Of course she did. Why the hell not? When it came to Charlotte’s attempts to put me in my place—according to her, directly below her heel—she leapt at any and every opportunity.
“And I’m going to assume, because I know you wouldn’t single me out like this, that everyone else’s dress is still the same lovely shade?” Out here in the brighter lights, my skin looked yellow. I’d look like a jaundiced sausage in front of five hundred of Charleston’s finest. Couldn’t wait.
“Mine’s mint.” Cynthia grimaced when she inspected my dress again, like she couldn’t decide what was more offensive: the color or the style.
“Mine’s periwinkle,” Harper said next.
When Avalee stayed quiet, I stared at her and waited. She was back to biting her lip, though this time she was looking over her shoulder at the door.
“Hers is lilac,” Charlotte said for Avalee.
I shook my head, giving myself another internal flogging for getting on that airplane yesterday when I knew the same three-ringed circus would be waiting for me down here. Charlotte would still be out to get me. Mom would still be looking to remake me. Dad would still treat me like a child. And everyone else would still have their own personal agenda when it came to Charleston versus Clara Abbott.
Why I’d found myself hoping things would be different, why I’d expected change to even be possible in the first place, I didn’t know, but this was the last time. The last time.
“Why did I wind up with peach then?” I asked. “Since you were clearly going with the pastel-themed color scheme, why not marigold or petal pink or eggshell? Why peach?”
My mom turned her own accusation my sister’s way. She must not have had a hand in or known what dress the bride had selected for her older sister. Had she, I knew my mom well enough to know she would have gone to great lengths—a.k.a. her pocketbook—to prevent Charlotte from doing this to her . . . I mean to me.
“You know what peach does to your sister’s complexion, how it washes out her hair.” Mom motioned at me, waiting for Charlotte’s answer.
“Technically, the stylist called the color—”
“The stylist can call it whatever she wants. You can call it whatever you want. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s peach. And ugly in every last way a dress can be repulsive.”
Charlotte’s face fell, her eyes going glossy. And the Academy Award goes to . . .
“I picked it out myself,” she said softly, still in character.
Cynthia and Harper rushed to her sides, patting her and throwing me looks.
“Yeah, that’s obvious,” I said.
Charlotte slid her hair over her shoulder. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you picked this out with exactly me in mind.”
Charlotte’s phone rang before she could reply. Not that she had any defense, because she could plead innocence all she wanted, but I knew what this was about: payback. For whatever fouls I didn’t know I’d done her.
After she answered her phone and walked away, I turned to Mom. “I can’t wear this.”
Mom patted the air in my direction, like she was trying to calm me down when I was surprisingly calm given the circumstances. “We’ll figure something out, but you’re right, you can’t wear that. What would the guests think? I mean, what was Charlotte thinking, knowing you would be in a good handful of the wedding photos wearing that?”
I tried crossing my arms again. The stiches whined in protest, but held, before I gave up and dropped my arms back at my sides. “Not to be forgotten is how I would feel standing up there by that altar thing right before I passed out from heat exhaustion or lack of oxygen.”
Avalee took a few steps my way, tilting her head as she inspected the dress. “It’s really not so bad. With a few modifications, I think we can make it much better.”
“Avalee, I love you, but the only modification that would make this dress better is total dress replacement therapy.”
Mom nodded in obvious agreement. Mom being on my side instead of Charlotte’s was a rare occasion.
“No, really, I think if we could get the seamstress to let a little out here, and tighten it there . . .” Avalee pinched at a few areas on the dress like she was making mental notes.
“Everything genetics has cursed me with is only further sabotaged by this frock.” When I took another look in the mirrors, this time I cringed. “Just help me out of this thing, okay? The sooner, the better. I’ll figure out what to do about this disaster later.”
Cynthia and Harper followed Charlotte while Avalee and my mom stayed with me.
“I’m sorry about this, darling. I should have asked to see what dress Charlotte had picked out for you.” Mom fingered the pearls around her neck, rubbing them like they were a strand of worry stones.
“I don’t think you could have changed her mind if you had.” I lifted my arm as high as it could go so Avalee could get to the zipper.