The Bride Wore Size 12

by Meg Cabot

  I am a little surprised to see that in a gingham fabric armchair not too far from him sits Sammy the Schnozz, looking much more at ease, scrolling through messages on his smartphone (being a pawnbroker is a full-time business, after all).

  What surprises me even more is when I hear a delicate cough from behind me, and I turn around.

  It’s my mother.

  37

  At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.

  Lao Tzu

  Really?” I ask in disbelief.

  Because I haven’t been through enough in one day? I’ve had one resident reveal he’s put his and another resident’s lives at risk by entering into a marriage forbidden by his criminally despotic father.

  I’ve had to shoot another resident because he took a student hostage at knifepoint.

  And now this?

  I’m ready to turn around and walk straight out of the shop, champagne glass still in hand, when my father, of all people, stops me by blocking the door with his body.

  “Just listen to what your mother has to say, Heather.” His voice registers weary resignation.

  “Why?” I demand flatly. “I’m tired. I have watermelon in my hair. I want to try on my wedding dress and then go have a nice lunch with my friends, like a normal person. I don’t want to listen to any more bullshit excuses from anyone, Dad, especially Mom. Honestly, I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Darling, I know,” my mother says, moving toward me. She’s wearing a long dove-gray tunic over soft, draping gray trousers and enough silver jewelry to choke a horse. Every time she moves, the chains around her neck and bangles at her wrists tinkle musically, exactly as they had the night she’d invited herself over to Cooper’s brownstone. “I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Cooper—not to mention what I understand you went through this morning. But what happened with Cooper . . . that was my fault, and I couldn’t be more sorry.”

  My eyes fill with tears—and ridiculously, almost more than anything else today, this is what enrages me the most. Why do I feel like crying over something this stupid woman has said?

  “You’re sorry for that?” I demand. “Not that you shouldn’t be . . . you should. But out of everything, that’s what you’re sorry for? You aren’t even responsible for that. Ricardo did that, not you.”

  “Yes, yes,” my mother says. “But I should have known better than to think he wouldn’t find me here, even if I did try to keep a low profile. You don’t need this on top of all the other stresses you have.”

  By “this” she appears to mean Cooper’s injuries. She gestures toward him as she says it, the bangles on her wrists tinkling.

  I stare at her. I’m not the only one. All of my bridesmaids, and Cooper and his friends, are staring at her, too.

  The urge to weep has left me.

  “What stresses?” I ask my mother. “You mean wedding stresses?”

  “Well, those,” she says, “and everything else your father’s told me about. I mean, my God, Heather, giving up your music? Working in a dorm? Do you think this is the life I’d hoped you’d have? Of course not.”

  I feel as if the ground beneath me is moving—like a subway train is passing beneath us. But there’s no subway station nearby. What I’m feeling is a seismic shift in my emotions. A therapist would probably call it a breakthrough.

  “What’s so wrong with my life?” I demand. “I’m surrounded here in this shop with people who love me.”

  Well, except for Patty. Where is she? On the other hand, dancers are notoriously late for everything, and pregnant dancers are even worse.

  “I do something I love for a living,” I go on, “that helps others and gives me meaning in my life. I’m also going to school and studying to get a degree in something I believe in, something that I hope will make a difference in the world someday. I’m marrying the man I love, who loves me back—”

  I throw a smile at Cooper, who smiles back so encouragingly as he leans on his crutches between his two sisters that I can feel his love radiating through me. It more than makes up for the love this woman has withheld from me.

  “We’re going to start a life together,” I say to my mother. “It may not be the kind of life you’d want, Mom, but it’s exactly what I want. So why exactly did you have to come here now and try to mess it up?”

