Now
“What about this one?” Maby holds out a nude pleated dress over her arm so I can admire its length.
I run my hand across the delicate fabric and ask, “Is this what you want me to wear?”
She exhales and hangs the dress back on the rack, moving on to the next style. Trailing behind her, I think the fluorescent lights are giving me a migraine, and at this point, I’m willing to wear a clown suit if it’ll get us out of this god-forsaken shopping mall. It’s been two days since I left Teller in a tent in my backyard, and twenty-four of those hours have been spent back in Los Angeles. I’m already exhausted by the traffic, the sun, and the pushy salespeople spraying perfume in my face.
“It isn’t about what I want, Ella,” Maby says, showing me a black mini. I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “But I asked you to get a dress a month ago. The wedding’s tomorrow, so your options are slim.”
I gaze at the designer dresses made of lace and satin, brushing my bangs out of my eyes. I was so wrapped up in my own failing love life, I disregarded Maby’s flourishing one.
I am a dick.
“Look, Maby.” I glance at her from under my lashes, seeing my messy existence compared to my friend’s togetherness. She’s scheduled to marry Husher tomorrow, and for some reason, she wants me included in that monumental moment. At this point, I need more than a dress. My hair is a disaster, I chewed my nails off, and I’m overcome with paralyzing anxiety at the thought of seeing Teller tonight at the rehearsal. “I haven’t been myself lately, and I’m sorry for not being here for you. The last thing you need from me is more stress.”
She takes my face in her perfectly manicured hands and smiles. “We’ve been through a lot together, Ella. We’re best friends, and absolutely nothing will ever change that, okay? Wear what you have on to the wedding. I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re by my side tomorrow.”
I laugh out loud, catching the attention of our fellow shoppers. I’m wearing cut-off jean shorts and one of Teller’s old white shirts that still smells like him despite how many times I’ve washed it.
“You don’t mean any of that,” I say, kissing the inside of her palm.
“You’re absolutely right.” She smiles the same exact way her brother does, crooked and utterly devastating. “I don’t know where you got those things you’re calling shorts, but they’re hideous. And your nails are gross. You’re gross. We need to fix you.”
Lighter on my feet, I follow her around as she strides from rack to rack, holding dresses up to me as we maneuver through the maze. Maby hoards the ones she likes and scoffs at the ones she hates. By the time we make it to the dressing rooms, she has a pile of dresses waiting for me to try on.
I’m in ballroom gown hell.
“I’ve gained too much weight to wear most of these, Maby,” I complain as she pushes me into the family-sized room.
She trails in behind me, locking the door. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your body has never looked better.”
“Stop lying,” I say. My bra is crazy-cat-woman beige, and my underwear is just-gave-birth big. I have no cats or children, and I have no excuses when Maby takes one look at me and hisses.
She shakes her head, passing me the first dress. “I don’t get it. I mean, is that paint on your bra?”
Yanking the pale pink garment from her hands, I turn away, only to have her hiss at me again.
Like a snake.
Like she’s a literal snake.
“Everyone knows you have a lot on your plate, Ella. The extra crap with my brother probably doesn’t help the situation, but I’ve never seen an uglier pair of underwear in my entire life. They go halfway up your back. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Peeking over my shoulder, I look in time to see Maby cringe.
I roll my eyes and drop the dress to the floor and then drop my bra to the floor. “I’d like to see you refurbish a house in a thong.”
“No one wears thongs anymore, dumbass.” Maby throws my bra over the changing room door. “I feel boring just by touching that.”
“Hey!” I protest. “I need that, Maby. Am I supposed to run around braless all day?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and smiles. “Trust me, babe. It’s better this way. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.”
The first dress I’m forced to model for the bride-to-be won’t zip in the back, and the second dress is so tight it’ll break a rib or two if left on for too long. The third dress, a pastel yellow gown, looks terrible against my complexion, and the fourth, a white cap sleeve lace ensemble, transforms me into the Pillsbury Doughboy.
Dropping my head back, I laugh at what a disaster this is turning out to be. “A brown paper sack would look better than these dresses.”
“No kidding,” Maby mumbles, unbuttoning mishap number four. “But I have a good feeling about the next one. Don’t give up yet.”
Maby slips dress number five over my head, a floor-length lavender chiffon evening gown. Harps play, and angels sing, and it only takes one look in the mirror to know this is the one. Delicate fabric and flawless stitching hide the parts of me I don’t like and show off the parts I love.
Turning from side-to-side, allowing the skirt to sway, it’s amazing how a form-fitting dress can change the way I feel about myself in an instant. If I’d known that a beautiful gown was the answer to my miserable existence, I would have painted the walls and sanded the cabinets in a prom dress.
“Hair up or down?” Maby asks, gathering my locks into her hand to lift it off my shoulders.
“Up,” I say.
Bright green eyes meet mine in the mirror. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”
“Oh, honey,” Chaz, Maby’s hair artist, wipes his hands on his apron after running his fingers through my hair. “You are too young to have so much gray hair. And split ends. And—”
“I get it. Thanks.” I roll my eyes and scoff. Bridezilla forbid me from wearing the dress out of the store, so I’m back to feeling like my dingy self—braless and paint-speckled. “Can you fix it?”
Chaz bites his bottom lip in contemplation.
“You have my permission to do whatever you need, Chaz,” Maby says from one station over. She’s having her makeup done before the rehearsal dinner tonight. “Ella’s had a rough couple of months.”
Chaz inspects the paint still stuck in my hair, and Maby says, “You think that’s bad? You should have seen the bra she was wearing.” They talk back and forth like I’m not listening or watching every unsure expression that crosses their faces. But even with their total disregard for my presence, and without the miracle dress, I’m able to sink into the chair and finally relax.
