An (Almost) Perfect Love Story (Love Story Book Three) Page 14

  “Why are you letting Mom plan everything?”

  I squirmed a little, feeling uncomfortable for some reason. “She isn’t planning everything.”

  Allison snorted. “Yeah. Right. Between her and this wedding planner they seem to have the entire thing under control. Do you have a single opinion about this wedding?”

  “What the hell, Allison?” I snapped, jumping up. “Why do you care?”

  “I’m just worried about you,” she said, her voice even, despite my outburst. “You’ve been dreaming of your wedding since we were little kids. Seriously, you made poor Barbie marry Ken more than a hundred times. She must have been exhausted.”

  She winked at me, reminding me suddenly of our mother, but I didn’t crack a smile at her joke. “What do you want from me, Al?”

  She shook her head. “You’re a bit bitchy tonight, aren’t you?” I gaped at her, furious, but she went on. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. It seems to me there must be a pretty damn good reason for you to be so ambivalent about your own wedding.”

  My shoulders sagged, and I felt a sudden rush of exhaustion. “It’s fine, Allison. The wedding is going to be beautiful. Jen is great, and you know Mom has excellent taste. I just have a lot going on. It seems easier to leave it to them, okay?”

  She looked at me for a long moment without saying a word. Finally she sighed. “If you say so.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I woke up with a pounding head the next morning. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the martinis or if my body was rebelling over what I had to do that day.

  “You look awfully excited for this,” Emily said, when I joined her in the kitchen.

  “Oh, yeah, just the way I want to spend my Saturday.” I turned on the coffee maker, wishing I had thought to program it the night before. I needed caffeine, badly.

  “It wont be bad,” Emily said bracingly. “It might even be fun.”

  I stopped what I was doing to turn and stare at her. “Really, Em? You think any part of this might be fun? What sounds the most fun to you: my mother being bossy and picky? Amy being a brat because she has to spend the day with us? Or Allison picking fights with my mom, just because she can?”

  Emily shook her head. “Wow, Ash. You really know how to talk up an obligatory outing.”

  “I’m sorry.” I slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m just tired.”

  “Try to be positive. Allison seemed really happy to be home last night.”

  “She did, didn’t she?” I asked, brightening slightly. “Maybe she’ll go easy on Mom for once.”

  “I thought you were pretty upset with Amber yourself,” Emily said. It sounded like she was choosing her words carefully.

  “I am,” I said, wishing I hadn’t mentioned it. “But that’s different. Ally picks on her for stupid stuff. I just wish…I don’t know. I just hope we get through the day.”

  “We will, babe,” Emily said. “Try not to worry. It will be fine.”

  * * *

  The day did start out fine. We met first for lunch at a local Panera. “I figured this way you girls could get a salad,” my mom said, smiling at my sisters and Emily. “Probably be better for our figures when we’re about to try on dresses.” She gave a little twinkly laugh. Inwardly, I sighed. So she was going to pretend to be just one of the girls today—I was used to it. She had won over countless friends of her daughters that way over the years.

  I caught Allison rolling her eyes and suppressed a laugh when she ordered a large order of creamy mac and cheese instead of a salad. “And chips, too,” she told the lady at the register. “And the biggest pop you have.”

  To her credit, my mother didn’t comment. In fact, as we settled down to eat, I got the sense that she was treading wearily where her oldest daughter was concerned. I wondered if Mom was feeling slightly defensive about her actions. She knew Allison was staying with Dad. It probably grated on her, to give Ally of all people a reason to judge her.

  Amy, on the other hand, was her usual self. “How long do you think this will be, Ashley? I need to be back at school no later than seven to get ready.”

  “Do you have big plans tonight, Amy?” Emily asked, trying to be nice.

  “Oh, yeah,” Amy said, puffing up a bit at the attention. “My sorority is hosting a formal. It’s a huge deal, you know. I’m on the music committee.” She glared at me. “I can’t believe I’m not up there helping right now.”

