by Sarah Kuhn
Identify the Bridezilla problem—check!
Come up with a totally awesome plan that utilizes everyone on your super-team to their full potential—check!
Execute said plan and save the day so your best friend can finally have the wedding of her dreams—check, check, check!
Okay, okay—check pending.
To calm my nerves, I engaged in an exercise I’d once recommended to Evie as a way of keeping your cool right before a big battle. I thought of all the things I’d miss if the world suddenly weren’t there.
Evie and I, hunched over the iPad, watching The Heroic Trio for the kazillionth time.
Scott’s easy smiles—and that hidden intensity he seemed to save just for me.
That warmth that had welled in my chest when the team assembled around my ring of fire, that familial connection I’d had looking at each of them in turn—
Shit. Now there were tears welling in my eyes. Yes, I was embracing my Annie Chang-ness, but even Annie Chang knew I needed to concentrate on the battle ahead.
I shook my head, straightened my spine, and scraped a hand over my eyes. I wondered briefly if I should go say good-bye to Scott before I left. But, no. He was down in the lab with Nate and Bea, working tirelessly on perfecting his spell. That spell was crucial to our plan the next day and he needed to concentrate, just like I did—no disruptions. Anyway, we’d see each other tomorrow. We’d have plenty of time for whatever emotional moments we wanted to have after the assembled Lady Avengers took down the Bridezillas.
Right now, the battle ahead was all that mattered.
I nodded to myself again, re-focusing on our plan; that was what I needed to be thinking about. Oh, and I had to get back to the seemingly insurmountable task of shoving my stupid fucking dress into my bag. I tried pressing down on it with my telekinesis, but even that didn’t quite work.
I had just managed to flatten the rhinestone-encrusted bodice enough to get it mostly in there when I heard a knock at the door. I cleared my throat, making sure there were no lingering tears.
“Come in,” I called out.
Evie stepped through the door, giving me a tired half-smile.
“You ready?” she said, sidling up to me. She brushed her fingertips against the massive white thing I was trying to cram into my bag. “Wow. That’s . . . well, that’s a dress.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I said, pushing at the stiff material of the skirt. It folded slightly, then popped back out, as if mocking me. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I spat out, letting my temper get the better of me. Before I knew what I was doing, I balled my hand into a fist, wound up, and punched the stupid thing as hard as I could.
“Annie!” Evie gasped. She couldn’t help but giggle. “Did you just punch your dress?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” I said, gesturing to my bag. The dress had finally relented, my punch sending the remaining material all the way inside. I zipped up my bag with gusto, feeling triumphant. “So,” I said, turning to her, “you ready for me to totally diva up your wedding?”
She gave me a slight smile, then reached over to take my hand. “I know you’re joking. But before we get into our big fake fight, before we possibly say horrible things to each other that we don’t mean, I need you to know: You’re a good friend. And you always have been, going back to The Spam Musubi Incident of kindergarten. I know we’ve had problems, but I’m so glad we’re working through them. Being honest with each other. And I’m stoked that we’ll be fighting alongside each other tomorrow—even if it looks like we’re fighting against each other.”
“D-dammit,” I sputtered, the tears I’d successfully banished only moments earlier rising in my throat again. “Why did you have to go and do that just when I’d pep-talked myself into being all stoic and heroic and dedicated to this mission? Especially since I’m supposed to make you cry with my amazing maid-of-honor toast.”
She pulled me into a hug, and as we stood there, I thought of something I’d completely forgotten about in the heat of battle planning.
“I just remembered!” I exclaimed, pulling away from Evie. “I have something for you.”
I strode into the depths of my closet, found the big white box, and carried it over to her.
“This is the present I was going to give you when we came back here after your bachelorette,” I said. “It was supposed to be the grand finale of your party.”
She took the package from me, eyeing it curiously, and we both sat down on the bed as she unwrapped it.
“Bea and Lucy helped me with it,” I said. “Bea especially. I mean, you’ll see. There’s kind of no way I could’ve done it without her help.” I was yammering now, waiting as she pawed her way through the layers and layers of tissue paper. What if she didn’t like it? What if I had, once again, calculated wrong?
“Oh,” she said, her eyes widening as she pulled her gift free from the wrapping. She smoothed the layers of white silk, touching it carefully, as if she was afraid it would break. It was a very simple gown—no decoration, no scarlet flowers. Just a graceful whisper of silk topped off with a sweetheart neckline and thin straps. It would flow over her body beautifully. It wouldn’t cut off her breathing. It wasn’t as flashy as the Marcus Wong original we’d found in the bridal tent, but it looked like her.
“Is this—” Her eyes welled up and she swallowed hard.
“Yes,” I said gently. “It’s your mom’s dress. Shruti fitted it for your measurements. And I just realized you should probably wrap it up again and pretend to open it for the first time in front of Bea and Lucy, because like I said, they helped with it so much, and I’m really not trying to hog the moment, it just came to me right now, and we’re sort of pressed for time.”
She cut off my second bout of yammering with a bear hug, throwing her arms around me.
