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Lana and my mother are also here, but so far, except for a genuinely friendly “hello,” and “morning, dear,” they’ve kept quiet about last night. Did they even notice the drama? Or did Winter manage to swoop the dust, aka me, under the carpet before anyone noticed I was drunk?
According to the pampering line, Mom and Winter sit in front of the mirrors to get their hair and makeup done, respectively. Since I’ll be third to have my hair done and second for the makeup, I can safely assume I have a good half an hour during which I needn’t be here. But how can I get away?
“Does anyone want coffee?” I ask.
“Oh, darling.” The hairstylist catches my gaze in the mirror. “You don’t want a dark, stainy liquid near the bridal gown or bridesmaids’ dresses. You wouldn’t believe the disasters I’ve witnessed in my career. Better steer clear of food and drinks.”
I nod and refrain from commenting that both the bridal gown and bridesmaids’ dresses are safely wrapped in cellophane.
For lack of better alternatives, I sit on the free armchair next to the one occupied by Lana, grab a magazine from the round coffee table between the chairs, and pretend to read. Right now, I can’t even make sense of the pictures.
“I saw you were a little upset last night,” Lana whispers. “Was it because of Archie?”
I look up from the magazine. “Was I that obvious?”
“Not to anyone else, no, but I can tell when you’re tipsy.”
Tipsy doesn’t exactly cover it. I nod.
“If it helps,” Lana keeps talking in hushed tones, “I think he really likes you.”
“Of course he likes her,” my sister—who must’ve developed vampire hearing overnight—snaps. “What’s not to like?”
“Be careful, dear,” the hairstylist interjects. “You don’t want me to burn you with a curling iron. Try to keep still.”
Unmoving, but just as antagonizing, my sister continues, “The problem is notifhe likes her, but forhow long.”
“Man, thanks,” I snort. “Because it’d be impossible for someone to like me for more than a week.”
“It’s not you,it’s him!”
“Girls,” my mother cuts into the conversation, “what are you talking about?”
Winter crosses her arms over her chest and pouts like a petulant child. “Ask her.”
My mom dodges the makeup artist’s brush and turns toward me. “What did you do this time?”
I slam the magazine I was fake reading onto the coffee table with such force I might’ve dented the wood. “What the hell!” I yell, standing up. “I’ve made one mistake in my life.One.And the only person who could still be cross with me is here”—I point at Lana—“and she’s let it go. So why can’t you all?”
“Sweetheart, I only asked why your sister was mad at you.”
“No, you said, ‘What did you do this time?’ like it’s a regular thing for me to mess up.”
“Maybe you’re a little too sensitive, dear.”
“Because you’ve made me too sensitive with your constant shows of disappointment.” I point at my mother and sister in the mirror. “Both of you.” Then, focusing on Winter, I add, “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”
“It is when your recreational activities will leave your heart shattered into a million tiny pieces”—she points at her chest—“Iwill have to pick up.”
“Don’t worry, my heart is not your responsibility.”
At this point both the makeup artist and hairstylist have stopped working; my mom and sister are gesticulating too much for them to do anything. Mom turns her chair around and looks up at me. “I still don’t understand what’s going on?”
“She’s sleeping with the best man,” Winter rats me out.
Mom looks between us. “That nice fella we met at dinner the other night? What’s the issue? Is he single?”
And I swear I want to tear my hair from my head. “Yeah, he’s single, Mom; I don’t specifically target men in relationships as my dates. This is exactly the behavior I was talking about. One mistake, and you always assume the worst about me. No matter what I do, there’ll never be redemption for me. Why can’t you just cut me a break?”