  My mother blinks back at me, as well as at all my friends, who are glaring at her with what I can only call extreme hostility. Magda looks ready to grab the nearest champagne bottle and smash it over Mom’s head, and I can’t help noticing that Hal has one hand inside his duffel bag, which of course he’s brought with him, sitting at his feet. Even Jessica has folded her rail-thin arms across her chest and narrowed her heavily lined eyes at my mother, like she’s waiting for the signal for the bitch slapping to begin, and Nicole has both her plump hands squeezed into indignant fists. Sammy the Schnozz has actually looked up from his cell phone, shocked into paying attention to something other than falling gold prices.

  In the ensuing silence, Lizzie Nichols, has come back into the waiting area.

  “Well,” she says brightly. “Everything’s ready if you’d like to try on your dress now, Heath . . .”

  Her voice trails off as she senses the tension in the room.

  “Or maybe,” she says, slowly backing away, as if from a coiled rattlesnake, “you and your family need a few more minutes. Why don’t I come back later?”

  She gives a bright smile and hurries away as quickly as her stylish, but extremely narrow, pencil skirt will allow.

  My father breaks the silence.

  “I think what Heather is looking for,” he says to my mother, “is an apology. Not only for what happened to Cooper, but for . . . well, everything.”

  My mother nods. Now she’s the one who appears resigned.

  “I can see that,” she says with a sigh. “I do have a way of mucking things up, don’t I? But contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t come here to try to mess up your life, Heather. Not on purpose, anyway.” She walks toward the coffee table Hal is sitting beside and removes one of her jangly silver bracelets, dropping it onto the glass table cover. “I actually came here with the intention of trying to set things right between us.” Another bracelet joins the first. “But as usual, what I wanted to say to you didn’t come out the right way. I’ve always had problems expressing myself—unlike you. And then, of course, there’s what happened to Cooper. I know you don’t want anything more to do with me. That’s probably better for everyone concerned. Ricardo will be making bail soon, and I wouldn’t want to put any of you in danger by letting you know where you can find me, in case he asks.”

  She scoops off a few of the silver necklaces and drops them beside the bracelets. They make a surprisingly solid thunk on the glass.

  “So trust me,” Mom goes on. “I won’t bother you again, Heather. The truth is, I never did get the hang of this mothering thing. Not everyone has the maternal instinct, you know. I read in a magazine once that some female mammals abandon their young in the wild. They simply can’t be bothered. It’s not the fault of the offspring. It’s a faulty gene in the mother. The mothering gene, it’s called. They lack it. I think I do too. In other words, Heather—” She pulls out both her long, sparkly chandelier earrings and lays them beside the rest of her jewelry on the coffee table. “It was never you, darling. It was me.”

  I stare at her bewilderedly. “I know that, Mom,” I say. “Why are you taking off all your jewelry?”

  “Oh.” She looks down at the pile as if realizing for the first time it’s there. “Call it a wedding present, if you like.”

  “Mom.” I’m not angry at her anymore. How can I be, when I have such a rich life, and hers is so pathetic? Plus I’ve said everything I needed to say to her. I’m feeling pretty good. “I don’t want your old jewelry.”

  “Oh,” she says lightly. “I think you do. Consider it your ‘something borrowed.’ ”

  She steps
forward to give me a quick hug. Now that all her necklaces and bracelets are gone, she doesn’t jingle when she walks.

  I don’t want to hug her back, but there’s something about being hugged by your mother that makes it impossible to not at least raise your arms and put them around her. The scent of her Chanel is as familiar to me, in a way, as the scent of Cooper’s shampoo and laundry detergent. And also as comforting, even though she completely betrayed me once.

  But it turns out you can’t help loving your mother, no matter how hard you try.

  “Good-bye, darling,” she says, and turns and walks swiftly from the shop before I can say another word. My father doesn’t attempt to bar her way.

  “What the hell,” Jessica demands, after downing the remains of her champagne, “was that all about?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I say.

  Sammy the Schnozz has begun lifting pieces of the jewelry from the coffee table. Of course he has a loupe, the magnifying eyepiece used to closely examine gems and precious metals. He’s pulled one from his pocket and is studying her bracelets and chains with a jeweler’s concentration.

