Finding Spring

by B. E. Baker

  Really fat.

  I went shopping Wednesday night for a dress for Mary's rehearsal dinner, but it wasn't exactly a relaxing experience. Troy didn't want to sit still and kept darting in between my legs and under the dressing room door. I gave up looking after trying on only three dresses. This green one looked the least terrible of the three I tried, and the color is vibrant. I’m pleasantly surprised when it doesn't have dirty handprints anywhere on it.

  At least it's not as ghastly as the maid of honor dress I’ll be wearing on Saturday. I groan and flop down on my bed, because it's not like I have a choice for either dress. My clothing shopping budget has been non-existent for the last few years, so this green monstrosity is the only fancy thing I own.

  A knock at my door alerts me that Paisley has arrived. I force myself to get up and go open it. “Hey Pais.” Her silver sheath dress is covered in sparkly embroidery. “You look like a shooting star!” I squash down a tiny pang of jealousy.

  “Thanks. Are you excited?” Her grin deflates slightly as she takes in my dress. “Why do you look pregnant?”

  I close my eyes.

  “Oh my gosh, you didn't relapse with Chris or anything, right?”

  “What's wrong with you?” I ask. “I'm not pregnant. I just didn't pick a great dress, okay? Troy was with me, and I was a little distracted.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t already pull the tags off.”

  I nod my head. “Not that it matters. It’s not like I have time to find something else.”

  “Girl. You should not shop alone. You know this about yourself.”

  “I wasn't alone,” I say. “That was the problem.”

  Paisley frowns. “This is not good. Maybe we can put you in something else. Literally any dress with an actual waistline would look better.”

  Paisley starts pulling things out of my closet and tossing them on the bathroom floor.

  “Whoa there,” I say, “maybe we don't have to make such a big mess that I’ll have to spend all day Sunday cleaning it up.”

  “None of this will work.” Paisley puts her hands on her hips.

  I plop down on the bed. “I get it. This dress isn’t cute, but who cares what I'm wearing? It's a wedding for my sister, not for me.”

  “You're meeting Paul tonight,” she says. “The Paul. The person on whom your sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law have pinned all their hopes for your future happiness.”

  I try not to roll my eyes and fail. “You sound like an A&E miniseries. I don't care about stupid Paul.”

  “Those are some strong words,” Paisley says. “Why not?”

  “Because I'm already madly in love with someone else.” As I say the words, I realize that they aren't exactly true, but they aren't the outrageous joke I intended either. I do like Jack. More than I should, given how long I’ve known him. Way, way too much, in light of my list.

  Paisley pins me with a glare. “Who, exactly?”

  “Cole.”

  She splutters. “Are you serious right now?”

  “What if I am?”

  “I am so calling him.” She whips out her phone. “He thought you liked your stupid boss so he didn't pursue you, but he thought you were really cute and smart and daring. He'd probably come back out.” Paisley taps at the screen.

  Why can’t anyone ever tell when I’m kidding? I grab her hand. “I'm joking. I just don't want to be set up with anyone right now.”

  Paisley stares at me as if she's trying to run my words through a lie detector. She stuffs her phone back into her purse with a frown. “What’s wrong with Cole?”

  I look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Nothing! I am not supposed to like anyone. I just got divorced, remember?”

  Paisley searches my face. “Except you do. You already like someone. That part wasn’t a joke.”

  It’s like she was trained to ferret out secrets or something. “Yes, I do.”

  “Who?”

  “My boss, okay? Your brother was right. I kind of have a thing for my boss, and I think he might like me, too. Which is a whole mess, I know. I don’t need a lecture.”

  “Your boss is probably awesome, but tonight you finally meet Paul! I've heard he's amazing. Mary says he’s also smart, and to be honest, I was interested as soon as I heard there was a mini-Luke. But if you're sure you have zero interest, that's fine with me. All you have to do to convince me you really have zero interest is wear that maternity dress tonight. And if you do that, then I call dibs on fine, perfect, rich, smart Paul. With you in that green potato sack, his attention will most definitely all be fixed on me.”