  “Wait a second,” Allison said, narrowing her eyes. “Did you just say sorority?”

  “Please not again,” Amy said, sighing. “Just stop being so judgmental, okay, Al? There is nothing wrong with joining a sorority.”

  Allison looked like she was begging to differ, but I grabbed her hand under the table. “Please drop it,” I pleaded. “We haven’t even made it to the store yet.”

  Allison clamped her mouth shut, though she didn’t seem too happy about it. I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

  “Ashley,” my mother called from the other end of the table. “I was talking to Jennifer yesterday, and she mentioned that you hadn’t signed off on the color choices yet.”

  I groaned inwardly. Jen had sent me several swatches the previous week. I was supposed to be choosing the combination of colors I wanted for the wedding and reception. Of course, I hadn’t done so yet. I was trying to figure out the nicest way to tell her that I didn’t like any of the colors.

  “I’m having trouble deciding, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice bright. I didn’t want Allison picking up on a negative tone—she’d never let me hear the end of it if she knew how angry I’d been at our mother. Knowing her, she’d probably want to lecture me on her proven methods for the best ways to irritate Amber Phillips when one wanted to retaliate.

  “You need to get a move on, dear.” She took a compact out of her purse and peered at herself for a moment, fluffing out her perfectly coiffed bob. “What if we pick a dress today and they don’t have it in the shade you decide on? It will have all been a waste of time.”

  “It better not be,” Amy said, narrowing her eyes at me. “I better not have driven all the way here just to waste my time—”

  “Give it a rest, Amy.” Allison glared at her. “Can’t you just be here for your sister for once?”

  Amy crossed her arms. “Whatever. Like you’re one to talk, Allison. Where do you live again?”

  “Enough, please,” my mom said, the kind of edge in her voice that made people automatically pay attention, the kind that said you’d be a fool to argue. I had lived in fear of that edge for most of my life.

  “So what colors are you choosing between?” Emily asked politely. I felt bad for her and Ryan, stuck in the middle of our family drama. She was handling it like a pro though, steering the conversation to calmer waters.

  “We’re looking at shades of pink and mauve,” my mother said before I could open my mouth. “Though if Ashley can’t make up her mind, who knows.”

  I could see Allison looking at me, so I changed the subject. “Jen said we shouldn’t feel like everyone needs the same dress. She said it’s very common now-a-days for the bridal party to look uniform in style, color, and fabric, but with different cuts to suit everyone.”

  “We’ll see,” my mother said, her tone clearly indicating she thought Jen was dead wrong.

  “You’re going to insist on us all wearing the same thing, aren’t you?” Allison asked, looking annoyed.

  “Well, I just don’t know why you wouldn’t,” Mom said. “I can see where Jen is coming from, if you have a bridal party with lots of different figures. But all three of you girls are lovely and slender.”

  Allison opened her mouth, probably to argue, but I was saved by Ryan who deftly stepped in to question my mother on her opinion of sweetheart necklines versus halter. He kept up an idle chatter with her throughout the rest of the meal. I would have to thank him later.

  Once everyone was finished eating and ready to head to the bridal boutique,
I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the tension would decrease somewhat once we got underway with the actual dress search.

  And maybe I’ll win the next lotto jackpot, and Chris and I can retire to a private island, I thought to myself as I followed the rest of the group out to the parking lot.

  * * *

  It became evident very early in the appointment that my mother had already decided on the color. Every time one of the girls would come out in a style that we liked, she would ask the consultant if it came in something she called flower petal, but which looked like plain old bubblegum pink to me. After her fifth turn looking like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, I was pretty sure Allison was going to blow a gasket.

  “Mom, I’m not sure that’s exactly the shade I had in mind,” I said, once Ally had stomped back to the dressing room to change.

  “Don’t be silly, dear,” my mother said, waving her hand dismissively in my direction. “You love pink.”

