by Monica James
The bell above the door chimes jovially as we enter. Looking around Sienna’s, my cheeks puff out with my trapped breath. There is so much white—the floors, walls, the hundreds of dresses suspended from hangers around the room. A small red podium dead center with white leather couches arched around it. This is obviously where one is to parade the bridal catwalk for her friends.
“Oh, this is amazing,” Mom exclaims, still clinging to my side.
“It’s something,” I mumble under my breath but lack her enthusiasm as I scan around the room and absorb how much…white and frilly lace is on display.
“Holland!” Chloe’s vibrant voice snaps me from my stupor, and I turn to face her.
I totally bailed on her last night without an explanation. When I arrived back at my parents’ house, I sent her a quick text, using the migraine from hell excuse. As far as excuses go, it was lamer than lame, as I’m certain she saw my altercation with London.
I literally shake my head, needing to expel him from my thoughts—especially when in here. “Hey, Chloe. This place is incredible.”
Chloe looks gorgeous in a peacock-colored dress, the splash of green highlighted in the otherwise stark room. “Just wait until you see the new summer line of dresses my mom just got in.”
Both my mom and Chloe appear as if they’ve just won the bridal lottery while I subtly scratch at the heat rash budding under my chin.
A striking lady splits apart a red velvet curtain at the back of the store, carrying three silky dresses draped over her forearm. With her chocolate-colored hair, tender light green eyes, and welcoming smile, there is no doubt this is Chloe’s mom.
Her heart-shaped face lights up. “Holland, let me look at you. How you’ve grown.” She rushes over and holds me at arm’s length, tilting her head from side to side while examining me from head to toe.
I don’t really remember her, seeing as I’ve catalogued my life in two boxes— before and after L.A. The before I’ve tried my hardest to forget.
“Thank you so much for giving me first pick of your new line. Chloe told me you’ve put something aside for me.” Lowering my eyes, I see the elaborate dresses look like they’re my size.
Shaking her head as if snapping from reminiscing about the good ol’ days, she smiles. “Yes, these are for you.” She raises her forearm, the crystal beads on the first dress catching the sunlight streaming in from the front windows.
My mom steps forward, giving Sienna a small hug. “Hello, Sienna. I’m Delores, Holland’s mom. We met once when the girls were in school together.” I can tell by the waver in Mom’s voice she’s embarrassed she didn’t attend more school functions or make more of an effort with Chloe’s mom. But she was busy working fourteen-hour shifts to put food on the table and to keep me in school.
Sienna waves her off, brushing away her concerns. “Yes, I remember. You were the only parent I could stand. And your daughter wasn’t a spoiled little brat.”
My mother tugs at her pearl earring, hiding behind a tilted smile. “I feel the same way.” And just like that, we all seem to bond, a band of misfits who never fit in.
“Come, sit, I can’t wait to show you these dresses.” Sienna’s heels tap along the polished floors, leading the way to the bridal arena.
I gulp.
Mom and Chloe happily bounce behind her, while I lag behind, running a hand down my face, my cheeks inflated with my strangled breaths. I suddenly feel like I’m walking a death march, and the wedding dress Siena unveils is my executioner.
She unzips the clear carry bag, the ivory-colored dress catching every ray of light in the room. The neckline swoops into a sweetheart style, Swarovski crystal beads embedded into the plush silk. As she holds it up high, excited by its grand reveal, I steady my breathing.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Mom says, a hand cupped to her mouth. Chloe nods in harmony, clapping. Everyone seems excited, whispering at the dress’s beauty, while I’m moments away from running out the door. All three turn my way, realizing I haven’t said a word.
I suddenly feel like I’ve swallowed lead.
“You hate it?” Sienna says, the disappointment clear in her tone.
My mom tilts her head to the side, examining me closely. If she looks close enough, I know she’ll uncover my inner turmoil—a turmoil which should not be there.
Clearing the lump from my throat, I shake my head firmly. “I love it, Sienna. I love them all, I’m just…overwhelmed, that’s all.” Making grabby hands, I quash down my nerves and smile. “I’ll get over that soon enough, because my god, is that Vera Wang’s new summer line?”
