The Marriage Pact Page 7

  “Thank you,” she replied primly. “Now, sit.”

  With a shake of my head, I did just that. “So, how many are there?”

  “Eight,” she replied with a wince. “Cindy Lou, Janice, Laura, Emily, Patrice, you… oh, hell, I can’t even remember the other two.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Seriously, though, I don’t get your mom. Do you even see these people more than once a year?”

  “Hardly. But you know Mom thinks she’s Emily Post—you can not argue with her about wedding etiquette. Not if you want her to foot the bill, anyway.”

  Just then, Emily came ambling back with three dresses in hand. “Hey, Becky,” she gasped, clearly out of breath.

  “Hey yourself. Whatcha got for me?” Emily held them out, one after another for inspection, but each time Becky shook her head. “Say it with me: pastel green.”

  With a dejected sigh, Emily did an about-face and ambled off.

  “That last one wasn’t bad,” I commented.

  My friend grinned evilly. “I know, but if they have to be in my wedding, I’m going to make the puppets dance.”

  “You’re terrible!”

  Cindy Lou was the next girl to come back and she’d taken the liberty of going to the changing room first. “Well?” she asked expectantly, turning from side to side as though she was walking a model runway. “What do you think?” Before Becky could reply, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. “Wait, does this make my butt look big?”

  “Everything makes your butt look big!” Janice snickered as she approached.

  Cindy cut her a dirty look and stomped off toward the changing room. On and on it went. Finally, nearly three hours later we had narrowed it down. Not that that meant everyone was in agreement—not by a long shot. In fact, the last twenty minutes had consisted of a catfight that grew louder by the minute.

  Becky had finally pulled out her trump card—I’d wondered why she’d waited so long to use it in the first place—shouting, “Shut up, idiots! I’m the bride!”

  There was some grumbling after that, but slowly, the crowd started to thin as the girls filed out to get into their cars. Becky sure knew how to handle a crowd.

  “Family reunions must be fun,” I observed drily.

  “Tell me about it. Right now I just want to elope.”

  “What about those three-hundred-dollar shoes they’ve already bought?”

  She grinned, that same maniacal grin. “Oops!”

  “You are prime evil, girl.”

  Her grin only widened. “Save the compliments for when you see your dress.”

  I cut my eyes at her, suddenly feeling a little nauseous; in all the chaos, I’d almost forgotten! “Where is it?”

  “They’re holding it.”

  “Well, I should go ahead and get in line to—”

  “Relax, worrywart. I already took care of it.”

  “What do you mean you already took care of it? Becky, you’re not supposed to be buying my dress, I—”

  “Chill, Shan, seriously. You can make it up to me with an a-mazing wedding gift.”

  “Take me to the dress,” I demanded. I was getting a bad feeling about this, which only grew when Becky looked like the cat who’d caught the canary. We walked to the back of the store where a dress was hanging and when she paused in front of it, I felt my heart hit the floor. I had been right to be worried.

  “So, what do you think?”

  I whirled on her with wide, shocked eyes. “What do I think? What do I—Becky! You know I’d never, in a million years wear—” I groaned as realization dawned. At least now I knew why she’d bought the dress.

  “It’s pretty,” she defended her choice.

  Turning back to it, I sighed. “Yes, OK, it looks great on the mannequin!” I studied the slim waist of the gown that flared out at the bottom, hugging every curve along the way. “But it’ll look awful on me!”

  “Not true,” she objected. “Shan, trust me for a sec, please? I’d never put you into something you’d look bad in!”

  “I’d rather wear a potato sack,” I grumbled. Like she’d said, it was pretty. It was also a lot of other things: sexy and daring to name a few, which I was not. “Oh, I just noticed the bare shoulders! I cannot pull this off, Becky!”

  “Oh, ye of little faith! I picked this out with you in mind, Shana.”

  “Gee, thanks, I thought we were friends!”

  She threw an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “You’re going to be beautiful.”

  “It looks too tight to walk in,” I grumbled, but my complaints were losing steam. It really was beautiful and I couldn’t help but picture how it might look. “How beautiful will I look if I trip and break my neck?”

  “You’ll leave behind a fabulous-looking corpse,” she chirped.

  “Fine! I give. You win.”

  She always did, but at least she had the grace to look surprised. With a squeal, she jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet; wait until I totally ruin your wedding by ripping my dress as we go down the aisle. Thank me then.”

  As we walked toward the front, Becky began to hum. It was several feet before I realized it was the ‘Funeral March.’ At least she had that part right.

  * * *

  A week later, I was finally beginning to get my boxes unpacked and settle into my old bedroom. Mom and Dad were the kind of parents who didn’t touch their kids’ rooms, even long after they’d gone off to college. Hell, I’d been to medical school and the walls were still the same taffy pink with a rosebud border winding around the room. All of my stuffed animals were lined up on the window seat where I used to do my homework, peering at me solemnly whenever I entered the room. Though I might have been imagining it, it seemed like it even smelled like high school: like pizza and the wine spritzers that I’d guzzled down while hiding in the closet with my friends.