  “I do like pink,” I said, trying to keep my temper in check. “But this shade is so light and…girly. It seems a little immature to me.”

  My mother gave me a sharp glance. “Pastels are completely appropriate for a wedding.”

  I sighed. “I know that, Mother. But there are nicer shades of pink.” I looked over at the rack the consultant had brought out for us. Hues of watermelon, coral, even fuchsia caught my eye. Would it kill her to put the girls in something even slightly interesting?

  “Ashley, if you would have picked a color last week, like you were asked to do, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  I felt my neck flush. She had a point. It was my own fault for not making a decision when I had the chance.

  “She’s telling you now, Mom.”

  I looked up, surprised to see Allison had come back out of her dressing room and was watching us. I had thought we were alone.

  “Yes, but, Allison, this is a decision that should have been made—”

  “What difference does it make? She’s telling you right now that she doesn’t like…this.” Allison looked down in disgust at the frothy pink skirt she was wearing.

  My mother’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond. The consultant was now hovering near Allison, clearly trying to decide whom she should be aligning herself with. Allison turned to me and held out her hand.

  “Why don’t you pick some dresses,” she said. I paused for a moment, feeling, for some inexplicable reason, a prickle of fear. It would be easier, surely, to just go along with my mom’s choice. Like she said, I did like pink. And the color did look appropriate for a wedding. What was more bridal than pastels?

  But then I met Allison’s eyes. There was something in her gaze, something in her expression that made me feel brave.

  “Come on, Ash,” she urged, still holding out her hand. “It won’t hurt to look.”

  “You’re right,” I heard myself say. “Let’s try something different.”

  I could feel my mother’s irritation radiating from her position on the couch for the rest of the appointment, but I tried not to let it get to me. I found that once I took a more active role, it was actually a lot of fun to shop for dresses for the girls. And what could my mother do, once I had started to speak out? The combined force of myself, Allison, Emily, and Ryan was too great for her to overcome with pointed glances and disapproving, raised eyebrows, things that surely would have broken me down in no time had it been just the two of us. She would have had to resort to actual arguing if she wanted to get her way. She might have broken her cardinal rule about fighting in public had it just been my sisters and me. But against Ryan’s and Emily’s enthusiasm—even the consultant loved my choices—she was trapped.

  By the end of the appointment, we had picked four different styles, one for each of the girls, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. They were all cut just above the knee, which was in itself a victory, as I’m sure my mom wanted them in long dresses. “It’s a formal wedding,” she said. Was I imagining it, or was she struggling to keep her voice under control. I felt a stab of unease at her obvious anger, but Ryan saved the day once again.

  “This dupioni silk has a very formal feel,” he assured her. “And you can’t find a more stylish cut or better quality materials than a Watters dress. They really are top of the line as far as bridal design goes, Amber.”

  I smiled to myself, knowing she couldn’t argue with Ryan’s expertise when it came to fashion.

  “Do you really like that color, Ryan?” she asked, her voice almost pleading.

  I had decided on something the consultant called Amber Rose. It was a deep shade of peachy-pink, almost coral but darker. I loved how rich it was, particularly the way that richness contrasted with the almost distressed texture of the silk.

  Ryan ignored her tone. “I do, I really do. I think it looks classy and mature. Very appropriate for the event.”

  I could have kissed him.

  As we filled out the forms to place our order, Allison caught my eye. “Well done,” she mouthed, smiling.

  I just grinned back. I wasn’t sure why exactly, but I felt better about the wedding than I had in weeks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You can do this, Ashley. I want you to visualize, concentrate, and then explode from your thigh muscles. Ready to try?”

  I stared at the box in front of me, before looking back at Tate. “Are you crazy?”

  He grinned. “Nope. I have faith. Just give it a try.”

  I returned my attention to the box, frowning. I knew it was only twenty inches from the ground, but it looked impossibly high. “Can I see you do it again?” I asked.

