Authors: Tamara Summers
We have cupcakes for dinner that night, because Mom is too upset to cook. We also have cup-cakes for breakfast the next morning, because Mom and Dad are too busy fighting with Paris to stop us.
“This is a great idea,” I say, selecting my fourth cupcake from the box—this one vanilla with lavender icing.
“I agree,” Sofia says, although she’s only on her second. We are still in our pajamas; hers are cute and matching, blue with little suns all over them, while mine are a pair of flannel pants and a tank top. My bare feet swing against the bars of the tall stools around the kitchen island,
where we are hiding from the hollering in the living room.
“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?” my dad shouts in the background. “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW THIS GUY!”
“I know I
love
him!” Paris screams back.
“Well, I hope you’re not expecting us to pay for this baloney!” Dad yells.
“I’m not ASKING YOU TO!” Paris hollers.
“We don’t need MONEY because we have LOVE!”
“Does it have to be this summer?” Mom pleads. “You know your father and I have been planning a research trip to Costa Rica in July.”
“WHAT’S MORE IMPORTANT?” Paris bellows. “YOUR DAUGHTER’S HAPPINESS OR STUPID, STUPID COSTA RICA?”
“At least stupid, stupid Costa Rica keeps food on the table!” my dad bellows back.
This is pretty much the same argument they’ve been having since we got home yesterday.
“You know what’s so great about this idea?”
I say, waving my cupcake at Sofia. “The fact that we’re getting fitted for our bridesmaid dresses this afternoon. I can’t think of anything that could prepare us better for that ordeal than eating eight cupcakes in a row.”
“Eight?” Sofia says admiringly. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Is that a dare?” I ask. “What’ll you give me if I do it?”
Sofia taps her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, let’s see…okay, if you really eat eight cupcakes right now, I’ll take charge of planning Paris’s bachelorette party.”
“Seriously? But what if Mom and Dad win and Paris doesn’t get married?”
My sister laughs. “Jack, when do Mom and Dad ever win a fight with Paris?”
Good point. And the last thing I want to do is plan Paris’s bachelorette party. Shudder. I stuff the rest of the cupcake in my mouth and grab four more.
Half an hour later, Mom wants to know why I don’t want pizza for lunch. Also, why
I’m lying on the floor of the den clutching my stomach.
“I think she’s full,” Sofia says innocently from the couch. “We had a big breakfast.”
“Well, I hope so,” Mom says. “Don’t forget we have the dress fittings today. I hope you’re not starving yourself for that, because that would be very unhealthy, and I don’t want you complaining that you’re hungry in the middle of the appointment.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t,” I mumble into the carpet. Our Irish setter, Dublin, trots over and starts trying to lick off my face, but I don’t have the strength to push him away. I feel like I’ve eaten lead weights instead of cupcakes.
“Girls?” Mom calls from the kitchen. “What happened to all the cupcakes? Wasn’t there another box of them?”
Sofia and I dissolve into giggles. Paris flounces into the room and throws herself down on the couch beside Sofia.
“What’s so funny?” she demands.
“Nothing,” Sofia says.
I roll over and smile sweetly up at Paris. “Sofia has volunteered to plan your bachelorette party,” I say. “She’s SO excited about it.”
“Oh my gosh!” Paris shrieks at top volume.
“That’s awesome! Sofia, you’re the best!” She throws her arms around Sofia, who gives me a death glare over Paris’s shoulder. “This is going to be the best bachelorette party ever! I’m so glad you guys are supporting me—I’m glad SOMEBODY is,” Paris announces loudly.
“Maybe later I can tell you some of my ideas for the party, Sofia. There’s only, like, ten people I want to invite, but they’re all REALLY important so we just have to work out our schedules so that EVERY SINGLE ONE of them can be there. Okay? Awesome! I can’t wait!”
She leaps up again and bounds out of the room. Sofia raises an eyebrow at me.
I pat my stomach contentedly. “Toooootally worth it.”
Esme, the woman at the bridal shop who is adjusting all our bridesmaid dresses, is Not
Pleased to hear that one of the bridesmaids has been replaced. Yes, that’s right—Vicky went home and immediately picked another one of her friends to replace Paris. Kelly is pale and quiet, and I have a feeling Vicky chose her only because she’s the same size as Paris, so the dress wouldn’t need much adjusting. Still, Esme is Not Pleased.