  Even though I’d noticed the layer of dust clinging to my cherry wood four-poster—I’d taken the sparkly princess canopy down when I’d entered my sophomore year of high school—and my dresser, I thought it best to unpack before I went on a cleaning binge. If I ever went on a cleaning binge. Might be best to follow in Mom’s footsteps and leave the room just as it was. The dust would grow on me.

  As I stood with my hands on my hips, surveying the room thoughtfully, Mom pushed the door open.

  “Here’s your laundry, sweet girl,” she said, as though I was still eight years old.

  “Thanks, Mom. Hey, why didn’t you ever change the room?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You know, some parents convert their kid’s room into a yoga studio or an office or something.” I could just hear my inner Becky snickering, or a kinky sex room. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, dear. We knew you’d be back.”

  That’s just what a woman wants to hear, I thought wryly. Out loud I said, “Thanks again for the laundry. Hey, can you show me where the vacuum is? And the duster?”

  “Do you even know how to use the vacuum, Shana?” she asked with the indulgent smile of a parent who loved me despite the fact that I still couldn’t clean up after myself.

  “Well, not exactly. But it can’t be that hard, right?”

  “It isn’t. Wait a minute, how did you go about cleaning your apartment, then? Tell me you didn’t go nine years—” Her mouth widened in horror at the thought. Then, suddenly, it changed into a smile. “I knew it! You had a cleaning lady, didn’t you? When I asked, you said you didn’t, but you must have!”

  “That’s only because if I told you the truth you would have insisted I didn’t need to pay someone! You would have hopped a plane once a month to come clean my apartment!”

  “Well,” she said fondly. “Maybe so, but I’m your mother.”

  I smiled back at her and we shared a rare, tender moment as love radiated between us. “I’ll put the clothes away, but then I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting Becky to
see her dress in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, that ought to be fun. What’s it for?”

  “It’s her wedding dress,” I reminded her.

  “Is little Becky getting married?” she asked with just as much awe as she had the first time I’d told her. “Well, who is the lucky man?”

  Though I should be used to it by now—or so I told myself—the only thing that registered was a stunned realization that, once again, she seemed to have forgotten something so important. Shock was the first thing that hit me, but by no means was it the last. On the contrary, I was bombarded with emotions and ashamed of some of them. It hurt so much to see her like this, pain ripped through me to have lost the mother I’d known. I felt so helpless and yes, overwhelmed, as Jonas had predicted I would. Part of me—a small part, but still there nonetheless—became easily frustrated. Why couldn’t she just remember?

  I swallowed back the annoyance, like a good daughter would do. “His name is Seth. You’re going to love him.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said, beaming at me. She patted me on the shoulder once before leaving me alone with my laundry and my guilt.

  I walked out of the house as soon as Mom had gone to her own room without putting away so much as a pair of socks. I’d wanted to get some fresh air before Becky got to the house, but as soon as I walked out I saw her car pulling up. She tooted her horn and waved from the window and I began to walk over, trying to take deep breaths. I didn’t want my drama to interfere with Becky’s special time.

  As soon as I’d gotten down the stairs, she rolled her window down. “Hey, sexy!” she catcalled. “Can I give you a lift?”

  When I opened the car door, I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re such a dork.”

  “True story.”

  I slid into the passenger side and buckled my seatbelt. “Are the girls going to meet us there?”

  She kept her eyes on the road as she backed out of the driveway. “No.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Because I thought we’d ditch them for the day, have a little us time.”

  “Aw, but Becky, won’t they be sorry they missed out on this?”

  “Aren’t you getting tired of their constant bickering and the way Emily is always trying to outdo you? Hell, she probably bought me a bouquet of flowers for this very occasion.”

  “All the more reason she’ll be disappointed,” I pointed out, hiding a smile.

  “Have mercy, Shan. These women are on me twenty-four/seven. Cindy Lou and Patrice are staying with us and the others have a hotel room only a block away which they never seem to go to!”

  “Ah, every man’s dream,” I quipped with a sigh.

  “If they knew these women, their dreams would change pret-ty fast, let me tell you.”

  “All right already, you win!” I laughed at her exasperation, knowing only part of it was real. “Besides, you’re the bride. Has your mom seen it yet?”

  “Nope, I wanted you to be the first to see it. I mean, besides Seth.”

  “Becky! That’s bad luck!”

  She cut her eyes at me. “You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you? Like, people who file for divorce in the first year of marriage must have seen each other before the ceremony?”

  I smiled at her teasing tone. “No, but it’s tradition.”

  “Tradition is for losers. Sorry you had to find out this way.”

  It wasn’t long until we pulled into the parking lot—the only way Becky knew how to drive was fifteen miles over the speed limit—tires squealing and she ushered me inside. The man at the desk recognized her immediately and told us to follow him. He led us to a large dressing room and told us to let him know if we needed anything.

  Becky froze just outside the door, looking at me.

  “What?”

  “I just want you to love it.”

  “Well, I’m not the one marrying you,” I teased.

  “Seth’s already approved it, no worries.”

