“YOU GIRLS LOOK beauti ful,” my mom says, setting down a tray with non-alcoholic cocktails that she made herself. I know, because the rims are splattered with orange juice pulp.
Eh, she tried.
“I’m excited,” Amy squeals, taking a drink as my mom leaves the room again. “Transportation will be here at six. The guys better be dressed correctly when we get to the venue. Makes me nervous, them left to their own devices.”
We sit in the living room, vanities set up and the stylists at work on me and Krisjen’s hair. Amy sneaks a flask out of her bag and adds vodka to her drink.
“Want some?” she asks, pushing the glass in front of me and trying to act like we’re still friends, but we’ve barely said two words to each other since I threatened her. I wish I didn’t know why I don’t tell her to take a hike, but I do, and I can’t look at myself in the mirror in front of me.
I shake my head, my fingers hovering over the keyboard on my phone.
Don’t come , I type but stop my thumb before I hit Send.
“You’re probably right.” Amy pulls the glass away and takes a drink. “Once I get started, I keep going, and since it’s still early, I’ll be passed out by eight.”
But I don’t say anything as she drones on. I stare at my phone, willing myself to hit the goddamn button. To tell Callum Ames that I don’t want him to escort me tonight, because that’s her place. That he means nothing more than a waste of my time.
All of this is a waste of time. I hate my hair. I don’t even have to look to feel every strand pulled off my neck and away from my face, pinned into a tidy, boring little bun at the back of my head. The matte lipstick allows me to feel every dry patch on my lips, and I almost tell Amy to give me the damn drink in order to dull the pain of that dress on the hanger behind me.
“Is everything okay?” Jenny, the stylist, asks.
I squeeze my phone in my lap, not in the mood to lie so I keep my mouth shut. I drop my eyes, staring at my screen and checking the volume again and my texts.
I don’t care about my hair. I’ve called, texted… She doesn’t answer. I go straight to voicemail every time, which means her phone is either off or I’m blocked.
I haven’t had the courage to check social media yet. I want to throw up, because I know she’s cut us off from each other there, too.
Not knowing is better right now.
My chest shakes, and I let out a quiet sob.
“Ladies.” Jenny pats my shoulders. “Let’s go get them some refreshments.”
The stylists leave, and I scroll through TikTok, seeing a video on Ruby’s account of the play last night. Liv stands center stage, Mercutio’s famous monologue hitting my heart like a brick. God, she can make you forget you’re watching a play. I hope she didn’t see me last night. My heart was in my throat the entire time.
Amy peers over my shoulder. “A few people are dragging her for her performance last night.”
“Bullshit.” Krisjen finishes her cocktail and checks herself in the mirror. “Word is, she nailed it. Lizbeth got snippy on Snapchat, some loaded comment about ‘someone’ stealing the show, but everyone knows who she’s talking about.”
I want to ask Krisjen if she’s seen her or talked to her. She’s at their house a lot lately.
“And of course, everyone sticks up for the underdog,” Amy adds, “doing that ‘hey, here’s me and my token lesbian friend to show I’m woke and have the higher moral ground with my self-important opinions about world issues.’”
God, shut up . I squeeze my fists, silently telling her to shut her mouth, but I won’t say it out loud, will I? Because I’m scared. I’m scared of that point of no return, but why? It’s costing me Liv.
It’s costing me everything.
Raising my eyes, I reach up and start unpinning my hair. I pull out the pins, the hairspray keeping it clumped together, but it falls down piece by piece until the entire work is undone.
“Hey,” I hear Krisjen say.
Amy rises next to me. “Clay, what are you doing?”
I take everything out, shaking my head to loosen the locks, lazy curls spilling around me as I unscrew the diamond studs my grandmother gave me to wear.
I’ll wear the dress. I’ll go to the ball. But that’s it.
“No!” someone shouts.
I startle.
“Now I said we aren’t expecting any deliveries,” Marnie snaps. “How did you get through the gate?”
Amy and Krisjen stand behind me, all of us with our eyes pinned toward the foyer, but whoever is at the door is out of sight.