  I stomp my foot. “It's not a maternity dress, and it's definitely not a potato sack.”

  I don't even know what that means, really. Potato sacks are made of clear plastic, right? But when I look in the mirror, suddenly I see it. I’m wearing a potato sack. All I need is a twist tie for the top. My boobs look like lumpy potatoes, and my neck is where the twist tie would go. My hair is the bunch bag at the top.

  I want to scream and throw a tantrum, but we don’t even have time for that. If we don’t leave immediately, we’ll be late.

  During my distracted self examination, Paisley went back to rummaging in my closet. She steps out with a box in her hand. It has been sitting on the top shelf in the corner since I moved in, and I have no idea what’s in there. A graduation cap and gown? Old photos of Mary and Foster?

  “What about this?” Paisley pulls a sky blue chiffon dress out of the box. When she shakes it out, flowers flutter from where they dot the entire the skirt.

  “Mary left that. Maybe my drunk drunk dad thought Mary needed it for a Quinceñera,” I joke.

  “You should at least try it on,” Paisley insists. “It's the exact color of your eyes, and it can’t look worse than that.” She points at my fluffy green mistake.

  “It's blue chiffon. Why are we even talking about this? I'm at least fifteen years too old to wear chiffon.”

  Paisley shakes it at me. “Stop arguing with me and just try it on.”

  It's easier to do what Pais wants than to argue with her. I shuck my brand new dress off and unzip the blue chiffon. It slides on easily, but when Paisley zips it up, it’s snug. It falls gracefully to my ankles and the skirt bells out softly from below a drop waist. The flowers flutter when I move, but it scoops low enough in the front that it doesn't look as juvenile as I expected. It looks. . . feminine. Soft, even.

  “You can thank me now,” Paisley says. “Because that dress is amazing. So, so much better than before. It’s like Mary Poppins meets Catherine Zeta-Jones.”

  I have no idea what that means, but it's definitely a step above the last one.

  “You have to put your hair up,” she says. “To complete the whole look.”

  “The only way I know how to put my hair up is in a ponytail.”

  “Good thing I'm here.”

  Twenty minutes later, my hair's half up in a fluffy knot, and curly tendrils spill down my back.

  Paisley claps. “Oh my gosh, I know what it is now. You look like Cinderella in that remake movie, right before she loses her slipper and her carriage turns into a pumpkin. You’re finally ready to meet your nearly-a-billionaire, LED-light-innovation prince. Unless you're still insisting you aren't interested?”

  I scowl at her. “Thanks for your help, but I’m serious. Hard pass.”

  Thanks to my extreme makeover, we're going to be nearly thirty minutes late. I text Mary. I'M SO SORRY. PAISLEY AND I ARE ON OUR WAY. BE THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES.

  NO PROBLEM. WE'RE ALL FINE. WAITING TIL YOU ARRIVE TO START.

  How embarrassing. NO! DON'T WAIT. START NOW. PLEASE.

  ARE YOU SURE?

  YES, YES! I AM ENTIRELY CERTAIN. I really don't want all of Luke's family and friends talking about how rude I am. And I doubt I can eat the french onion soup in this dress anyway. More than a handful of bites and I’ll split the zipper.

  When we reach the Swan House at the Atlanta History Center, I stare dumbst
ruck at the beautiful old building. Until I realize we have nine gazillion steps to climb. But while my thighs burn, the huge old plantation home looks so gorgeous that I almost feel like Cinderella running up the stairs to the ball.

  I wish I'd had the gumption to ask Jack to come with me. The only thing that would've made this better would have been holding his hand. Which is stupid, because I may have the job I want, but I haven't graduated yet, and I'm nowhere near paying off Mary's loan. I may have set my goals aside for a few exciting dates, but I'm not getting serious with anyone until I've accomplished them.

  No matter how cute Jack's smile is. Or how good his biceps look in a t-shirt while he's lying on a picnic blanket. Next to his adorable and well-trained dog. Or playing sweetly with my son. Or kissing me until I forget my own name.