  “Sure.” Tate squeezed past me, and I couldn’t help but notice he moved much closer than strictly necessary. I mean, there was plenty of room between the box and me for him to get past without him needing to touch my arms quite so much. Or for so long.

  “Okay,” he said, releasing my arm and getting into position. “Watch my form. See how I’m in a nice deep squat here? That will help me to power from my legs. Feet are shoulder width apart. My core is engaged. I concentrate and then…”

  He jumped quickly, his motion fluid, to land on the top of the box in a perfectly poised squat. “Easy.” He grinned down at me.

  “Yeah, you’ve only got like, six inches on me,” I muttered.

  He laughed as he jumped down from his perch, landing easily next to me. “Just try.”

  I moved into a squat pose the way he had shown me, and he came behind me, correcting my form. I felt his hands linger, once again, on my shoulders. Already warm from a grueling class, I felt my cheeks flush even more, but ordered myself not to think about it. Some people are just more touchy-feely, I thought. And I was about to be getting pretty touchy-feely with the floor in front of me if I didn’t concentrate on my jump.

  I took a deep breath, visualizing, as Tate had said. I could see myself jump, landing comfortably on the box. Easy.

  “Think about the power in your legs,” he said, his voice soft.

  I took another breath and leapt, watching, as if in slow motion, as the box came closer…closer…

  I fell. The momentum from the jump pushed my knees into the edge of the box. “Ow!” I cried, sprawling on my ass on the gym floor. “That really hurt!”

  Ryan was by my side in no time. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I missed,” I muttered, pulling myself into a sitting position.

  “You did great though,” Tate said eagerly, crouching next to me and pulling up the hem of my yoga pants so he could inspect my knees. “You were really close.”

  “Yeah. Close.” I looked down and saw blood trickling from a scrape on my right knee. Ryan gasped. “Great.”

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” Tate said. “We’ll get you up and walking in a minute to see how it feels.”

  “It feels like I just fell into the sharp edge of a box,” I said. Tate laughed.

  “You have a good attitude, Ash. Laugh it off. I’m gonna go get you
some towels and ice.”

  After he’d gone, Ryan turned to me. “Ash? He’s calling you Ash now?”

  I shrugged. “All my friends call me Ash.”

  “And you’re counting the hot trainer as a friend now? Does your fiancé know about this?”

  “Give me a break, Ryan,” I said. “Do you honestly think a guy like that would have any interest in me?”

  “Why not?” he asked, sounding outraged. “You’re a catch!”

  I laughed and wrapped a sweaty arm around him. “Oh, Ryan. You sure know how to make a girl feel good.”

  “Yeah, just don’t be thinking that Tate could do the same,” he said. I was saved having to reply by the trainer’s return.

  “Let’s get you fixed up,” he said, brandishing gauze and ice packs in my direction.

  After my knees were properly bandaged, Tate had me walk around the gym a bit to make sure nothing was injured. “Just a surface wound,” he said approvingly when I reported back that it felt fine. “We’ll go easy on you for the rest of the night. Why don’t you hit the free weights? Work on the upper-body rotation.”

  Ryan went with me, claiming he’d had enough of the Krav Maga stuff he’d been working on over on the other side of the gym. I had a feeling he was just hoping to prevent Tate from coming over to give me one-on-one instruction. It was cute for him to be concerned—as if I would ever do anything to jeopardize what I had with Chris.

  Tate had set up a series of picture cards around the free weights so his clients could go through the routine on their own. It was one of my favorite rotations at the gym—just the weights and me. Ryan and I had been going to the gym for months now and had actually signed up for a second session of the boot camp when our class was done, but I was still constantly surprised at how much I enjoyed pushing myself. I had always been too clumsy and awkward to enjoy sports growing up, and it was very liberating to find there were so many things I could do here at the gym. Even if a box jump wasn’t one of them.

  “So, how’s your mom reacting to our little takeover of the bridesmaid dress selection?” Ryan asked.