Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,5
voice cried from the fitting room entrance on the opposite side of the store. I glanced away from my dad to see my younger sister, Annabelle, standing there in an explosion of hot-pink satin and tulle trimmed with a wide swath of glittering crystals.
“What. Is. That?” I looked from Annabelle to our father and back. The crystals reflected the fluorescent light overhead, making me see spots, or perhaps I was having a stroke. Hard to say.
“It’s our dress!” Annabelle squealed. Then she twirled toward us. The long tulle skirt fanned out from the formfitting satin bodice, and Annabelle’s long dark curls streamed out around her. She looked like a demented fairy princess. “Do you love it or do you love it?”
“No, I don’t love it. It’s too pink, too poofy, and too much!” I cried. The seamstress glared at me, looking as if she were going to take some of the pins out of the pin cushion strapped to her wrist and come stab me a few hundred times. I lowered my voice a little. “Have you both gone insane? Seriously, what the hell is happening?”
Annabelle staggered to a stop. The spinning caused her to wobble a bit as she walked toward us, looking more like a drunk princess than a fey one.
“How can you be happy about this?” I snapped at her. I gestured to the dress. “Have you not known me for all of your twenty-seven years? How could you possibly think I would be okay with this?”
Annabelle grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. “By ‘this’ do you mean the dress or the whole wedding thing?”
“Of course I mean the whole wedding thing,” I growled. “Dad is clearly having some midlife crisis, and there’s you just going along with it. Honestly, Annabelle, can’t you recognize an emergency when we’re having one?”
Annabelle blinked at me, looking perplexed. “What emergency? Dad’s getting married. It’s awesome. Besides, I feel like I have a vested interest given that it was my auction that brought Dad and Sheri together.”
“Because you, like Dad, have gone completely nuts!” I declared. “Two weeks is not long enough to determine whether you should marry someone or not. My god, it takes longer to get a passport. What are you thinking supporting this craziness?”
“Chels, that’s not fair and you know it,” Dad said.
My expression must have been full-on angry bear, because he changed tack immediately, his expression softening.
“When did you stop letting love into your heart?” he asked. His voice was gentler, full of parental concern that pinched like shoes that were too small, but I ignored the hurt. He didn’t get to judge me when he was marrying a person he barely knew. “Is this really how you want to live your life, Chels, with no one special to share it with? Because I don’t.”
I turned back to the window, refusing to answer. With a sigh weighty with disappointment, he left. I watched his reflection in the glass grow smaller and smaller as he departed. I couldn’t remember the last time we had argued, leaving harsh words between us festering like a canker sore. Ever since Mom had died, the awareness of how precious life was had remained ever present, and we always, always, said I love you at the end of a conversation, even when we weren’t getting along.
I thought about running after him and saying I was sorry, that I was happy for him and Sheri, but it would be a lie, and I knew I wasn’t a good enough actress to pull it off. I just couldn’t make myself do it. Instead, I tossed back my second mimosa, because mimosas, unlike family, were always reliable.
chapter two
WAIT HERE,” ANNABELLE said. “I’m going to change and we’ll talk, okay?”
I didn’t answer. Without acknowledging my sister at all, I put my empty glass on a nearby table, walked out of the bridal salon, and went in the opposite direction my father had taken. It was a dick move—I knew that—but I was too emotionally gutted to talk to anyone right now.
The phone calls started shortly after that. Annabelle called twice. I didn’t answer. Annabelle texted three times. I didn’t read them. Annabelle tried to video chat with me. No, just no. I was too angry—nope, that wasn’t quite it. Bewildered? Close, but that wasn’t it either.
No, what I was feeling was something in the middle of all the swirling emotions. I couldn’t place it. When I tried, it felt like extracting a tapioca ball