  “She feels bad, Heather,” my father says. “She wanted to make amends.”

  Cooper laughs out loud at this.

  “She does,” my father insists. “She understands she won’t be welcome at the wedding—and obviously can’t attend because Ricardo will be hunting her—but if you can make a place for her in your heart, Heather—”

  There will always be a place for her in my heart, I think. In my life? I’m not so sure.

  Sammy the Schnozz whistles, slowly and appreciatively.

  “What is it?” I ask him.

  He lowers the loupe and looks at me solemnly. “Your mother may lack the maternal instinct, but she sure knows a thing or two about jewelry. These are platinum. All of them. Solid platinum.”

  I glance at Cooper, then back at Sammy the Schnozz. “No. No, they’re not. They’re silver. No one walks around wearing that much—”

  “Platinum? No one I know. Pirates, maybe. Who else wears their fortune around their necks?”

  “Or someone else’s fortune,” Cooper says, looking down at all the softly gleaming metal on the table.

  I shake my head, hardly able to comprehend what I’m seeing.

  “No,” I say again, shaking my head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t have stolen all my money only to give it back.”

  Sammy has his smartphone out and is working the calculator. “She didn’t,” he says. “Platinum is selling high these days, but what you’d get if you sold this by weight”—his fingers fly over the keyboard—“is only about a quarter of a million dollars.”

  I glance at Cooper, who returns my stunned gaze. “Only a quarter of a million dollars,” I say to him.

  “Not nearly what she owes you,” he says. “But a start.” A grin begins to spread across his face. He holds out one arm, and I step into his embrace. “We could definitely upgrade the honeymoon.”

  “Or,” I say, “we could turn the basement into a nice apartment, and then rent it out and make a healthy return on our investment.”

  “So practical,” Cooper says, kissing me. “Such an amazing head for money.”

  “And she’s got really good aim,” Virgin Hal adds shyly.

  “Don’t forget,” my father, the convict, hastens to add, “whatever you do, you’ll have to pay taxes on the sale of the jewelry.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Dad,” I say, looking up from Cooper’s chest. “Did you know anything about this?”

  “Well,” Dad says, looking a little sheepish. “I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. I knew your mother wanted to make amends, and I knew she and Ricardo had split up, judging from some phone conversations I’ve heard her making. I knew she took something of his, and he wanted it back—”

  “No wonder she said to consider it something borrowed!” Magda cries, pointing at the jewelry. “She stole it!”

  “From my manager, who stole it from me first. That jewelry is mine,” I declare. “It’s the only restitution I’m going to get.”

  “Damn straight,” Cooper says, nodding at Hal. “Confiscate it, in the name of the law. Heather’s law,” he adds, winking at me.

  “I’ll be happy to,” Hal says, and sweeps the jewelry into his duffel bag.

  “How are we doing out here?” Lizzie, the proprietor of the salon, pops her head back into the waiting room. “Are we feeling ready to try on a wedding dress now?”

  “You know what?” I say, turning to her. “I absolutely am.”

  “Well, then,” she says, looking pleased. “Follow me.”

  And so I do.

  38

  The pleasure of your company is

  requested at the marriage of

  Heather Marie Wells

  to

  Cooper Arthur Cartwright

  Saturday, the 28th of September

  at half past two in the afternoon

  The Grand Ballroom

  The Plaza

  Fifth Avenue at Central Park South

  New York, New York

  I stand at the back of the room, nervously twisting the ribbons on the end of my bouquet. Cooper and I chose Gerber daisies for our wedding because they’re a nice cheerful flower for fall, and they aren’t fussy in the same way we aren’t fussy.

  But the place where we’ve chosen to get married certainly is fussy.

  “I think this is all a little too fancy,” I say to Patty as she adjusts the bow on the sash on the side of my dress. It’s shaped a little bit like a Gerber daisy, or at least a large, white silk rose. “Do you think this is too fancy? Cooper and I should have eloped. I knew we should have eloped.”

