I brace myself, worried that Bridezilla might make a guest appearance. But surprisingly, Mom actually looks grateful.
“Thanks for the reminder,” she says. She gives Sophie a pained smile.
“But, Mom,” Kelsie says. “You haven’t tried on the Cinderella dress.” She pops the last bonbon into her mouth, leaving the dish empty.
“Sorry, darling,” Mom says. “But I’m thinking actually I might want something more along the lines of Snow White. Right, Scarlett?” She gives me a pointed smile.
“Right.” I keep my eyes glued to the plush carpet, and follow Mom and Kelsie out of the shop.
* * *
After the first painful experience, I’m hoping Mom will decide to skip the other shops. But if anything, she seems even keener, and things go from bad to worse. We visit two more bridal shops, each fancier than the first. Mom fingers the dresses, tsks over the prices, tries to impress the sales assistants with her congressman fiancé, and somehow, despite her enthusiasm, doesn’t try on a single dress. By the time we finally grab lunch (the McDonald’s in the parking lot of the shopping center), Kelsie is beside herself with all the lovely dresses that Mom has fawned over (“you’re right, Kels, I would feel like a princess”), fobbed off (“maybe I’m not Snow White—maybe more of a Princess Anna?”), and ultimately rejected (“let’s look at the next place, then I’ll decide”). I’m just fed up because if she doesn’t find the dress today, then we’ll have to do this all over again.
“Maybe you can try on one of the dresses, Mom,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m sure you’d look lovely, and you’ll get an idea of what suits you. And just think, you can post it on your blog or Instagram page!” If that doesn’t convince her, then nothing will.
“You’re right, Scarlett.” She wipes the grease from her Big Mac off her chin. “I do owe that to my followers. It’s just—I don’t know.” Her smile edges down into a frown. “Nothing seems quite right somehow.”
“What doesn’t?” Suddenly, I feel hopeful again. Maybe Mom’s finally coming to her senses. Realizing that her first idea—eloping to a beach to get married in flip-flops and her white summer dress with the blue flowers that she bought on sale—is the best solution all around.
“Those shops,” she says huffily. “I mean, really, does every saleswoman at a bridal shop have a stick up her bottom or something?”
I giggle—as much at Kelsie’s shocked face as at the comment. “I agree,” I say. “They were awful.”
Mom waves her hand. “I can see now why all the best people have their dresses custom-made specially. You know—like Kate Middleton. That’s what I should do.”
“Um, yeah.” I swallow hard. Surely Mom can’t be comparing her wedding to Kate Middleton’s! “But even the ‘best people’ probably have to try on a few styles to find the right one.”
“Yes, yes.” She nudges Kelsie to hurry up eating her fries (she’s already gone through six packets of ketchup). “I’m sure you’re right. In any case, we’d better get going. The film crew is meeting us at the next shop.”
The film crew. I groan inwardly. I don’t dare break it to her that Kate Middleton probably didn’t have photographers filming her in her underwear during her wedding dress fittings. But then again, Mom’s always been a martyr where her followers are concerned.
Chapter 13
Lights, Camera, Action!
As soon as we pull into the packed parking lot, it’s obvious that the Bridal Center is not like the posh bridal shops. It’s a cross between Forever 21 and a circus. The place is completely chaotic with Saturday-afternoon shoppers, and the enormous lights and cameras are in the way of everyone. There’s a table piled high with cut fruit, cookies, sandwiches, and bottled water, and the camera crew—two scruffy-looking guys with long hair wearing band T-shirts—are testing out the sound and the lighting. We’re barely inside the door when a short, ginger-haired woman—who is, I realize, the producer Mom’s been talking to—rushes up to Mom and hugs her.
“Oh, Claire—right on time. We’re so looking forward to this!”
“Thanks, Poppy,” Mom says, smiling. “Me too.”
Still standing close to Mom, the producer sniffs the air. “What’s that I smell—did your daughter cook you one of those fantastic gourmet meals I’ve heard so much about?”
“We had McDonald’s,” Kelsie says.
