“Only as immature as the things your fiancé was saying,” I snapped back, dropping the pineapple slice when it became clear Ford was done.
Charlotte threw me a nasty look as she grabbed another cloth napkin, dipped it in one of the water glasses circling the table, and went to work rubbing his crotch. “God, Clara Belle, is there anything else you’re planning to sabotage when it comes to my wedding?” She was rubbing so forcefully at Ford’s crotch, his face started to crease with discomfort. “You know, just so I can mentally prepare myself.”
“I’m not trying to sabotage anything,” I said, realizing people were starting to notice what was going on at our table. My mom wasn’t flying over here like sweet tea was in danger of being outlawed, so at least my parents hadn’t noticed. Yet.
Charlotte huffed. “Since when?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Now it felt more like Boone was the one holding me back, keeping me in place beside him.
Charlotte stopped scrubbing at Ford’s crotch long enough to fire a look at me. “Just that you’re one of the most selfish, self-absorbed people I’ve ever met. You figure out some way to throw a fit or make a scene or create a crisis if you aren’t getting someone or everyone’s full attention all of the time.”
That was such a mouthful, it took me a few moments to take in everything she’d just said. It took twice as long to figure out if she was being serious. When I determined, based upon the look on her face, that she was, I felt my blood heat.
“I think who you meant to say that to was yourself,” I said, my voice shaking.
“No, I didn’t.”
My mouth fell open. “When it comes to selfish, you’ve got the market cornered.” When she fired off another huff of disbelief, wetting the napkin again before going to work on Ford’s face, I added, “Huff at me again. It won’t change the fact that you were the sister fucking your sister’s boyfriend for God knows how long behind her back.” I hadn’t meant for my voice to carry that way, but I couldn’t control it. “So huff the hell at that!”
Boone glanced at me, but instead of gaping at me as Charlotte and Ford were, his look was more subtle. More one of him having my back. He gave me a quick wink.
Her rubbing was only making the stains on his shirt worse, so Charlotte threw the napkin on the table. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, like she was giving up, then her eyes dropped to the plate I was still clutching. “I’m done fighting with you for one day, Clara Belle. So why don’t you just gobble up a few more sticky buns and see if you can get that dress another size too small. The seamstress will already have to let it out. Might as well take advantage and have her let it all the way out.” Charlotte rounded her arms out around her pencil-thin frame, making it no secret of what she was getting at.
My appetite was gone. For food and for a fight.
Dropping my plate on the table beside Boone’s, I watched her and Ford whisk away into the house. I wanted to call out to her. I wanted to apologize, if for nothing else, for ruining her morning. But the words wouldn’t form.
I knew people were staring at me. I knew they were bobbing their heads, understanding just why I’d been labeled the black sheep of the family. After convincing myself for all of these years that my family was the enemy, I was starting to wonder if I was just as much their enemy. Was I selfish? Was I self-absorbed?
I’d just launched two pieces of fruit at my sister’s fiancé because he’d been running his mouth—like Ford always had and always would. I’d just announced to whoever hadn’t known that she’d been quote-end-quote “fucking” Ford while we’d still been together. All in all, I’d made a total disaster of what no doubt could have been a perfectly pleasant breakfast.
Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut and accept that people were the way they were and no amount of shouting or fruit-hurling would change that? Why couldn’t I stop fixating on other’s mistakes instead of spending a little more time reflecting on my own?
And why in the hell, after being content to play oblivious to all of those deeply profound questions, was I getting around to asking them while I was smack in the middle of my own personal hell and bribing my ex-boyfriend to pose as my current one—an ex-boyfriend I had clearly not moved on from given the feelings I’d felt stirring the past couple of days?
The weight of my thoughts became too heavy for me to keep standing. Pulling my chair out, I collapsed into it. The sound of a sharp rip rang out right before a rush of cool air cascaded across my back.
“Clara . . .” Boone said quietly over my shoulder. The sound of his button snaps ripping open followed.
“I know, Boone,” I said as I felt his shirt fall into place around me. “I’m falling apart.”
“Can you breathe now?” Boone asked as we stepped out of the bridal shop later that morning.
I smiled at my cotton sundress. My flowy, breathable sundress. I was free.