Sienna beams, impressed I know my fashion. “Good eye. It most certainly is. You must try it on.” As she offers it to me, I focus on nothing but the task at hand, because nothing else matters. I’m marrying the man of my dreams in this Vera Wang dress, and nothing, not even the second coming of Christ, will stand in my way.
Happily reaching for it, I ignore how it feels like I’m carrying the Grand Canyon on my shoulders and march toward the fitting rooms, a woman on a mission. I yank the curtain closed, shakily hanging the dress from a gold hook. The walls are mirrored, which is ideal for any blushing bride, but to me, it only emphasizes my mini breakdown tenfold. I literally have nowhere to hide because behind every turn is a mirror reflecting my freak-out.
“Do you want me to help you get into the dress?” Sienna offers from just outside the curtain.
“No, no, it’s okay. Thank you. I won’t be a minute.” I stare at my reflection, telling myself to woman the fuck up and stop being such a drama queen.
With that as my driving force, I kick off my heels and slip out of my dress. Standing in front of this many mirrors is daunting, to say the least. I run a hand over my slender hip and across to my concaved stomach. I’ve lost about two pounds since this ordeal started. Looking at my reflection, I cock my head to the side, suddenly not recognizing the woman staring back at me.
To the outside world, I appear like I’ve got my shit together, and on most days, I do. But coming back here has rattled my cage, and no matter how hard I pretend that I’m okay, things only seem to be getting worse.
Exhaling in frustration, I reach for the dress, hoping once I step into it, I’ll return to the old me. A week ago, everything was clear cut, and I knew where I was headed. But one minute—sixty fucking seconds—was enough to undo the past ten years.
Damn him, but most importantly, damn me for still giving a shit.
As I shimmy the dress up my legs, I suck in a deep breath because the mermaid-inspired gown squeezes me tight. Each tug suddenly feels like the flames of hell licking at my heated flesh. I hold the bodice to my chest as I need help fastening the ten billion buttons on the back, but the thought of even doing up one measly button has my already heightened skin breaking out into a rash.
I scratch at my chin and then work my way down to the column on my neck. Each stroke seems to set off another wave, and I suddenly feel like I’ve rolled in a vat of poison ivy. Parts of my body I didn’t even know were capable of being itchy begin to prickle, and before long, I’m scrubbing my body with one hand.
A hotness burns up from the balls of my feet to the crest of my head, and I’m certain I’m running a fever. My vision blurs, and to stop myself from face planting, I reach out to lean against the wall.
What is the matter with me?
“I’m coming in,” sings Chloe.
“Chloe…” My voice is barely audible, so I don’t blame her when she talks over me and happily goes to work on tightening the confines of my doom.
“This dress was made for you!” she exclaims, her deft fingers working quickly to button me up. Each tie sends me closer and closer to an edge I didn’t even know was there. “You look so beautiful. This color is absolutely stunning, and the style—wow. It’s sexy, but in a church-approved kind of way.” She giggles while I’m seconds away from passing out.
“I think you could get away with wearing smaller heels. You don’t wa
nt sore feet on your big day.” She pulls at the material at my waist, a pained gasp escaping me as I try desperately to breathe. “Anything you want altered, let my mom know. I do think everything fits perfectly, though. I mean, jeepers, your boobs look ah-mazing. Lincoln won’t know what hit him.”
At once, Chloe’s chipper words all morph into one giant hum and the walls begin to close in on me. I need to focus on one thing because so many thoughts are using my brain as a roller coaster, and I’m afraid if I don’t rein it in, I’m going to faint.
“Almost done,” she affirms, the pinching of my skin confirming her words.
The gentlest sounds suddenly feel like a sledgehammer amped up to a billion watts, and I cover my ears, squeezing my eyes shut. I vaguely make out Chloe asking if I’m okay, but I’m not.
“Take it off,” I whimper, hoping I said the words aloud and not in my head. When there is silence, I plead, “Please, take it off.”
“Holland?”
The itch which consumes my body rapidly turns into an inferno, and I claw at the dress, it seeming to be the cause of the unexpected firestorm.