“Well, uh, we were in a hurry to get here,” Mom covers. She flashes my sister a glare. “Besides, Scarlett’s been busy baking and trying out all sorts of recipes for the wedding cake. Right, darling?”
“Ouch!” I cry out at the poke in the ribs. “Uh, right.”
“Great…” The producer looks at me, the enthusiasm ebbing from her face. “Well, anyway, we’ve got some great dresses picked out for you to try on, Claire. It’s going to be such fun! Now, let’s get you to makeup.”
“Right!” The producer links arms with Mom and takes her off to a little table set up with a huge makeup kit. Any worries about what the “best people” do and any questions about whether Kate Middleton would have done some price comparison shopping at the Bridal Center seem to have gone right out the window.
“Let’s have a look around,” I say to Kelsie. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while.”
I follow my sister over to the food table, where she pockets a handful of cookies and shoves some strawberries into her mouth. I take some grapes and a bottle of water. The other customers in the shop walk past us warily. Maybe they’re wondering if they ought to recognize Mom—or her kids. Wondering if we’re the “best people”—in spite of the fact that we look normal.
Kelsie makes a beeline over to the jewelry section and starts trying on tiaras. “I love weddings,” she says. “I want to get married so many times—just like Mom.”
“Um, I don’t think that’s the point,” I say. A shop assistant gives us a look. I try to take the crown off Kelsie’s head, but the combs get tangled in her hair. With a shriek, she pulls away and runs over to the shoe section. She takes off her sandal and shoves her foot into one of the white satin display models. “Look, it’s my glass slipper!” she says, parading around.
“Kelsie!” I hiss, but just then, one of the cameramen comes over.
“Hey, Jed, let’s get a shot of this. Can you put that tiara back on?” he says to my sister.
OMG. As if one second-time bride and TV-star wannabe wasn’t enough for one family, now I’ve got two!
Ignoring the protests of the shop manager, my sister puts on another of the display shoes (both left feet), grabs a few ropes of pearls and puts them around her neck, and starts dancing around and singing “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs.
* * *
There’s only two good things about the afternoon. One is that Mom actually has to try on some dresses. She quickly rejects the puffy, lacy, over-the-top dresses (upon the recommendation of the TV stylist) and tries on a few more sensible straight and A-line dresses. She’s short and thin, and even the white satin heels can’t do much to change that. But when she tries on the wedding dresses, with Kelsie fawning over her and me standing silently in the background nodding or shaking my head, she does seem younger—and happy. It’s nice to see. And the camera doesn’t seem to make her nervous at all. But after she’s tried on about fifteen dresses, the “hitch” comes.
“Can we get some footage of your daughters trying on bridesmaids’ dresses?” Poppy, the producer, asks.
“Oh. can we, Mom?” my sister yells.
Mom does a second twirl in front of the mirror in a tight-fitting silk dress with a “mermaid” tail. She checks her watch. “Maybe one or two,” she says. “Then we’ve got a dinner engagement.”
The knot inside me tightens. The second “good” thing about the afternoon, is that it’s not this evening—when we’re supposed to meet up with Dad.
“What are your color
s?” the producer asks. She and Mom chat about lilac versus lavender and pink versus peach. I slip out and over to the rack of bridesmaids’ dresses to try to do damage control—pick out something that won’t be too hideous. I flip through the racks as two of the stylists come over to me. “It’s okay, dear,” one of them says. “Come over to makeup and we’ll get you sorted.”
* * *
By the time it’s over, I feel like my face is about to crack from faking a smile and trying to act like the whole thing is not completely horrendous. It’s worse than the days of the blog—much worse, in fact. The camera makes my skin crawl, and thinking about people watching me parading in around in the awful dresses Mom chooses—lilac, peach, lavender, pink—makes me feel like throwing up. Luckily, my sister was “a natural” in front of the camera, and my only hope is that they’ll focus on her. If not, well…I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
I’d just finished changing back into my jeans and T-shirt when Producer Poppy cornered me on the way out of the dressing room.
“Now, Scarlett, before you go, we must speak about the wedding cake film shoot.”
