“MARIE!”
“MOM!”
“I was working!” Marie argues back. She pointedly walks to the kitchen table and shuffles more papers, mumbling something to herself about the tents and the weather forecast.
“Garters,” Declan says, still drooling.
Shannon walks over to him and presses up on his chin, rolling her eyes.
Mr. MacNevin looks to Hamish with a conspirator’s stare. “Are they all like this?”
“Like what?”
“So...American.”
“Aye.”
The two sigh and make a weird grumpy sound in the back of their throats.
A warm flush starts at the hollow of my throat, and not because the seamstress has moved on to me. She hands me my dress and I go into the changing room with her at my heels. We’re trying everything on, so I have to add the many layers of underclothes, the corset, and finally the dress and sash.
“Amanda,” the seamstress, Holly, says, huffing and puffing as she tightens the corset. “You have more cleavage than Dolly Parton.”
I look down. I don’t have to look far, because my chin brushes against the top of my boobs.
“Can you loosen it?”
“The corset, yes.” Holly is not much older than me, with slim, surgeon’s hands that move fast. “Are you fine with that? Most American women hate not wearing a bra, even a strapless one.”
“No problem.”
“But your dress buttons won’t budge. They’re as far out as can go.”
I take a deep breath and nearly smother myself with these airbags that double as breasts.
“I will pass out before the ceremony starts.”
She tugs on her long, brown braid, looking at me from various angles. “We could try Velcro.”
“Velcro?”
Holly’s eyes dart about the room like were talking about meth. Marie won’t be happy with Velcro. “Yeah. Velcro. Just don’t say a word to the crazy wench, and—”
“Is that your name for Marie?”
She snorts. “MacNevin’s name for her is far, far worse.” She gets back to the matter at hand, touching this and tugging that. “I can buy you another inch or two with some well-placed buttons and a few changes. Can hide it so no one else notices. What do you say?”
“It’s Velcro or death by asphyxiation.”
She stares at me like that’s not an answer.
“Um, Velcro, of course. There’s no other choice.”
“No. There is. You’d be surprised how many mothers of the bride insist on possible asphyxiation as a perfectly acceptable plan.”
And with that, she helps me out of the entire contraption, giving me privacy to change back into my street clothes, then wander back into the main room. Holly guides me back to our spot, where she makes some small adjustments with a sash over my shoulder.
Marie is the queen at court.
“Amanda, did you order extra chairs and those shade sails for the sides of the seating areas? With a thousand guests outdoors, it’s going to be—”
Andrew interrupts Marie with a sharp word. “Outdoors?”
Either she ignores him, or doesn’t hear him. You can never tell the difference with Marie. “—a logistical nightmare making sure everything is—”
Without caring that he’s upended the poor tailor’s assistant by moving swiftly across the room to get in Marie’s face, Andrew bends down in a curled stature, towering over Marie, who slowly tips her head up like she’s realizing she’s in danger from a beast she hasn’t noticed before.
“Yes?” she squeaks.
“Did you say the wedding is outdoors?”
“Yes?” Her voice goes up like a question.
“I thought the actual wedding was at the same church where Mom and Dad married. Where we practiced.” His nostrils flare and his face goes blank in a manner that makes my skin start to crawl. “And then an outdoor, evening reception.”
Marie’s eyes dart to Shannon, who is watching the exchange while chewing on her thumbnail. Declan is in a small room, off to the side, being fitted for some part of the garment that requires privacy.
“Um, we moved it?” Marie’s entire face lifts up, like she’s asking permission. “There is some parade and festival in that part of the city, and when we looked at the calendar and—”
“No one told me.” Andrew’s words silence the room. I’m not about to open my mouth right now and mention that if he’d paid a smidge of attention at the rehearsal, he’d have known.
Just then, Declan walks in. An uncharacteristic expression of panic flitters across his face like a ghost.
“What’s going on?”
“Outdoor wedding?” Andrew snaps.
Declan’s eyebrows drop and those green eyes turn dark as he looks at Marie. “You didn’t tell him?”
“You didn’t tell him?” she cries back. She turns to Andrew. “But you were at the rehearsal! We were talking about the outdoor logistics, and—”
“No one told me!” Andrew roars. He reaches down and tries to unbuckle the complex series of straps and fabric that is cinched about his waist. I see a pin fall and he flinches, a streak of blood on his arm. He then finally rips the entire thing off in a spectacular display of physical self-abuse, revealing bicycle shorts underneath. Gasping with anger, he stands there wearing a white, molded t-shirt, black shorts, and a look of outrage so clear it feels like he’s a different person.
He looks at Terry, who is watching the display with the kind of dispassionate observation only an older sibling can have, and says coldly, “You can be best man. I’m done.”