  I focus on the last few steps so I don't fall flat on my face and have to march inside, late, and with a bloody nose.

  “We're here for the Wiggin-Manning wedding dinner,” Paisley tells the attendant at the door. He's wearing a sharp red and black uniform with gold buttons.

  He verifies our names and checks us off on a list before saying, “Right this way.” He opens the huge doors and shows us into a large room with one tremendously long table.

  Everyone stands up when we walk in, and I really do feel like a fairy tale princess. Luke grins warmly and Mary beams and waves at the two empty seats next to her. Trig and Geo are seated just beyond our seats. I walk as calmly as I can toward all the waiting people.

  Once I've found my seat, I sit down along with everyone else and look across the table for the first time.

  At a very handsome and very puzzled Jack.

  Um. What? I turn toward Mary with what I’m sure is an idiotic expression on my face and whisper, “Why is Jack here?”

  She shrugs. “Luke knows a lot of people. We ended up inviting a lot more people than I intended, but I had Geo seat the ones I don't know very well way down at the end. Remind me. Who's Jack again?”

  “Hi,” Jack says loudly from across the table. “I'm Luke's little brother, Paul.”

  I frown at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I'm Paul Manning,” he says, speaking loudly and enunciating carefully. “You must be Mary's sister Trudy. And your last name probably isn't Wiggin, because you were married before and had a son. I wouldn't have any idea what your new last name was, but you probably kept your ex's last name so you and your son would have the same name, even after the divorce. Which I obviously didn’t think about until this very moment.”

  Luke drops his fork on the table. “What is wrong with you Paul? You sound completely insane.”

  “I'm fine,” Paul says. “I'm just catching all of us up.” He widens his eyes at me.

  I huff. “I’m Gertrude Jenkins, just as it says on my ID. I had to provide my identification as well as my résumé prior to starting my new job. And then I submitted to a thorough background check. So obviously I never tried to hide who I am. Ever. What does your ID say, Paul?”

  “It says Paul Jack Manning,” he says with a grin. “And you may be interested to learn that my mother's maiden was Campbell.”

  “I'm so sorry Trudy's acting so weird.” Mary places a hand on my arm. “Calm down, sweetie. You've seen a photo of Paul, remember? I showed it to you when Luke and I first started dating.”

  I think about that photo, dredging up my quite fuzzy memories of it. He was nerdy hot, that I remembered. His hair was combed severely, and he wore thick glasses. “Paul wore dark black frames and looked dorky.” Adorably dorky, but I don’t mention that part.

  Paul drops his fork this time and it clatters against the plate. By now, almost the entire table is staring at us. He turns to glare at Luke. “You sent Mary a photo from Halloween?”

  Luke looks from me to his brother with a quizzical expression. “Of course I did. You would have done the exact same thing if you were me. Mary wasn't too keen on dating me yet, and I wasn't about to send her a photo of my much better looking younger brother unless I was sure I looked better than he did.”

  I close my eyes. Paul was wearing a costume in the photo, which is why he didn’t look like he normally would. Which explains why it never occurred to me that Jack might actually be Paul. The lying and subterfuge that included a fake name and a second company threw me too, but the glasses didn’t help.

  What the heck is going on?

  Mary slits her eyes. “It feels like you two know each other, like from more than just a bad photo and the things we've told you.”

  “I have never met Paul Manning in my life.” I say loudly. “I imagine there’s a joke here somewhere, but I’m not in on it.” I stand up and shove my chair back. “I think I better take a little break. Sorry for being late, and then stepping out abruptly.”

  Paisley stands up too, but Paul flies to his feet even faster and practically runs around the table. “I can explain.”

  I stomp out the doors I just entered, Paul on my heels. Once we're outside, I spin around to face him. “My life isn’t some kind of game, Paul.”

  He shakes his head. “I'm as surprised as you are. I wanted to invite you to be my date last night, but then I'd have had to explain that I'm actually Paul, not Jack Campbell, and that felt like more than a casual second date conversation. Plus Troy was there and I guess I chickened out.”

  I nod. “And how did that decision go for you?”

