But that’s exactly what I deserve, because I sure as hell don’t deserve her.
Twenty-Five
Love
* * *
Jude straightens his tie in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the hotel bathroom door and I shamelessly ogle him. Cameo’s big day is here—thank God—and after this, we can all move on with our lives.
“What?” he asks, meeting my reflection in the mirror. He’s wearing his tortoiseshell frames and his hair is slicked. He’s Fancy Jude today, but that’s perfectly fine because Cameo’s wedding is going to be “the grandest black-tie affair Sweet Water has ever known.” Her words.
“Don’t give me that. You know what,” I say, biting the tip of my tongue. “I’d jump you right now, but I can’t ruin my hair or Cameo will strangle me with her borrowed-and-blue garter belt.”
Heading to the vanity, I steal a final spritz of perfume before rising on my toes and lightly kissing his cheek. Can’t mess up my hair, can’t mess up my makeup. The only reason I had to run back to the hotel was because in the chaotic rush of trying to make my hair, makeup, and nail appointments this morning, I forgot my phone charger.
“Can I be a total dog and say you look hot?” he asks. “I could say ravishing or something stupid like that, but I kind of feel like calling it like I see it today.”
I smirk. “Wedding starts at two. United Church on 2nd Street.”
“I’ll be the guy in the back row who can’t take his eyes off you.”
“Cheeeeeesy,” I sing-song to him, trying not to laugh at his horrible one-liner. It’s only then that I notice how sore my cheeks are. I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary this week with my face … that I can think of … although I have been smiling much more than usual lately.
Yeah.
That’s it.
“Love, there you are,” Cameo says when I arrive in the Sunday school room turned bridal party dressing room at the church, her voice sugar sweet. She’s missing that crazy look that’s been permanently etched in her hazel eyes all week. I don’t know if she’s on something or if her stress level is on its way back down since the end of all the wedding madness is in sight, but I won’t question it another second.
Mom turns toward me, slowly smiling, her eyes unfocused. She’s lit. I wonder how much Xanax she took this morning.
Cameo waves me closer. “Mom’s doing my buttons, but I think they’re crooked.”
“Turn around.” I examine the back of her dress, which is absolutely a hot mess of the bridal variety.
This morning started out with a light rain that cleared out just as we were headed to the nail salon, and just before lunch, Cameo’s future stepdaughters, Tessa and Tiffin, informed the family they would not be attending today’s nuptials. I don’t blame them. Their father is getting married and Cameo made them guestbook attendees. She’s never said so, but I think it was her way of being petty for all those times his daughters caused drama in their relationship.
Not my circus, not my monkeys.
I work the buttons as quickly as I can, undoing at least thirty of them before redoing them all.
“Where’s the rest of the party?” I ask, wondering where the hell her so-called bridesmaids are. I know Cameo is difficult sometimes and she’s one of those people you have to take in small doses, but her “friends” shouldn’t have agreed to be in her wedding if they were just going to flake off the whole time.
I know Cameo is flawed and it’s hard to be around her more than twenty minutes at a time without wanting to claw your eyes out, but at least she wears all her imperfections on the outside where we can see them, because most of us don’t have that kind of courage.
Cameo forces a smile, but her glassy eyes say it all, reminding me that deep down under all that mascara and nail polish, she has a soul, she has feelings. “They’re around here somewhere, I’m sure.”
“There,” I say a few minutes later. “Perfect.”
Standing behind her, our eyes meet in her reflection. Cameo says nothing, just stares at herself. And as well as I know her, I can’t even begin to guess what’s going through her mind.
“You doing okay?” I ask.
“You asking me or Mom?” She points to our mother in the corner, passed out in one of the chairs, snoring. “Think she’s still going to walk me down the aisle?”
Checking the clock on the wall, I realize the wedding starts in fifteen minutes.
“I’m sure Jude would do it?” I volunteer him.
Cameo shakes her head. “That’d be weird.”
“Yeah. It would be. But I know he’d do it if you needed him to.”
“He seems like a nice guy.” Her compliment is breathy, like she’s resolved to be happy for me. “You’re happier with him than you ever were with Hunter.”
My eyes widen. “Don’t say that name on your wedding day. It’s bad luck.”
My sister laughs.
She draws in a deep breath, her bare shoulders caving in as she slumps forward. “This dress is so heavy. I’ve only been in it an hour and already my back is killing me.”
“Just wait until you have to dance in that thing,” I say, not that I speak from experience. My wedding to Hunter took place in a park, with hand-picked wild flowers and a simple white dress I found on clearance at Nordstrom Rack for eighty dollars. We were dirt poor but we were crazy in love. The wedding was all about us, not all the pomp and circumstance.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m changing into another dress for the reception,” she says, waving her hand and scoffing. “That’s what people do, you know, at real weddings.”
Aaand she’s back.
“Of course you are,” I say. “I think someone just knocked?”
Grabbing the door, I spot one of the groomsmen standing with a little Tiffany box in his hand. He must be pushing sixty, but he’s got this sexy, George Clooney charisma about him. I’m pretty sure his name is Greg, and I’m pretty sure he’s the one Jude said disappeared in the middle of the bachelor party Thursday night with some blonde he met at one of the gentleman’s clubs they attended.
“A gift for the bride from the groom,” he says.
“Thank you.”
Shutting the door, I bring the little box to my sister, who yanks the white ribbon like she can’t wait a single second more. Unclasping the box inside, she feasts her eyes on a platinum necklace engraved with her new initials in cursive.
Placing her hand over her heart, she turns to give me a closer look. “Isn’t it gorgeous? He’s the best.”
I get it now: Cameo’s love language is gifts, and so is Bob’s.
And so was Hunter’s.
Mine has always been quality time.
My sister is beaming now. Her quietude morphing into excitement that I can only hope is genuine. She’s such a closed book sometimes …
Three rapid knocks precede the wedding coordinator busting into the room. “All right, it’s time. The rest of your girls are already out there waiting.”
She’s all smiles, and I try to imagine how anyone would actually want to do something like this for a living, but clearly she enjoys it because she still has a full head of hair.