“Um, yeah,” I say, wishing the salmon-pink carpet of the changing room area would open up and swallow me whole. “Sounds good.”
“There’s a lot to do in a very short time—we need to have our best game faces on,” she says. “So how about I have my assistant give you a call in the next day or two to arrange things? Her name is Annie.”
“Um, yeah,” I repeat. “Sounds good.”
She gives me a worried glance, but just then there’s a loud clatter and thunk. I turn toward the fitting rooms and see that another bride-to-be has exited to parade around in front of the mirror, and her huge skirt has swished into one of the lamps that the cameramen are using and knocked it over. The light is so hot that the lace and ruffles start to singe and smoke, until Producer Poppy rushes over and throws a jug of lemon water on it.
I take advantage of the distraction to go back out to the main part of the shop to wait for Mom.
By the time we finally leave the Bridal Center, I’m exhausted, and I can actually feel my skin breaking out under all that makeup. But right now, I can’t even think about that. Not when dinner with Dad is looming in my mind.
Chapter 14
Happy Families
Mom is frazzled and irritable as we leave the Bridal Center. “I’m so glad that’s over,” she says.
“Really?” I say, surprised. “But you liked the dresses, right? I mean, you looked good.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just tired. And you, young lady”—she glances at my sister in the rearview mirror—“need to learn to behave.”
Kelsie barely looks up from the game she’s playing on Mom’s phone. I wish I was as easily distracted as my sister. We pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. Bernini’s—I realize with a sinking heart that it’s the same restaurant where Em-K proposed to Mom. At the time, I’d thought it was “romantic” that Mom had never come here with anyone else. Obviously, she must not see it that way.
I get out of the car and go around to the trunk to get the cake. Before getting out, Mom checks her makeup and hair in the car mirror. To me it seems a little weird that she’d care what Dad thinks. Though Alison would probably say that it’s normal to want to impress your ex. She’d know—she’s had a few boyfriends before.
The plastic cake container feels heavy as a brick as I lift it out. In the end, I covered the whole cake with buttercream icing and blue, yellow, and pink sprinkles. I didn’t put any writing on it, or even “happy birthday.” It’s the most joyless cake I’ve ever made.
Kelsie runs on ahead into the restaurant to look for Dad.
“Come on, Scarlett.” Mom’s tone makes it sound like I’m dragging my feet. “Let’s go inside.”
The restaurant is dark and noisy. The tables have red-and-white checkered cloths on them with drippy wax candles set in wine bottles wrapped in straw. As I enter, Kelsie makes a beeline for a round table near the back of the restaurant, practically knocking down a waitress carrying a tray.
“Daddy!” she yells.
“Hi, Kels Bels!” a familiar voice replies. Dad stands, and she runs into his open arms. He’s a big man with dark-blond hair like mine, and blue eyes like my sister’s. His face is open and warm.
Mom edges through the tables toward them. I follow behind with the cake, feeling like a party pooper as I set it carefully on the table.
Dad leans over and kisses Mom on the cheek. “Claire,” he says. “You look wonderful.”
“No, I don’t,” she says. But her cheeks flush a little at the compliment.
“And Scarlett.” Dad gives me one of his winning smiles. For a second I think that he’s going to hold out his hand to shake mine. But then he opens his arms. I stand there, frozen for a second, my mind racing. I could end this whole silly scene right now by refusing to give him a hug. I glance at Mom and my sister. It would ruin their night and poke another pin in my relationship with Mom, like mother-daughter voodoo dolls.
I step forward and let Dad hug me.
* * *
The good thing is, I don’t have to talk. Mom seems to revive once she’s sitting down at the table with a drink in her hand. They chat about the restaurant—when it opened and how it has, in Mom’s opinion, the best food in town. She doesn’t mention that Em-K proposed to her here. Then Kelsie starts blabbering away, telling Dad every detail of our wedding-dress shopping trip, and all about the filming, including her star singing performance.
“It sounds fantastic, Kels,” Dad says. “And I’m so glad you’re still such a great singer. Because as it happens, I’ve got you a little present.”
