Page 28 of Beauty and the Beach
Phoenix snorts from behind us, and when I look over my shoulder, I see that he’s returned to his desk. Is he going back to work?
“Leave your account information with Wyatt,” he adds, his attention already on the computer screen. “He’ll deposit enough funds for the dress.”
I nod and leave the office, Wyatt following closely behind me.
My mind reels on the way home, and I’m grateful that Wyatt lets me stew in silence. He ducks his head politely when he drops me off at Nana Lu’s, giving me another little smile, and I hop out after giving him my bank account info.
The gravel crunches under my feet as I enter the courtyard, but I barely hear. I nearly trip over the railroad tie, and it takes me several tries to get the door unlocked. When I finally get it open, I call Maggie.
Shopping for wedding dresses by myself is one of the most depressing things I can think of. I’m going to need reinforcements.
“You want me to do what with you?” she says. Her voice still hasn’t completely lost its sweet, youthful quality. “Did you saywedding dress?”
“Yes,” I tell her, toeing my ankle boots off as I step inside. Sometimes I come home still half-expecting Nana Lu to be here, seated on that awful couch with a large-print book or snacking on a vanilla cupcake at the kitchen table. I always deflate a little when I realize the house is empty now. “Wedding dress shopping. I’m getting married.”
Maggie is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I’m confused.”
“I know,” I say, sighing as I trudge down the hall, past theliving room, and to my bedroom. “It’s complicated. Come hang out with me tomorrow and I’ll explain.”
“You haven’t even been dating anyone, have you?” she says. “Why are you getting married? Who’s the guy? Holland…” She trails off, and I hear her take a deep breath before speaking again. “Are you pregnant? You can tell me if you are?—”
“No!” I say quickly. “No, definitely not pregnant. Come tomorrow and I’ll tell you, okay?” I try to make my voice coaxing, but it sounds more like begging. “Please? It’s only an hour’s drive.”
“I have statistics tomorrow, Holl,” she says. “I can’t—I don’t—” She breaks off and then sighs, the sound staticky over the phone. “You’re actually getting married?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. Seriousness bleeds into my voice, a reality that I still can’t quite believe myself. “I am. I promise I’ll explain everything, okay? Just come help me, please.” I swallow and then admit the truth: “I don’t want to shop for wedding dresses by myself.”
Without even changing clothes, I pull back my turquoise comforter and climb into bed, curling up on my side with the phone balanced on my cheek. I still have hours before I would normally go to sleep, but right now, I need to cocoon.
It’s Maggie’s soft, loving voice that plays in my ear as I close my eyes.
“In that case,” she says, “of course I’ll ditch statistics. I hate it anyway.” I can hear her teasing smile, the one I know she’s giving me because she can tell something’s up. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bride-to-be.”
My eyes sting suspiciously, but I blink until they stop. “Thanks, Mag.” I pause and then add, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
“I figured,” she says. “You’re going to explain everything the second I get there.”
“I promise,” I say, pulling the covers up under my chin and tucking them tightly in place. “Drive safe, okay?”
“I will. And Holl?”
“Mmm.”
“Start thinking about what kind of lingerie you want me to get you for your wedding gift.”
I just laugh.
Holland
Maggie isthe cutest person I know. Maybe I’m biased because she’s my little sister, but I’ve always thought she’s adorable. She doesn’t appreciate when I tell her this, now that she’s older, but I tell her anyway.
My smile blooms freely when I get off the ferry the next morning and find her waiting for me, a giant insulated tumbler of what I’m sure is Diet Coke clutched in her hand. She’s leaning back against her little Toyota Corolla, her other hand shielding her eyes against the sun. She’s got on jeans today, even though she’s usually a t-shirt and joggers girl.
“Nine is too early to be anywhere,” she says when I reach her.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, throwing my arms around her and squeezing extra hard. She lets out a littleoomphand then laughs, hugging me back.
I breathe her in for a minute, the faint scent of shampoo in her honey-blonde hair, the smell of the lotion she uses every day because her hands and elbows are perpetually dry.