But then a voice booms. “Clay Collins! Are you home?”
I bolt out of my chair, tightening my robe around me as I round the corner into the entryway and see Iron Jaeger standing at my door. He’s in his usual grease-smudged, white T-shirt with sweat shining across his forehead. He holds two large boxes.
“A little help?” he chides me, glaring at Marnie who won’t let him pass.
“Marnie, it’s okay.” I move forward and take a box off his load. “What is this?”
“Fuck if I know.” He barely takes three steps inside before he drops the other box on the floor in front of me. “You figure out the rest.”
Spinning around, he leaves, the door hanging open after him as I stand there holding the bag, so to speak.
“That was weird,” Amy says.
Did Liv send him? I look down at the box, Lavinia’s name engraved in lavender in the center of the large, white box. It’s taller than the other one, both of them different shapes.
“What is it?” Krisjen asks.
I kneel down to the floor and set it next to the one Iron dropped, opening his first.
Peeling back the lid, I spread open the tissue paper and see a white gown, the sleeveless bodice decorated with pearls and stunning blush pink orchids, the wires in the corset running vertical.
I hold it up, noticing the fabric on the torso is damn near see-through, except for the cups of the breasts, of course. The rest of the gown is adorned with a spiral of white birds sewn in down the legs to the feet, and it’s honestly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. The minimal petticoat is sewn in, so the wearer doesn’t have to deal with looking like a cupcake.
“What’s in the other one?” Krisjen asks.
I set the gown back in the box and push off the lid of the taller one, peering inside.
Something bubbles up in my chest, and I can’t help but smile.
“What’s all this?” my mom asks, coming into the room.
But I don’t answer. I reach inside and pull out the black top hat, a black silk ribbon adorned with a cluster of jewels on one side wrapped around the brim.
I’m dying to put it on.
Diving back into the box like a kid on Christmas, I find black pants, a white shirt, and a fitted jacket with tails. A black tie spills into my lap.
I laugh, hugging the tux to my body. What did she do?
“This is beautiful,” my mother says, examining the gown. “Who’s the tux for?
Me. Liv’s giving me a choice. I look between the dress and the suit. I can do what I’m told or do what I want.
I shake my head. I hurt her so badly. She deserves better.
She must’ve already had the clothes done and figured why waste them?
Because I was still blocked as of ten minutes ago.
I search the boxes but don’t see a note. Footfalls hit the floor behind me, and my mother rises.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
My father darts up to her, stops, and I look up at him as he looks down at me. “We’ll see you at the banquet hall, okay?” he tells me. And then he looks at her. “I need to talk to you now.”
“Not now.” She keeps her tone quiet, because everyone is listening, but she turns away from him and starts to leave.
But my dad pulls her back around and throws her over his shoulder.
I shoot to my feet, dropping the clothes. “Dad!”
“Ah, Jefferson!” my mom screeches. “Let me go!”
He carries her up the stairs, and I follow. “Dad?”
“Clay, the adults are talking now,” he fires back.
Someone snorts behind me, and my mom flails. “Ugh, you let me go!”
But my dad wraps his arms around her tighter. “Never.”
They disappear down the hall, and I jog after them, reaching their door just as it closes.
“How dare—” But my mom’s voice cuts off, and I lean my ear to the door, hearing muffled moaning and breathlessness.
I smile to myself and walk away, leaving them to it.
Heading back downstairs, I feel my body warm as I lay my eyes on the tux and top hat again. God, everyone will look at me.
But…
And then I pause, noticing the dress is gone. I look left to right and walk into the living room, seeing Amy spike another drink before she sips it.
“Where’s Krisjen?” I ask her. “And the dress?”
“No idea,” she says, drinking the glass half-down. “You didn’t want to wear it anyway, did you? This one’s much prettier.” And she points to the ugly one on the hanger I’d gotten weeks ago at Mimi’s.
No, I don’t want to wear it.
I’m not wearing a dress tonight.
I look over my shoulder at the tux and smile. And then I grab my phone and send the text to Callum.