“What’s the matter?”
With my eyes still sealed shut, I feel my flesh blistering and burning, the dress melting onto my skin, forever uniting us as one. I violently scratch at the neckline, attempting to rip it from my body, but the buttons are done up tight.
“Get it off!” I shriek, shaking my head from side to side, a crazed lunatic as I rub at my chest, which is red hot and raw. My heart thrashes wildly within, the blood whooshing through my veins. It takes every ounce of self-control not to scream.
“Oh, my god! It’s okay. Calm down, Holland. I’ll take it off. Just calm down.” I can sense the urgency of her words and actions as she works with haste to help me undress, but it’s not fast enough. With every second I’m in this garment, the itchier, hotter, and more anxious I become.
I attempt to breathe as I learned in yoga. I go to my happy place. But nothing helps because each attempt is ruined by a blueness which drags me under and ruins me, just how it did all those years ago.
“I’m almost done.” Each button which flicks open is like the unwinding of the manacle siphoning off my air supply, but when Chloe pauses and says, “Oh no, shit, you’re stuck,” I can’t take it a second longer. With adrenaline coursing through my veins and running on nothing but fight and flight, I inherit the strength of Hercules and tear the dress from my body. Beads bounce off the mirrors and scatter onto the carpeted floor.
The moment I’m stripped bare I can finally breathe again.
Pressing a hand to my racing heart, I calm my breathing and beg the world to stop spinning. It does.
Now that it’s not tipped on its axis and I can think clearly once again, I slowly peel open my eyes, gasping when I see the mess I’ve made. The once beautiful dress now sits in a saddened heap by my feet, the floor littered with confetti beads. A gaping rip down the side allowed me to escape, but my getaway came with a price.
I don’t even know what to say, so I decide not to say anything at all. With whatever small shred of dignity I have left, I bend and reach for my dress. The tremble of my fingers betrays my overwrought state. “I’ll pay for the dress.” I can’t meet Chloe’s eyes, as I’m afraid of what I’ll see reflected in the depths.
“Don’t worry about that. What happened?” There is no anger, only concern. Her kindness only makes me feel worse.
Once I’m dressed, I feel a touch better, but nothing can excuse the fact I had a very public meltdown in a situation most would be pegging down to one of the best days of their lives. Yes, I will always remember today, just not the way most brides-to-be would.
I don’t have the balls to tell her. I’m ashamed I have let someone who doesn’t deserve a second thought get the better of me once again.
“It’s London, isn’t it?” The moment she says his name, it makes all this real. If someone else says it, it’ll mean that I’m not the only one who sees it. “I saw you guys last night. Holy shit, Holland, the chemistry between you two…it was explosive.”
Jerking my head upward, I finally meet her eyes. “Explosive? Yeah, like an atomic bomb mess.”
But she shakes her head firmly. “No, more like a hot kinda mess.”
Cradling my face in my palms, I groan. “I hate him, and he hates me.” I wish saying those words aloud were believable, but they only confirm the truth.
“I’m pretty sure you two have always had a more love-hate relationship. And I use the term hate loosely. I can’t believe after all these years you guys are still so into one another.”
Her comment has me almost giving myself whiplash as I shake my head from side to side. “I’m not into him. I hate him. I always have.” Chloe arches a disbelieving brow, which only has me defending my claims further. “I love Lincoln. I’m ma-marrying Lincoln.” The word catches in my throat, and I thump my chest to dislodge it.
The more I talk, however, the less Chloe seems to believe me. She folds her arms over her chest and smirks. “Who are you trying to convince? Me? Or yourself?”
My mouth parts, amped and ready for a comeback, but I don’t have one. I could argue with her until I’m blue in the face, but the twisted sad heap at my feet says enough.
“I have no doubt you love Lincoln, but something’s different about you.”
Peering down, I wonder if she’s seeing the crazy radiating from me as well. “Different?”
She nods. “Yes, you look…alive.”
And there’s that word again. Ironically, because that’s the last word I should ever associate with London Sinclair.
