His mama squeezed her eyes shut, probably remembering when he’d done exactly that.
“I didn’t think I’d ever be cut out to be an adult,” he said. “Lately, though, I’ve been rethinking that.” His gaze swung over to me again, and my heartbeat accelerated.
Oh Lord. What the hell is this?
“There’s some things about being an adult that are better than spinning around on the ceiling fan and riding my skateboard down the stairs and all the other shenanigans I used to get up to. Stuff that sort of makes up for having to pay bills and iron my work slacks.”
“Well, someone irons your slacks,” one of his aunts said, nodding at me, and I smiled sheepishly. John ironed his own damn slacks. I had no idea how to do it.
John was still looking at me. A little crease formed in his forehead again, and he smoothed his red silk tie distractedly.
I dug my fingernails into my palms.
Wait. Is what I think is happening really happening?
John took a determined swig of beer, then set the cup down, wiping his palms on his pants. “Tara Faith,” he said, his voice sounding a little weird, “when I first met you, I thought you were real cute. And I loved the way you pretended to know what you were doing as a paralegal.” I scrunched my nose at him, and he grinned. “Back then, you were as new to it as I was to being a lawyer, which meant it was the blind leading the blind. But you were this smart, competent woman who got everything done anyway, with a good deal of sass besides.”
Sally was smirking at me, and I’m sure I turned as red as taillights. If she hadn’t been there to tell me how to do everything, I would’ve been fired.
John cleared his throat, and there was a sudden darkness in his look. “When I knew you were something amazing, though, was that day your house caught on fire and you put it out by yourself, then still made it to work on time.” There were noises of surprise and interest around the table, though I barely heard them. A shudder ran through me.
While we didn’t talk much about what had happened that night, I knew it was always on our minds. Always.
I’d sold that damn house to William Corner. We’d never set foot in it again. Yet there were times I felt like its open door was right behind me, waiting to gulp me down whole.
John took my hand, startling me out of those horrifying recollections. The terror in his brown eyes faded, pushed back, never disappearing, flooded over now by warmth. “You’re one badass woman,” he said. “I feel safe around you. It’s good to have someone to rely on like that.”
I smiled, blinking back tears and biting back guilt. He could call me badass all he wanted, but he never would have been in danger if I hadn’t dragged him into that house in the first place. And besides, I would never have escaped without him.
John squeezed my hand. “I’d like…I’d like to have you around to rely on, and be there for you to rely on me, for the rest of our lives. I feel like I can move forward and face whatever life throws at me as long as you’re there kicking butt by my side.”
He fidgeted with my fingers. His palm was sweating. My breath stalled, because I really hadn’t seen this coming and still couldn’t bring myself to believe it was actually happening.
“Tara Faith,” he said, fumbling in the pocket of his slacks, pulling out a ring box. It took him three tries to flip it open with his thumb, and by then, my eyes were so full of tears I only saw a mess of sparkles where the ring was. “Will you marry me?”
I fell into his arms, and he pressed his hands into my back, the ring box in one of them. My heartbeat slowed. I took what felt like my very first breath of life, full of his scent of bay rum deodorant, coconut lotion, and that smell that was all his.
I’d never had a real family. Mama for sure didn’t count. I sniffed, looking up at John. “I got mascara on your shirt.”
He grinned lopsidedly, and there were nervous giggles. I’d forgotten people were watching. I’d forgotten everyone was waiting for my answer, as if the answer weren’t plainer than the beak on a duck.
“Hell yes, I’ll marry you.”
A breath went up from the crowd, and they began to cheer. John smiled wide, looking relieved because he’s a doofus, then pulled me into a kiss.
We kissed in front of that whole crowd, and all those worries about my dead mama and those wicked old ghosts faded as deep as they ever had. Like he’d said, I could move forward and face whatever came to my doorstep, as long as I had John with me.
Two days later, we heard from John Sr. that nasty old Mr. Corner had finally been able to sell the house, and it felt prophetic. I thought our love had finally sent the ghosts howling off into the depths of Hell, where they’d never be able to touch us again.
It didn’t take long for me to be relieved of that sunny notion.
Mama always wanted me to have a white wedding.
Chapter Two
Wherein I Have Moral Complications About a Dress
I tried to work on my GRE practice test, but it was hard when Sally kept shoving her phone in my face, trying to show me pictures of dresses and table settings and lingerie. I finally snapped my laptop closed. The sound pissed off Cerberus, who leapt off the couch and waggled his prissy fat cat butt over to the food dish.
“Sally, why don’t you have the wedding the way you want it? I don’t think I even have to show up.”
She pouted, nudging my hip with her big toe. “Stop being such a jerk. Put down that boring bullshit and let’s go look at dresses.”
“I have to study, dammit.”
“Why? You’re not taking the GRE for at least another year, right? I thought you were getting some social worker job first to see if you like that stuff?”
Since Sally had been promoted to manager of the new office and moved here, she made it her side job to be annoying. “In a parallel argument, we haven’t even set a wedding date yet.”
“Well, the sooner you get all your duckies in a row, the sooner it can happen.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Tara.”
I sighed. “Whatever.”
