ANNIE

“You can’t possibly think this looks good, mom.” I’m hiding in the dressing room with a gown even uglier than my bathing suit hanging from my shoulders. I don’t know what it is with my mother and ruffles, but there are so many. A sea, and I’m drowning in them. “Tell me you were kidding when you sent this in the room with me.”

“Are you dressed?” she asks. “I’m coming in, Annie.”

Without allowing me any time to respond, my mother barges into the dressing room of the wedding shop, followed closely by my grandmother.

“Oh, you look adorable! What is all this moaning about?” Gran asks, patting me down from head to bum. She focuses on the bum. “Look, I’ve got the matching version of your dress on—we can be twins. I think you inherited your rear end from me.”

“I look like a bumblebee.”

“You do not,” Gran says. You look like Beauty and the Beast.”

“Yeah... the Beast, maybe.”

“It’s not so bad,” my mom says, but even she doesn’t sound convinced. “Maybe if we take it in a little bit...”

“Just go for something simple!” I look in the mirror, wincing at the brilliant shade of yellow. It’s not the yellow itself that’s offensive, it’s the vibrancy of it. And the amount of it. The shade an eye-watering color of sunflower. “What happened to the black one I showed you?”

“I will not be having my maid of honor wear black at my wedding. I refuse.”

“How about that dark purple one?”

“The one that looks black from a distance?” My mother gives me the side eye. “No. This is a happy time, and I want everyone to know it. Would you prefer orange?”

“Probably not the best idea,” I say. “It wouldn’t go well with the theme.”

“The theme? The theme is bright and happy!” My mother’s staring at me with a look of puzzlement. “How does orange not go with that?”

“The dress will clash with Claude.”

My mother still doesn’t look convinced, so I pull out my phone and find a recent photo on my mother’s Facebook page of her and Claude. She’s worse than most high schoolers. Her profile picture is an image of her macking on Claude’s cheek.

“Here.” I zoom to show a close-up of her fiancé’s nose. Then I place the phone beside the newest dress in my mother’s hands. The women of my family compare Claude’s face to the orange loofah that is supposed to be a dress. “Well?”

“Ellie, your daughter has a point,” Gran murmurs. “They’re the perfect match.”

My mom’s face is getting paler by the second, so I put the phone away. “I’ll change,” I offer. “Whatever you want mom. It’s your day, really. If you want the yellow, I’ll wear yellow. If you want orange, I’ll wear orange.”

Turning, my mother stomps off toward the lobby, out through the front door, and finally stops, pacing back and forth. She pulls a cigarette from her purse. She tried out smoking after the divorce, but it didn’t last long. However, she’ll still whip out a cig when she needs time to think.

“I’m going to go after her,” Gran says, eyeing my dress. “Don’t you worry, I’ll talk her into the perfect dress.”

“I shouldn’t have said that, huh?”

“We couldn’t have done orange. I’m just glad you said it before I did. Now she’s mad at you, and I get to console her.”

“Gee whiz, that’s great of you.”

“Before I go out there...” Gran gives me a searching stare. “I want to know if you’ve thought any more about our conversation.”

I shift my weight from one bare foot to the next. “Conversation?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot last night already.”

“I didn’t.”

“So?”

I shrug. “I already hurt his feelings. It’s probably too late. Apparently I’m getting very good at upsetting the people around me.”

“Don’t be foolish.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“You want to get married someday, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I admit. “That was always the goal.”

“Well, marriage ain’t gonna work if you give up on it every time you’re in a pissy mood and have a little tiff with your husband.”

“I wasn’t in a pissy mood.”

“Fine. Then let him go.”

Gran twirls in a flurry of fabric, and begins stomping toward my mother, who’s coughing out front. She sometimes pretends to smoke when she’s stressed. Usually, she just holds the cigarette and flicks it every now and again until it’s gone.

“Hang on a second,” I call after Gran. “What am I supposed to do if I want to see him again?”

“You could wait a week for swimming lessons,” she says. “Or... you can take this old thing I found in the paper this morning.”

She shoves the slip into my hand and whisks herself away to console my mother. Peeling the crumpled sheet back, I find Gran has ripped out the Stars’ upcoming schedule from the paper. One game in particular is highlighted, and the date is for tonight.

Oddly enough, I already knew this. Although I may hate admitting I’m wrong, I know when I owe an apology.

I text Sarah to see if she’s available tonight. Dishing out an apology might be easier to stomach if I have my best friend next to me, reminding me why I’m there in the first place. Unfortunately, she’s busy.

On a whim, I find Leigh’s number from when she plugged it in my phone after our last class. I ask if she’s available and interested and, to my surprise, she agrees to join on one condition—that she can bring her oldest son.

I reply that it’s a deal, and give her the time and place to meet. Then, surrounded by piles of chiffon and the smell of someone steaming a wedding dress hot in the air, I scroll through my phone until I find a website to purchase tickets.

I click purchase, my heart fluttering with nerves, and then shimmy out of the yellow dress. Scurrying into my street clothes, I decide that today is the day of apologies. First, I have to apologize to my mother and find a dress that’ll make her happy.

Then, tonight, I’ll hunt Cohen down and apologize all over again.

I can only hope it’s not too late.