“I need to go. I can’t be in here. Can you distract my mom? I just need…a minute to think.”
She nods, her eyes twinkling at the prospect of being my evil wingman. “There’s a back door. I’ll take care of it. Make a run for it when the coast is clear.”
I nod, slowly feeling better at the likelihood of getting out of here and away from my greatest fears. “Thank you, Chloe. I owe you.”
But she surprises me when she shakes her head. “No, you don’t. You owe this to yourself. Work out if it’s cold feet or maybe it’s something else.” There’s no need for her to elaborate on the “something else.” She sympathetically rubs my forearm, then slips out of the changing room.
It may be in vain, but I pick up the dress and try my best to hang it from the hook. It’s a sad mess, and there is no way it’s salvageable. I’ll just add it to the long list of things London has broken.
“Is everything all right in there? I heard yelling.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I wonder when this shitstorm will end.
“Yes, fine. Your daughter is just being a bridezilla and wants some jewelry and shoes before she makes her grand reveal.”
“Oh, of course. That’s my fault,” Sienna says, clearly flustered she forgot this small detail. “Let me see how the dress fits so I know what kind of necklace would work.”
“No!” Chloe’s shrill voice can be heard two blocks over, and I’m certain I’m done for. But she bounces back like a pro. “Mom, didn’t you hear what I just said? You can’t see her until everything is perfect. Show us where everything is and then we can choose a few different options for her. I’m sure Ms. Brooks would love to choose a few things, right?”
Silence.
My mom wasn’t born yesterday. She knows something is fishy, but she entertains Chloe anyway, and for that, I love her. “Sure. Sounds wonderful. Come, Sienna, show us what you think will work.”
Exhaling steadily, I part the curtain an inch so I’m able to see just what is going on. Chloe is manning the fort, standing behind my mom and hers, pushing them toward the front of the store. She turns over her shoulder and waves her hand frantically, which is my cue to get the hell out of here.
With heels in hand, I tiptoe quieter than a mouse, my eyes never wavering from my mom. Just when I think I’m home free, Sienna suddenly stops and goes to turn. “I’m so silly. I have a beautiful M
ikimoto necklace and bracelet which I think will go wonderfully with that dress. It’s just in the back. Let me grab it.”
I pause like a deer in headlights as I literally have nowhere to hide. This is it—time to confess to my mom that her only daughter is losing her mind.
“No, stop!” Chloe tackles her mom and locks her arms around her back, hugging her in an awkward back to front embrace. Sienna freezes and shakes her head at her daughter’s insanity. “Have I told you how much I love you?” Chloe is an evil genius, and she buys me the time I need to disappear behind the back curtain and out the door. Once the breeze hits my heated cheeks, I instantly feel better.
Placing my palms on my knees, I bend at the waist and take three steadying breaths. The air may be a little on the polluted side, but it feels good to breathe.
I have no idea what the hell just happened. Yes, I’ve been on edge, but that was something else. My thoughts have me remembering Chloe’s comment. Standing upright, I know I need to bail because Chloe can only evade our moms for so long.
Slipping into my heels, I amble down the alleyway as quickly as I can and make a right, headed where exactly, I don’t know. The sidewalk is busy, bustling with locals and tourists alike. Most are window shopping as the goods on display without price tags are a sure sign that everything in this neighborhood is overpriced.
I continue walking, my head filled with a million and one thoughts.
After last night, I hoped I could put this insanity to rest, that having the final say would somehow miraculously erase this festering within. But it hasn’t. It was petty and naïve to think that it would. The problem is, I don’t know what to do.
I love Lincoln, I truly do, but he’s not the first person I thought of when I went to sleep last night or when I awoke this morning. Everything is so messed up.
I continue walking with no real direction, but the lack of purpose is a nice change. We never should have come back here. LA has never brought me anything but pain.
In New York, I was on the go 24/7. I didn’t have time to worry about the ghosts of my past. A small, bothersome voice whispers that maybe the reason for my busy lifestyle was to escape the truth I was too afraid to face. Groaning, I slip on my sunglasses, wishing I could view the world with a rose-tinted filter.