  “Clearly it was the wrong one.” He runs his hand through his hair. I wish I didn't already know how soft it is.

  “Well,” I huff. “I’m actually the same person I've always been. Trudy.”

  “You go by Gerty at SITB,” he says. “In my defense. And Luke never showed me a photo, Halloween or otherwise.”

  “The only reason I go by Gerty, which I hate by the way, is because Nancy had a favorite aunt who went by that. She asked if I had the same nickname and I told her sure. I'd have agreed to being called Prissy Andrews if it would have gotten me that job. I need that job, Jack.” I choke. “I mean, Paul.” Tears well up in my eyes. I still need the job, but I don't think I can keep working for someone who lied to me for two weeks. “Why would you lie about your name? Is this some kind of office joke? Or are you really the bad guy here? Did you steal all of that tech from that James guy? What's really going on?”

  He inhales deeply and then exhales slowly. “Look, you may not understand this, and I get that it was a stupid decision, okay? But my brother Luke, you've met him. He's my older brother and I love him, but I've never done anything on my own. I started college and then he started the next year. He and I started a company together, and we've done really well. Together. Always together, for my entire life.”

  “Why not just tell him you wanted to try something on your own? I’m sure he’d get it. I’ve been playing that song on repeat since my divorce. Mary and Luke both offered me jobs.” It hits me then that, had things gone another way, I might have been working for Paul at LitUp. Had I not been so adamant about refusing any help from anyone else, he might still be my boss.

  “Because I was a coward,” Paul says softly. “I didn’t want Luke to know I was branching off on my own until I’d already succeeded.”

  “Luke told me you ran the company for years without much help from him after his wife died. So hadn’t you already succeeded alone? ”

  “He was always there, though. Looking over things, making suggestions. In fact, he came up with both of the huge ideas that took off during that timeframe. He quit coming into the office and started moving when Beth died, but he didn't stop pulling his weight.”

  Of course he didn't. He's Luke. He and Mary are perfect for each other.

  “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to come clean with Luke since our hearing. I had it all planned out. I was going to show him my prototype, and then explain how I developed it.”

  He looks like Troy when he's piled an especially tall tower of blocks, desperate for my approval.

  “I guess this isn’t exactly how yo
u imagined he’d find out,” I say. “But what I don’t understand is, why didn't you tell your own employees?”

  “As you know, my first project was stolen. I wanted to make sure no one involved in the last startup could find me. I used entirely different employees and a new office. Besides, I couldn't risk word of anything getting back to Luke or out in the market. If I trade on the name Luke and I made, I’m still not doing it alone.”

  That part I understand. Using a reference from Mary seemed like cheating.

  I know it's not the same as what Chris did. Paul didn't make me any vows first, and he didn't lie to avoid telling me things he selfishly wanted to cover up, but it feels similar. And he's been lying to his brother, the person who matters most to him, for months and months. That isn’t confidence inspiring. I wanted to do things on my own, but I told Mary that to her face.

  “Well, you’ve done it haven't you?” I ask. “Entirely on your own. I hope that feels really, really good. I hope it was worth it.” I turn on my heel and head back inside.

  Jack, er, Paul, follows just behind me, but he doesn't grab me or try to say anything else. I stop near Mary and lean over to whisper in her ear. I’ve already made far too big a scene at her dinner. “I love you to the moon and back, and then some, but I’d prefer to sit down at the end of the table tonight. Is that alright?”

  Mary opens her mouth to object I think, but Luke squeezes her hand and she nods instead. “Sure. Of course you can sit wherever you'd like.”

  I pick up my purse and carry it to the end of the table where an attendant's already placing a new chair. I force a smile. “Hi everyone. I'm Trudy, Mary's little sister. I'm so sorry for being late and causing such a disturbance. I promise I'll be perfectly behaved the rest of the wedding.”

  The man sitting next to me looks amazing in his tux. His features are sharp, birdlike even. His nose is prominent, his dark hair combed neatly, his eyes attentive and quick. His smile reveals huge dimples and perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’m Jim.”