“Watch out for the dress!” I shrieked, trying to pull away as the silk got caught between us.
“Thank you,” she said, holding me tight. “It’s perfect.”
“We’re going to beat this damn puppy demon thing once and for all,” I said, injecting that Aveda Jupiter imperiousness into my tone. “And then you’re going to get married and everything is going to be awesome.”
She didn’t respond, just released me from the hug and took my hand. I felt the strength of our friendship between us, everything we’d been, everything we’d fought for, everything we were now. I felt words bubbling up in my throat, what she meant to me, that I wouldn’t change our fierce, messy, occasionally fractious friendship for anything in the world. But somehow, nothing seemed adequate.
So I let the silence stretch between us, silence that said more than words ever could. I reveled in my soft, mushy Annie Chang side and felt myself drawing strength from that, from this bond I wanted to protect, this bond that was going to be key in tomorrow’s battle.
We sat there in silence, hands clasped, until it was time to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I KNEW WHAT we were doing was for the good of the city—and any person living in it who didn’t like the idea of being terrorized by zombie Bridezillas. But after an hour with my parents, I was kind of ready to throw all that out the window and let the Bridezillas have San Francisco.
“Sophie’s wedding plans are coming along very nicely,” my mother said, giving the fried rice a final stir, then motioning for my dad to serve.
“They should be coming along very nicely,” I muttered under my breath. “Considering that she’s been engaged for like six years.”
“It is a good thing you are getting a lot of bridesmaid experience from this wedding,” my mother continued. “Although you may want to leave out these recent . . . difficulties when Sophie speaks to you about your role in her ceremony.”
I gritted my teeth and focused on my dad, who was silently spooning fried rice into bowls for us. Quiet as always, but I could feel the disap
proval wafting off of him.
We’d decided to keep up the charade of my and Evie’s brewing tension with my parents. The fewer people who knew, the less likely the Bridezillas—and the puppy/human affecting them—would catch wind of it. We needed for it to look as real as possible. I was trying with all my might not to betray any of the tension I was feeling about the impending battle, and it was sitting there in my stomach, coiled tight—a snake that desperately wants to strike, but has to wait until the time is right.
I hate waiting until the time is right.
“For the ceremony tomorrow, I am planning on wearing my lavender dress with the lilies on it,” my mom continued. “Will that be acceptable?”
“What?” I said, snapping out of my reverie. “Oh. Of course, Mom. Wear whatever you like.”
My mother snorted. “So it would be all right if I showed up in that pink sweatsuit with the ‘fun’ saying inscribed on the rear end? I do not believe that is appropriate.”
“I don’t know, I think Evie would find ‘Be Fierce’ a perfect slogan for her wedding.” The sweatsuit had been a Secret Santa gift from one of my mom’s well-meaning colleagues at the pharmacy. She claimed to find it more distasteful than fun, but refused to get rid of it because she didn’t like to “waste” things. I was also convinced, however, that she secretly kind of liked the idea of being fierce.
“Anne.” Mom let out a long-suffering sigh. “I can never tell if you are joking or not. And it wouldn’t hurt to vet your own outfit for appropriateness. I know this is sometimes a challenge. For you.”
My father grunted and shoveled more fried rice in his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with her or just really enjoying his food. I took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in my stomach. Every muscle in my body felt tight, on edge. Wanting to do something.
Tomorrow, I reminded myself. Tomorrow, we’re going to beat this thing once and for all.
“Anne,” my mother said, snapping me out of my thoughts once again. “Eat. You are too thin.”
I was in the process of crafting, starting to say, and ultimately biting back a retort about how criticizing my body was a job better suited to internet trolls than the person who had given me life, when there was a knock at the door. My parents paused their eating and exchanged a quizzical glance. Mealtime at the Chang household was sacred, and all of their close friends knew that. It was too late for any kind of solicitor or kid peddling candy bars. Who could it possibly be?
Maybe someone had gotten wind of where I’d run off to after Evie’s and my fake fight? Was I about to find Maisy or some other gossip outlet on my doorstep? The thought of Maisy colliding with my parents made me cringe.
But, no. The location of my parents’ house was a closely guarded secret—hell, the fact that my parents were alive was a closely guarded secret.
Still, better to be sure.
Plus, answering the door would actually give me something to do that didn’t involve heading off my mother’s attempts to get me to do the exact opposite of whatever I was trying to do in the first place.
“I’ll get it,” I said, hopping up from my seat and bounding toward the door.
I opened the door, still half expecting to see Maisy standing on the stoop. Instead I found myself swept into a deep kiss that made my knees buckle.
“Scott!” I gasped when he released me. “What are you doing here? You have to leave. Now.”
I started shoving him out the door. He resisted me, planting and not moving.
“Annie.” His face was thunderous, that intensity I usually loved seeing rise to the surface on full display. Only right now, I wasn’t loving it. Right now, we both had missions to concentrate on and didn’t have time to be doing . . . whatever he thought we were doing.
“I had to see you,” he continued. “You left without saying goodbye, without—”
“There’s no goodbye,” I shot back. “We’ll see each other tomorrow.”