  “Becky, did you really—”

  At that moment, she reached forward, turned the knob and swung the door open. As soon as I caught sight of the beautiful gown inside, my voice trailed off, my train of thought forgotten. It was, in a word, stunning. It was elegant and gorgeous and perfectly Becky through and through. It was what I would have chosen for her myself. The gown was a strapless ivory satin with a ruched top and a skirt that flared out in tiers of ribbon tulle.

  “Oh, Becky,” I whispered. It felt like such a reverent moment, one I knew I’d remember for the rest of my life.

  Becky seemed to sense it too, because when she spoke it was with the same quiet awe. “Do you like it?”

  “Honey… I love it.” When I turned toward her, tears were in my eyes. “I’m sorry, I just pictured you wearing it and…”

  “You don’t have to picture it. Come on, let’s go in.”

  I followed her inside, closing the door behind us. Becky wasted no time in shucking her clothes off, shamelessly unafraid to be naked in front of anyone. I strongly suspected it was due to having a trim, flawless figure with perky, C-cup boobs. What was there to worry about?

  Looking up, she must have noticed my blush because she scoffed. “You’re too self-conscious.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered, helping her step into the gown. Once it was zipped up, she really took my breath away.

  “I could turn you, huh?” she said, grinning. “Make you walk a mile on the other side?”

  “Always with the jokes.”

  “Yeah, well, you know me.”

  “Too well, Becky. I do have a question for you though.”

  “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “If tradition is for losers, why’d you pick a white dress?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She considered me and when she narrowed her eyes, I knew I had her. Becky was too quick-witted to be caught without a comeback often. “Because I look damn good in it, that’s why,” she shot back haughtily.

  I smirked at her, knowing I’d scored a point. “How much did this bad boy set you back anyway?”

  “Don’t ask, Shana. Be a pal and don’t mention it to Seth, either. I already know he’s going to blow his top when the credit card bill comes in.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. Still,” she said thoughtfully, looking at her reflection in the mirror. “It’ll be worth it.”

  I walked to stand behind her and saw my reflection join hers, my face peeking out over her shoulder. I gingerly put my hand on hers and we stood like that for a few moments, Becky already more beautiful than the most blushing of brides.

  * * *

  By the time Becky’s bachelorette party rolled around nearly three weeks later, I’d finally begun to reorganize my bedroom. I’d gone through all my drawers, tossing out old clothes and trinkets in garbage bags to take to Goodwill. I knew right away not to tell Mom—she’d always been a hopeless packrat and in her current fragile state, I was worried it might throw her into a hysterical tailspin. I’d already begun sneaking things out of the house here and there, things that hadn’t been used in years. Still, if she noticed there’d be hell to pay.

  I’d seen Becky twice more since our trip to the bridal boutique, but mostly I stayed at home and kept busy getting my room in some semblance of order. I was amazed at some of the things I’d kept all those years ago—broken jewelry and slap bracelets, ink pens missing their caps, candy wrappers. Maybe I used to be a bit of a packrat too, I reflected.

  I’d even gotten around to putting up the laundry—mainly because Mom had forgotten that she’d washed it already and had done it all over again. I didn’t want her to work needlessly, especially on my behalf. One of these days, I really was going to learn how to use a washing machine—dryers, far as I could tell, were pretty straightforward. I would never have gotten on without living in an apartment that offered laundry service. It meant more rent each month, but it had been well worth it.

  As much as I’d aimed to keep busy,
I realized that I was quickly running out of things to do and unfortunately, I didn’t start at the hospital until the week after the wedding. Which meant I had plenty of time to think; time to let my mind wander down paths we both knew shouldn’t be traveled. I began to wonder, for instance, why Becky hadn’t mentioned Brody in all the time I’d been here. Normally, she was so quick to bring him up, to drop his name into conversation any way she could.

  Maybe there was something that she didn’t want me to know. Had he gotten married? No, that couldn’t be it. I would have heard from someone—my own mother, in a lucid moment. Then what could it be? Why else would she stay so quiet? Did she really believe I didn’t want to know, like I’d tried to convince her for all these years? Was there a subtle way to bring him up? I didn’t think so. No one could pull off subtlety with Becky, she caught on too quick.

  Put it out of your mind, I told myself firmly. Just focus on making sure Becky has a good time tonight. It was the night of the bachelorette party—Becky had intended to ditch her bridal party once again, but I’d told her in no uncertain terms that she was not going to do so and I stood my ground for a change. I wanted it to be special and fun, especially seeing as how tomorrow was the big day.

  Unfortunately, it was plain to see that the evening was off to a rocky start before it even got underway. The stretch limo that I’d reserved for the evening pulled up half an hour late and there were too many grumpy faces looking back at me when I opened the door. “Hi…” I looked at Becky, who was clearly pissed.

  “Scooch,” she ordered, and Emily and Janice begrudgingly made room for me to sit beside my best friend.

  “Hi, everyone!” I tried again.

  There were maybe one or two muttered hellos, but little else. Almost every bridesmaid had a champagne flute, though, so I already knew without asking that the bottle would be empty. Oh, well. I hadn’t really had a taste for champagne ever since Brody had scolded me for my drinking at Tiffany’s wedding.

  “What’s up?” I whispered.

  “Drama,” she replied moodily.

  “Can I—”

  “Wait till we get there.”