spray back in her purse, grabbing my wrist and turning away to drag me into the bridal shop.

I hear my cousin, Jodie, before I see her.

“I am so fat!” she wails, and I have to try my best to keep my expression neutral. In all reality, I want to shake my cousin and scream at her, You're not fat; you're pregnant because you and Kyle were both too embarrassed to buy condoms from the drugstore.

“Jodie, honey,” my aunt coos, gliding into the room and taking over for my mom who steps away from Jodie and shakes her hand out, like maybe my cousin was squeezing it too hard. She looks at me curiously but doesn't say a thing. I smile at her and take a seat in one of the orange plastic chairs that surround the mirror my cousin is now fixated on, turning this way and that, examining her changing body with critical eyes. In all reality, she's probably still a size four which is hardly fat. I say nothing, waiting patiently for my cousin to notice me and declare that I'm going to be wearing a fuchsia taffeta monstrosity. After all, I'm her one and only bridesmaid, so it's only fitting that I look terrible.

“I hate my life,” Jodie groans, slumping to the dirty blue carpeting of the shop like a sack of old potatoes. The corner of my mouth twitches, but I force it back to stillness. My father once said that he was lucky to have a daughter like me: quiet, passive, and calm. He said I was like the lake on a summer day, no wind, no rain, no clouds. No fun, I think as my mind goes straight back to Mr. Motorcycle. There is no way I could go out with him, not even if I wanted to. Especially if I wanted to. The night would only end badly when he realized that the most exciting experience of my life was when I had my tonsils removed in the sixth grade. That's even assuming that I could get out of the house without my parents wanting to know where I was going and why and when I was going to be back and all other such nonsense.

I sigh.

Jodie pauses her self-deprecating diatribe to glance over at me, sniffling and wiping at her blue eyes with the back of her hand. Her hair is coiffed atop her head, looking like a cinnamon bun, all curled up on itself and she really does look quite pretty in the strapless white gown she's dirtying on the floor with her fit. We stare at one another for a moment before she breaks out into a sniffling smile, gathers the crinkled fabric in her hand and stands up.

“Amy,” she says, puffing her chest out like a peacock. “I have something to show you. At least someone will look skinny and pretty at my wedding.” I watch as she glides across the floor and pauses next to an eighties inspired dress in … fuchsia. I hate being right sometimes.

Jodie yanks the dress from the rack and spins around. The turquoise bows on the hips flap like wings. No. I swallow hard and smile.

“It's pretty.”

Jodie squeals and practically throws the dress at me.

“Try it on!” she says, clapping her hands and pausing to fix her hair in the mirror, pouting her lips and blinking her eyelashes. Jodie only says she thinks she's fat and ugly; she's actually quite narcissistic. I stand up, the monstrosity dangling from my hands in taffeta and satin, and try not to gag. I try to distract myself by fantasizing about Adam and the other book boyfriends, but end up thinking about Mr. Motorcycle again. If, by some miracle of God, you were able to sneak out and meet this Austin guy, what would you even wear?

“Do you need help getting into it?” my mother asks, as if I'm incapable of zipping up a dress by myself. I shake my head and disappear behind the curtains in the back. I hang the dress up on the hook that's screwed crookedly into the wall and wonder if Mrs. Hall, the owner, knows what the words pride of ownership mean. I slip off my shoes, so it looks like I'm actually doing something back here and snatch a few more paragraphs in my book, sliding it quietly out of my purse and holding it in one hand while I slip my sweater off my right shoulder with the other.

“You can't leave me here, writhing in blissful agony forever,” I whisper to Austin.

I pause and shake my head, reread the sentence over again.

“You can't leave me here, writhing in blissful agony forever,” I whisper to Adam.

Oops. I'm starting to project Mr. Motorcycle into my book. Not good. I absolutely cannot go out with him tonight. It would only end up with me adding another name to my list of fantasy lovers, only this one would be a real person. And he'd only be in town for the week. Unlike Adam and Daniel and Micah who I could visit anytime I wanted, Austin was a temporary fixture.

“I texted Kyle this morning, and he hasn't responded. You don't think he's cheating on me, do you?” Jodie begins to whine as I sit down on the single bench in the changing area and let my mind go. It gets swallowed up by the book in just a few short sentences and suddenly, I'm no longer here, I'm there. Don't you just love reading?

“I can't stay,” he whispers back, cupping my chin and tilting my face up to his. Our lips brush gently and my heart spirals down into my belly. Why, after all the wonderful nights we've spent together, does he want to leave me? I should have known not to trust a man I met in a bar.

“But how come? You're not being honest with me, are you?” Adam laughs bitterly and turns away for a moment. When he glances back at me, his eyes are hot and full of passion.

“What if I gave you one last night to remember me by?” he says and then without waiting for an answer, shoves me into the wall and lifts up my skirt, positioning his hard cock against my opening. I try to protest, but –