“And what if something happens to you tomorrow?” he snapped.
“Nothing will.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glowered at him. “Evie and I are going to take care of this thing, full stop.”
He frowned at me. “You said you were done pulling away—”
“That’s not what I’m doing—”
“That we were going to be honest with each other—”
“I am being honest! I need to focus. Really concentrate. And that means you need to go—”
“Scott!”
We both whipped around to see my mother entering the room, a rare smile crossing her face.
“You’re just in time for dinner,” she said. “Anne’s not eating much, so there’s plenty.”
“He’s not staying,” I said, gritting my teeth and attempting to shove Scott toward the door. He gave me a challenging look, refusing to budge.
“I’d love to stay,” he said, but his tone was grim, indicating that staying was more an act of defiance than enjoyment.
“How nice,” my mother said, oblivious to the fact that nothing in his voice matched the sentiment of what he’d just said.
“We are going to talk after this,” Scott murmured in my ear as we dutifully followed my mother back to the dining room.
“We are not,” I countered. “We are going to eat and then you are going to leave so I can prepare for the battle tomorrow.”
We settled in at the table and my father wordlessly handed Scott his own bowl of rice.
“Thank you,” Scott said. “And thanks for inviting me in to dinner.”
“You mean letting you crash dinner,” I said.
“Give Scott extra rice,” my mother ordered, waving a hand at my father. “He is always such a good eater.” She scrutinized the fried rice, her brow furrowing. “Perhaps I should cook up another egg to fill it out.”
“It looks great, Mrs. C,” Scott said, giving my mom one of his winning smiles. “Just like always.”
“Kiss-ass,” I muttered under my breath.
“I’m not kissing ass, I’m being courteous,” he muttered back. “Which some people here are apparently incapable of.”
“Anne!” my mother admonished. “Why are you whispering? It’s rude. Especially since we have a guest.”
“He’s . . . he’s doing it, too!” I sputtered. “In fact, he’s doing it more. He—”
“—is just really enjoying this delicious fried rice,” Scott said, giving me a gigantic, shit-eating grin as he shoveled food into his mouth with chopsticks.
“And with perfect chopsticks technique,” my mother said, smiling at him again.
“I have perfect chopsticks technique!” I snapped. “I have practically since birth, but suddenly, Big Charming White Dude waltzes in here and uses chopsticks—and not nearly as well as me, I might add—and it’s worthy of comment—”
“Anne,” my mother said, sending me yet another a disapproving look. “You shouldn’t speak of your friends this way. Is this how you alienated Evie as well?”
“I didn’t alienate her,” I said peevishly, the irrational need to defend my side of our fake argument swelling in my chest. “We had a disagreement. We’ll work it out. Like we always do.”
“Or you could be the bigger person,” my mother pressed. “Tell her you know you were wrong—”
“Why do you assume I was wrong?” I shot back. “You don’t even know what the fight was about.”
“Mmm,” my mother said, poking at her rice with her chopsticks. And as usual, her “mmm” said everything.
Because you’re wrong about everything.
Because you do everything wrong.
Because you refuse to be like Sophie, demure and studious and dull as watching fucking paint dry.
And suddenly, I’d just had it. I couldn’t take any more of her disapproving stares, I couldn’t take her pointed “mmm”
s, and I really couldn’t take Scott showing up and taking all available scraps of parental approval and getting upset at me for something I didn’t fully understand.
Here I was, trying to prepare for a big battle, focused on saving the city, and having finally mended my relationship with my best friend . . . and still, I couldn’t do anything right.
I set down my chopsticks and fixed my mother with a hard stare: the kind she usually gave me.
“Actually, Mom,” I said, “Evie and I aren’t fighting. Evie and I are finally handling our friendship like adults and working through our issues. We’re pretending we’re in a fight as part of an elaborate ruse to take down an evil demon that’s been wreaking havoc around the city. Which, despite what you seem to think, is really important work—just as important as being a doctor.”
“There’s no need to be so dramatic,” my mother said.
“Yes, there is a need!” I exclaimed. “There is!”
I could feel my face getting red as my voice rose, my blood pounding in my ears as my temper kicked up a level, the words shotgunning out of my mouth before I could stop them. I was vaguely aware of Scott’s hand brushing my shoulder. I shook him off.
“That’s who I am, Mom!” I continued. “I’m dramatic. And loud. And aggressive. And I don’t fit your idea of what a good daughter should be, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a good person! I work hard, I try to stand up for what’s right, and I’m not too thin—I just happen to have really excellent muscle definition!”
And with that, I jumped up from the table (knocking my bowl to the ground in the process, of course) and stormed off. Hurricane Annie was blowing out of here.
I whirled into my parents’ spare room and paced back and forth, my hands clenching and unclenching, my face hot. Moments like these, I couldn’t help but marvel at Evie’s control. She’d spent all those years tamping down on her anger, refusing to let it out. Holding it in never seemed to be an option for me. It pushed against my skin until it came gushing out like lava.