“And you,” she says, poking my stomach, “what you been eating?”
“Cupcakes,” I say with a straight face. “Lots and lots of cupcakes.”
“This is not joke,” she says, wagging her finger in my face. “No more eating until wedding.” Sofia gives me a scandalized look. Esme is lucky my mom is in the other back room with Vicky and Lucille, or she’d be getting the patented Kathy Finnegan eating-disorder talk. Trust me, none of the girls in my family will ever have a problem with eating, if only because none of us wants to hear that lecture ever again.
“I start with you,” Esme says to Sydney.
“Dress should fit you perfect. I hope you all
bring shoes!” She sweeps my second-oldest sister behind a curtain to strip and measure her.
Alex sighs and snaps open her briefcase, pulling out some files. Sofia retrieves
Pride and Prejudice
from her purse, which she is reading for about the tenth time. I know I should be studying
Catcher in the Rye
for the final in two weeks, but instead I let my gaze wander around the dress store. There are two other brides out in the front room, on the other side of the half-drawn curtain from us, each with a cluster of people around them giving opinions. One of them, with frizzy red hair, is trying on a perfectly hideous ballgown style that makes her look like a marshmallow on steroids. Carolina Trapelo sweeps in the front door.
“Hello, darling Finnegans,” she says to all of us, dropping air kisses over our heads and patting me on the cheek. “Is the beautiful bride here?”
“Vicky’s in the back with Mom,” Sofia says, pointing. “They’re trying to pick out a veil.”
“A veil, tsh!” Carolina says. “It’s perfectly
clear that for Victoria, a flower headdress is the only way to go. Jack, dear, would you please pick out the most flowery tiaras you can find from the front display and bring them back to us? I’ll see how your mother’s doing.”
She sweeps away, and I obediently get up to go pick out tiaras. I like Carolina, and she has yet to give me anything really annoying to do.
And then, as I step toward the tiara display, all of a sudden…I see him.
Yes,
him
.
He has no yo-yo today. He’s sitting on a bench in the corner, right beside the tiara display, reading something. As I get closer I can see that it’s a graphic novel, and my heart goes pitter-pat. Not that I’d be turned off if he was reading
Ulysses
or whatever, but I love comic books. Not in a collect-’em-all, buy-the-figurines, original-packaging-don’t-touch kind of way. I just like reading them.
He’s also not wearing his sunglasses, so I can see that his eyes are green and even nicer than Clive Owen’s.
See, now I don’t have a choice. I
have
to go over there. I
have
to stand about four feet away from him. It’s my duty as a bridesmaid. And I am a
very
dutiful bridesmaid.
The tiaras are arranged on long shelves against the wall. I put on a studious expression, but I’m not really looking at them. I’m trying to figure out if he’s looking at me, and I have a weird feeling that he is.
Suddenly a horrible thought hits me. What is he doing in a bridal store? What would any guy be doing in a bridal store? Does he have a weird wedding-dress fetish or something? Or…surely he’s not getting married. I sneak a peek at him. He looks no older than eighteen, but looks can be deceiving.
Oh, God, I hope he’s not marrying marshmallow girl,
I think despairingly. Maybe he’s just her brother or something. Most brides wouldn’t drag their grooms along to look for dresses, right? This girl might, though. She looks pretty crazy.
“Hey.”
When he speaks, I’m so startled, I actually
turn around to see if it’s someone behind me before I realize it’s him talking. He has a very cute smile.
“Hey,” I say back. He just keeps smiling at me. “Um,” I add, “come here often?”
“You’d be surprised,” he says. Hmm. That’s worrying. Maybe my fetish theory is right. “How about you?” he asks.
“Unfortunately, yeah, pretty often,” I say.
“Ah,” he says knowingly. “So how many times have you been married?”
“Ha ha,” I say. “Only twice, sheesh.”
That throws him for a second. He tilts his head at me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, really rich old guys, but they both died,” I say, widening my eyes, “under mysterious circumstances. Weird, huh?”
He grins again. “You almost had me for a minute.”
I
wish
I had you!
This guy might even be worth breaking my vow for. Maybe I can do it if I keep him far, far away from all the wedding craziness. “Man, how old do you think I am?” I ask.
“Not that old,” he says. “Like, definitely no older than thirty.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You know, most guys at least tell me their names before insulting me.”
“Leo,” he says, holding out his hand.
Oh my God, I’m going to touch his hand!