He reaches to the floor behind him and pulls out a big box. Kelsie oohs and ahs, and Mom tuts and says, “oh, you shouldn’t have,” and Dad replies that “yes, I should—she’s my princess.” I stare into the flickering candle, hoping he hasn’t got me a present too—it’s his birthday after all, not mine.
Kelsie’s present is a brand-new Wii U system with a Disney dance disc, song collection, and microphones. Mom tells her not to, but she still takes everything out of the box, tearing off the plastic wrap, fingering the discs, and getting cords everywhere. The waitress comes over, and Dad orders for us. It’s complete chaos, and I’m sure Mom is going to get annoyed at Dad, but instead, she leans toward him and smiles.
“I wasn’t sure what to get you, Scarlett,” he says.
“What?” I jerk my head around to look at him. “Don’t worry. I don’t need anything.”
He crosses his arms, looking at me like a big, friendly bear. “Now, Scarlett, that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
“It’s not my birthday,” I say.
He turns to me as Mom is fussing with Kelsie and the Wii stuff that’s spread everywhere.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you, Scarlett,” he says in a low voice. “And I’m not asking you to accept me overnight—I know that’s not going to happen.”
“Well…” I so don’t want to be having this conversation. “I don’t know.”
“But maybe,” he adds, “we can start to get to know each other better—when you’re ready, that is. I find that sometimes, writing things down is easier than saying them in person.”
I nod uncomfortably.
“I asked your mom, see, and she said that you have her old laptop. I’ve read your blog—it’s fantastic. We discussed it and decided that it might be time you had an upgrade.”
He reaches again behind his chair and pulls out a big, white bag. My heart does a flip. It’s from the Apple store.
“No, really…” I say, but my hands betray me and reach out to take the bag.
I pull out a long, thin box. It’s a brand-new MacBook Air. My mouth drops open. Mom doesn’t even have such a nice computer, and she’s been blogging for years n
ow.
“Your mom and I thought this one would be perfect.”
I look over at Mom. She nods.
“It is perfect.” I press my lips together. “Thank you…Dad.”
Dad goes on to ask Mom about the filming and the wedding preparations. The fact that the conversation is so normal makes my skin prickle. It’s like everyone’s pretending that Dad never left and Mom isn’t marrying someone else, and we’re all having a nice dinner out on an ordinary Saturday night. It’s too weird.
Luckily, the food comes—a big family-size pizza with half pepperoni and extra cheese for Kelsie and me, and half “the works” for Mom and Dad. Mom finally manages to get Kelsie’s gift back in the bag, and I put the Apple store bag at my feet, so that it’s touching my leg and won’t get stolen.
“The pizza looks fantastic,” Dad says. “Let’s dig in.”
The pizza does taste good. Dad launches into an account of his neighbors below his new apartment—and I even find myself laughing once or twice. That’s okay, I decide. Just because I’m laughing and enjoying the pizza and the thought of the new computer doesn’t mean that I’m back on his side as far as Dad is concerned. But the truth is, I’m tired of being miserable.
In the end, I stop overanalyzing everything, and even start to relax. Although we’re all stuffed with pizza, Dad calls the waitress over. She leans in as he hands her the Tupperware with the cake. As she takes it away to the kitchen, he turns to me.
“That was such a nice idea, Scarlett,” he says. “And the cake is beautiful—just perfect. I’m so glad you’ve inherited your mom’s thoughtfulness.”
“Um, yeah…” I start to laugh, thinking he must be joking. But he’s smiling at Mom, and she’s smiling at me, and she leans over and pats my hand.
The waitress comes out with the cake on a tray, lit with candles. Following her is what seems like the entire kitchen staff. They begin a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” in three-part harmony. Kelsie joins in at the top of her lungs, Mom sings off-key, and I mouth the words. With the cake set before him on the table, Dad takes a deep breath and blows out the candles with a loud bellow. The waiters and even some of the other customers in the restaurant all start to clap, and the waitress snaps a picture of us on Mom’s phone.
Cake and Confessions Page 7