I wanted to go to Target or something and get a nice little dress. Wedding dresses were big, expensive piles of ugly. Sally met that suggestion with a blank stare, pulling out of my driveway in the direction opposite Target.
“Fine, what about David’s Bridal?” I asked. “They have a clearance rack, I’ll bet.”
“Tara McReynolds, you are something else.”
She pulled into a part of town that was, like, triple gentrified, one of those neighborhoods where none of the stores sells anything practical like groceries or vacuums but only aromatherapy lotion and dog massages.
The boutique she took me to had a headless, limp-wristed mannequin posed in the front window. A creamy dress hugged its impossible curves and pooled on the floor like whipped frosting, a million tiny crystals glittering in the folds.
A pang of nervousness hit my spine. “Here?”
“Yes, Tara. To the place that sells wedding dresses.”
A string of prayer bells tinkled above the door as we went in. A few dozen dresses hung artfully in pools of buttery light, seeming to watch me with polite wariness. They’d tolerate me for now, but if I tried to touch them with my sticky fingers, they’d rise up and smother me in rustling tulle.
A woman came out from the back, her bright smile passing me over and quickly fixing on Sally. “Hello, ladies. How can I help you today?”
I shuffled my feet.
“We’re looking at wedding dresses,” Sally said.
The clerk clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, a new engagement! Congratulations!” She was still looking at Sally, and I thought if I stayed quiet, Sally might play along. She could try on the damn dresses, I could sit back and provide dry commentary, and everyone would be happy. But Sally was staring at me, eyebrow cocked. “Actually, it’s Tara here who’s getting married.”
The clerk seemed to see me for the first time and barely managed not to look disappointed. “Oh, I’m sorry! Well, congratul
ations to you, then. What style of dress is your favorite?”
“My, uh…?” I was going to reiterate the style I was looking for was wedding, but I didn’t want to sound salty.
“Mermaid,” Sally said brightly.
“We do have several in the mermaid style.” I gave Sally a dirty look, but she ignored me.
We followed the clerk toward the back of the store. I was expecting her to show me something with fins and glittery green scales, but no such luck. Instead, they were strapless and booty-hugging, exploding in a mess of ruffles at the ankles. Sally stared at them avidly like a spoiled chihuahua watching a cookie. “That one,” she said, indicating the one with the most sequins, of course.
The clerk held that one out toward me, and I took a step backward.
“That one for sure,” Sally said. “John would love you in that one.”
I bit my lip, imagining what John would actually think.
“Try it on,” Sally demanded.
The clerk set me up in the fitting room. While I tried on the mermaid dress, Sally prowled through the store and brought in half the inventory. While the poor clerk was helping me peel my sweaty self out of the fourth dress, Sally was loading another twelve onto the pile. I stomped my foot. “Stop this crap! I can’t try on everything!”
“Well,” Sally said, hands on hips, “if you’d stop snarking on every single dress and be helpful instead, it’d make it a lot easier to choose something.”
My chest swelled up so much the fabric creaked. “I’m not snarking.”
Sally heaved the most tragic of long-suffering sighs. “You are too.”
The clerk silently undid buttons at my back, not meeting my eyes in the mirror.
My chest deflated again. “Okay, maybe I’m snarking a little. I don’t like wedding dresses, that’s all.”
“But it’s your wedding, for God’s sake. Show some enthusiasm.”
I started to sputter out some new excuse, then stopped myself. I realized something that should have been as obvious as a hippo sitting on my shoulders: Sally was jealous of me for getting married before her. I mean, this was a girl who had lapsed into dreamy rambles about what her perfect wedding would be like ever since I’d known her. Unfortunately, she always fell for good-looking guys with hamburger brains and filet mignon egos.
Yet she was happy for me. In fact, her skin was practically peeling off with excitement. And here I was, pooping all over her parade.
“Well, maybe I am being a little difficult.”
Sally snorted. The clerk reconjured her smile as she helped me slip out of the dress. “It’s normal to be a bit emotional. We’ll find the perfect dress, don’t worry. Now let’s try this sheath.”
I slipped into another tangle of organza and satin. Sally was right. I should be excited. I was marrying the best guy in the world, I finally had my college degree, and I was looking forward to grad school. I was no longer tied down to a bitter old mother or her house full of nightmares. My dreams could come true now.
A cold shudder came out of nowhere, and the clerk’s fingers paused in pinning back the excess fabric. “Everything okay?”
I blinked. “It’s nothing. I’m just twitchy.”
I didn’t like the sheath dress much, but the next one caught my eye right away. It wasn’t a big, princess-y thing puffed up with ruffles or dragging six miles of lace but more like a rational dress. “What’s that one?”
The clerk’s face lit up with desperate hopefulness. “This is a tea length A-line. It’s one of my favorites.”
I knew as soon as I had it on that it was the right dress. It had cap sleeves and a tight bodice with a scoop neck that showed off my girls nicely. The skirt flared over my hips, and my calves peeked out from beneath the satin-edged hem. Sally and the clerk held their breath while I checked myself out from the back. It had an elegant white satin bow at the small of my back.