I shake it, trying to stop myself from smiling so much.
Oh my God, I’M TOUCHING HIS HAND!
“I’m Jack,” I say. “My sister’s getting married.” I gesture to the back, hoping that he’ll be like, “Oh, yeah, mine too.”
Instead he says, “Are you one of her bridesmaids?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “This is time number three.”
“For your sister?”
“For me,” I say, laughing. “I mean, third sister to get married, third wedding I have to be a bridesmaid in.”
“Have to be?” he echoes. “Don’t you like it?”
“Sure,” I say. “Especially the fantastic dresses. Or wait, maybe it’s running crazy errands for
my sisters for months, like ‘Trim these calla lily stems to exactly nine inches long—EXACTLY,’ or ‘Go buy me a new inkjet printer cartridge and five yards of burgundy ribbon right this instant.’ Or having them freak out at me on the big day—that’s fun, too.”
“Wow,” he says. “That’s specific. I guess you’ve been doing this awhile.”
“And then there’s number four, our most crazy sister, at the end of the summer. We’re really looking forward to that.”
“Ohhh,” he says. “You must be one of the Finnegans.”
I stare at him. How on earth has the Hottest Guy in the Universe heard of my ridiculous family? Even if he reads travel books for fun or something, that doesn’t seem to be what tipped him off.
“Jack, darling,” Carolina trills, bustling up.
“Did you find any flower tiaras? Oh, I see you’ve met my son Leo.”
Leo winks at me, and my heart sinks. He’s the wedding planner’s son?
Then there’s no way I can keep him away from my family’s wedding insanity. Which means, no way I can date him. If I try, the Wedding Curse will strike, something terrible will happen, and he’ll get scared off anyway.
“Leo’s helping me this summer, which is going to be a busy one for your family.” Carolina wags her finger at me. “Paris called me last night, and luckily I’m available for the weekend she wants. She has a lot of ideas, that one!”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” I say wryly.
“But right now the focus is Victoria,” Carolina says, clapping her hands. I like that she says that. Victoria’s not my favorite sister these days, either, but I still think she deserves to be the star of her own wedding. “Which tiara do you think, Jack? I’m trying to stop her from choosing the most hideous veil.”
“Oh—I don’t know,” I say, looking at the shelf again. Just then we all hear Lucille screeching from behind one of the curtains.
Something about looking like a whale in her dress.
“I’ll help Jack, Mom,” Leo says, standing up.
“Sounds like you’ve got a situation.”
“Dear dear dear,” Carolina says, bustling away again.
“Whew,” I say. “I don’t envy your mom. I’d hate to be a wedding planner.”
“I think it’s kind of fun,” Leo says. “But she’s paying me for this. I’d probably find it less fun if I had to do it for free.”
“Shyeah,” I say. I’m feeling a bit less witty now that he’s standing literally inches away from me. His arm is practically brushing mine. He’s looking at the shelves of tiaras with intense interest, but I wonder if he’s noticed how close we’re standing.
“So tell me about Victoria,” Leo says. “What kind of wedding is she having?”
“The key word is flowers,” I say. “And the other key word is Renaissance festival.”
“Yeeee, really?” Leo says. “I mean, ahem, sorry, professional face: That sounds SO lovely.
I’m sure it’s going to be the most BEAUTIFUL day.”
I giggle. “Think lace and pastel colors and Celtic harps, and you’ll be on the right track.”
“All right,” he says. “Maybe…this one?” He pulls out a tiara that’s got silver daisies woven along it. It’s totally perfect.
“Wow—yeah, that’s really Vicky,” I say admiringly.
“Try these two as well,” he says, taking down two more that have flower motifs. “But she might want to skip the veil/tiara thing altogether and just wear flowers in her hair. I’ve seen a couple of brides do that, and it sounds like it would match her wedding.”
Aha,
I think regretfully.
He’s gay.
Well, that was a short-lived fantasy.
“My mom’s been doing this a long time,” he explains, a little sheepishly.
“Okay,” I say, taking the three tiaras. Our hands brush as he passes them over, and I feel a weird tingle of excitement shiver across my skin.
“Thanks.” I smile at him, then turn to carry
them back to Victoria.
“So,” he says quickly, “um…how’s your bridesmaid dress? Do you hate it?”
“Oh, totally,” I say. “It’s horrendous.”
“Can I see it?” he says charmingly. “I might be able to help.”