  “Hush,” Patty says softly. “The Plaza Hotel is not too fancy for you. It isn’t fancy enough for you. You should be getting married in the White House rose garden in this dress.” She takes a step back and looks at me. “Seriously, this dress is perfect on you. You look like a modest, virginal Marilyn Monroe. You know, if President Kennedy had married her instead of Jackie.”

  “Modest and virginal wasn’t exactly the look I was going for,” I say, turning to look at myself in the mirror.

  “Undercover bombshell,” Patty says, adjusting my veil, which is really a confection of net, flowers, and a couple of feathers sticking out of the loose bun my long hair has been pulled into. “Tea length is perfect on you. Now go out there and knock Cooper dead.”

  “Please,” I say queasily. “Don’t use that phrase.”

  “Ooo.” Patty winces. “Sorry. I forgot about his near brush with death last month. Both of your near brushes with death. Okay, let’s go out there and not cause Cooper any bodily harm with your beauty, but make him remember all over again why he fell in love with you . . . your wit, beauty, and charm.”

  I take a deep breath and give myself one last glance in the mirror. I look nothing like my usual self. I’ve been up since dawn dealing with last-minute minicrises, such as Cooper’s lost cummerbund, and a bomb scare at the Plaza that threatened to shut down the entire wedding (until we learned it was a “prank” by Cooper’s younger brother, Jordan, who’d now been demoted from best man to the role of guest-book attendant. Frank, Patty’s husband, was now best man, with Sammy the Schnozz and Hal as ushers).

  Then I’d had to rush off to have my hair professionally styled and makeup professionally applied, all the while fighting butterflies in my stomach. I’m secretly convinced that somehow, Cooper and I are never going to end up as husband and wife, even though we’ve got the license.

  Patty’s right. I do look somewhat virginal in my white dress, cinched in tightly at the waist, then cascading outward to the knee like a bell of silk and tulle. But a virgin with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes and naughty twist to her red lips. How had the makeup artist done that? And why can’t I accomplish it on a daily basis?

  “Heather?” My father is calling from the outer room. “Are you ready? Perry says t
he music is starting, and we need to get to our places.”

  Perry. I so wish I could fire her for being so snooty. Well, I’ll never see her again after today. You only get married once!

  Oh God, please let me only get married once.

  I turn around and hurry toward my father.

  “Oh my,” he says. “Don’t you look pretty.”

  Dad’s never been that liberal with the compliments, or the emotions.

  My bridesmaids are more gushy when they see me.

  “Heather!” Magda cries. “You look like an angel. A real angel from the top of a Christmas tree.”

  “That dress kicks ass,” Jessica says, appraising me. “Seriously. You could kick someone’s ass in that dress, and not rip it, that skirt is so full. I’m glad you didn’t go for a mermaid, mermaid skirts suck. You can’t kick ass in them at all.”

  Only Nicole is pouting, as usual. “I still think you should have gone for a long dress,” she says. “When else are you going to get to wear a long dress but on your wedding day?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Huey. How’s she going to run from a bad guy in a long dress?” Jessica asks. “She’d trip.”

  “There won’t be any bad guys here today,” I say, trying to believe it. “Not with all the cops we’ve got out there.” And the fact that Ricardo is still sitting in Rikers, awaiting extradition back to Argentina, having turned out to have a few outstanding warrants there. “And you guys look amazing.”

  They do. I let them select whatever they wanted to wear, so long as it was a dress matching the colors of the Gerber daisies in the floral arrangement I’d picked out.

  Magda chose, as one would expect, a shimmering, Barbie-like one-shouldered evening gown in shocking pink. Patty is looking as cool and collected as a heavily pregnant woman can in rust. Jessica is seductive in a slinky lipstick-red number that clings to her slim body like a second skin, and Nicole—clearly with some guidance from her sister—looks sunny in a yellow Empire-waisted gown that is, as she so dearly wished for me, full length, but flattering on her.