“The color of the sash and bow can be changed to match the groom’s and bridesmaid’s colors,” the clerk said.
“Cool,” I said, looking at my reflection over my shoulder. “I don’t know what those are going to be yet.”
“I think it should be powder blue,” Sally said. “John and I both look good in it. All black men look good in powder blue, am I right?”
I might have missed the subtle change in the clerk’s posture and expression before I knew John, but I was getting too used to it now. “If you like this dress,” she said, “we do require prepayment in full before we begin alterations.”
Anger curled my guts into knots. A black man and his fiancé would have no money is what this woman thought. I just about ripped that dress off and stomped out of there.
But where would I go that would be different? Was there some secret, non-racist dress shop somewhere? Probably not. Mama’s ghost might have been gone, but her spirit lived on everywhere.
The thought of starting all over at another dress shop made me wanna up and scream. I’d probably get a rash from all the lace. Besides, I wasn’t gonna lie: I wanted this dress. I couldn’t imagine finding one better.
I squared my shoulders and swallowed the bile in my throat. “I’ll take it.”
Sally squealed. “This is so awesome! You look amazing.”
The clerk smiled, but there was something sour in it.
RSVP for your party in hell, bitch.
Chapter Three
You’re Invited to My Nightmare
I asked Sally and John’s little sister Eileen to be bridesmaids. They’d both spazzed out and now were scampering all over town with their nitpicky little list of wedding chores. All John and I had to do was show up and hand people our credit cards.
We were at the printshop, witnessing Sally and Eileen nerd out over cardstock.
“Oooh, look at this one!” Eileen held up a rectangle of pearl gray paper. “Linen bond. It’s satiny. Feel.”
I dutifully ran my fingers over it, trying to look like I was into it. “That is nice. Smooth as a fish belly.”
Eileen wrinkled her nose, set the fish-belly sample in the “maybe” pile (about two inches high), and went back to flipping through the display.
“This one is better,” Sally said. She shoved another sample in my face. It looked exactly the same as the other one.
“That is not better,” Eileen said. “It’s too dark. Looks like an invite to a real estate convention.”
They commenced bickering, a situation that, in the past, had reached full-out bridesmaid fracas. The attendant dithered silently, and John and I exchanged a weary and somewhat alarmed look. He quickly reached into the “maybe” pile and pulled out a card. “We like this one,” he loudly stated.
The girls’ squabbling sputtered to a halt.
“That one?” Sally asked.
“You’re the one chose that one,” Eileen said. “But actually, it’s not so bad.”
“I did not choose it. It looks like the wallpaper at a Best Western.”
They started fixing to rumble again, and the attendant wiped his brow with a shaky hand.
I snatched the card from John, shoving it roughly into the hands of the attendant. “We’ll take this one.”
He blinked nervously. “Are you sure, ma’am?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it, focusing on the cardstock for the first time. It was a sort of grapey lavender color edged with an art deco line pattern in baby blue. I shot a sidewise glance at John, who shrugged.
“I’m sure,” I said. “And see, Sally? Baby blue, exactly like you wanted.”
She made a snotty face.
“Which font would you prefer for the message?” the attendant asked.
My shoulders sagged as my bridesmaids began flipping through the font book, but my fiancé wrestled the book from Eileen’s hands and pointed. “This one.”
Sally and Eileen leaned over to peer at it, but John snatched it away, handing it to the attendant.
“Okay, good then.” He pulled out a form and handed it to us. “I need you to
fill this out with the text of the invite so we can get those printed up.”
I glanced down at the form, then met John’s gaze.
“We aren’t actually ready to order the invites,” he said. “We don’t have a date set yet.”
Sally and Eileen had their arms crossed and were wearing near-identical smirks.
“This was only a preliminary perusal,” Eileen said. “We have a couple more places in town to check out. After the date is set, we’ll make the final decision.”
John yanked his phone from his jeans pocket and started dialing.
“Who are you calling?” I whispered.
“Country Club,” he whispered back.
I bit back a giggle. John and John Sr. had been recruited by the local club as part of their diversity program. If they didn’t get some people of color in there quick, they were apparently going to get some sort of sanctions. John and his dad had joined; in the end, the club had almost paid them for membership. However, when they actually showed up at the place, all those white men acted real awkward.
Wouldn’t they love to host an interracial wedding?
“Good afternoon,” John said into the phone. “I’d like to look into booking your place for a wedding. Yes. Uh huh. John Speyers, Junior. Uh…the date?” He blinked at me, and I pulled out my phone, scrolling forward through the calendar for what seemed a sufficient number of weeks and pointing at a random Saturday. John leaned over to see where my finger had fallen. “November eighth?” he said into the phone.
“November?” Sally said in a stage whisper. “That’s like four months away!”
“So?” I said.
Both girls glared at me, and I could tell this was screwing with their timeline of micromanaging our lives. John ended the call and hung up, giving me a bright smile. “Let’s put down November eighth at the country club.”
I grinned and scribbled the date and place on the form.
Miss Tara Faith McReynolds and Mr. John Edmond Speyers, Junior have the pleasure of requesting your presence…
13 Night Terrors Page 7