My state of relaxation increases when Chaz’s assistant offers me a glass of champagne and I drink three. Stress melts away with each sip of bubbly, and a scalp massage fantastic enough to make me forget Chaz’s previous indiscretions is the icing on my meh flavored cake.
It might be the booze, but for the second time today, I watch the old me reemerge from the depths of not-giving-a-shit and heartbreak. With each ounce of hair color and each snip from his shears, I start to recognize myself again. The reflection looking back at me is older and a little rough around the edges, but there I am.
“That’s it, girl.” Chaz squeezes my shoulder. His smile is kind. “Just relax and let Uncle Chaz take care of you.”
A few hours later, the sun isn’t as high in the sky as it was when we walked into the salon, but my outlook looks brighter.
The scuffed soles of my shoes step onto the sidewalk, and I take a deep breath of cool, polluted L.A. air. It smells like exhaust, garbage, and plumeria. Outside perception—and my literal actuality—is I’m still not wearing a bra. My nipples are visible through my shirt, my shorts are tattered, and even though I don’t have paint in my hair anymore, it’s embedded in my fingernails. From the neck down, I look like I’m from skid row and not from a four-bedroom Spanish villa in Echo Park.
But from the neck up, I’m glossed, lashed, and curled. There’s a pep in my step I didn’t have when I hopped on a plane in the middle of the night to run away from the man I love. My spine’s lengthened, and for one sunlight-soaked minute, I don’t feel defeated.
This changes the second I come face-to-face with Teller at the rehearsal dinner.
“Hi,” he says. His green eyes drink me in and spit me right out.
“Hi,” I say, swallowing the tremble in my tone.
Flashbacks to the night in his tent cut me at the knees and puncture my lungs, but I refuse to be unsteady, gasping for air in front of him again.
The faint scent of tobacco smoke tickles my nose under the peppery cologne used to cover the smell of his habit. He loosened the tie around his neck and rolled up the sleeves of his button up, exposing the tattoos on his arms. Teller is rugged sophistication.
“You know how to make a guy feel used.” His mouth curves into a smirk. A beer bottle hangs between his fingers, and going by the haziness in his eyes, it’s not his first.
“I had a plane to catch,” I reply.
He laughs out, dropping his head back. Humiliation pours over me like warm wax, and despite the anger it ignites inside of me, I know I deserve the burn.
But I won’t admit it.
“Don’t be a prick,” I say.
Teller’s parents, Husher’s folks, our friends, and the man who’s going to marry Maby and Husher tomorrow evening are running around, looking for their places in preparation for the event. Emerson’s the first to slow down and stand idly by in case Teller and I turn the venue upside down with our inability to resolve conflict.
“You do realize you can’t keep running from me, right?” He reaches out and sweeps my bangs out of my eyes.
I take a step away from his touch and his power of persuasion. He’s unaffected, and most likely thrilled, over my retreat. This cat and mouse game is grueling and familiar.
“Maybe you should take a hint,” I retort.
His smirk bends into a full smile, challenging me to a duel. “Maybe you should hurry up and get over this shit you’re trying to prove and come home.”
“Teller, you lied to me.” My voice comes out an octave higher than I wanted. Nicolette stands next to my brother and crosses her arms.
Mili elbows Theodore, whispering into his ear. Their gazes fall on us, no doubt waiting to see if we’re going to ruin their daughter’s wedding rehearsal.
“And you fucked me and left. I think we’re even.” Teller finishes his beer and laughs out again, snatching Maby and Husher’s attention now. “You’re good, Smella. I can’t believe you have me pissed about a one-night stand.”
I roll my eyes. “It wasn’t a one-night stand.”
His eyebrows rise. “Then what was it?”
“A mistake.”
Teller turns his back to me for a moment, patting his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. When he rights himself, he’s composed and expressionless. “Wow.”
Heavy sadness settles in my stomach. I know my actions and words hurt him. It’s in the way his smile disappears, and how his hand tightens around the beer bottle. When two people are attached as Teller and I are, emotions are transferrable. Anger makes us say things we don’t mean, and reactions determine what we feel. We’re chaos times two, empathy times two, or passion times two. There’s no in-between. Teller and I lack rationality, and we didn’t come equipped with self-preservation. This is why I left.
We shouldn’t be those people anymore.
“Tell,” I say, releasing resentment. “I didn’t mean that.”
Dizzying confusion radiates off Teller in waves, and he presses his lips together to keep from sinking his teeth into me.
The stronger reaction chips away at my compassion, and before I get the chance to take back my apology, Teller lifts his middle finger to my face and says, “Fuck you.”
Silence replaces the noises of celebration and anticipation. Like we’ve pressed pause on a movie, everyone stays in place, frozen in what they’re doing. How many times have Teller and I done this? How many times have we stood in this exact situation in a different setting, ruining birthdays, anniversaries, or low-key nights? A wedding will be a first for us.
“We’re not doing this right now,” Emerson says. He stands behind me, and I finally fall back against him.
“Whatever you say.” Teller holds his hands up; beer drips from the neck of the upside-down bottle. “But we belong together, Gabriella. The sooner you accept that again, the sooner we can get past the bullshit.”
He’s right. I feel it because he feels it.
“The sooner you realize that we don’t, Tell, the sooner we all can move on,” I snap back.
My brother pulls me from the trenches, but it does nothing to lessen the tension we’ve subjected everyone to. We take our places, learn our steps, and perform a practice run of tomorrow’s nuptials. Smiles are passed back and forth with polite pleasantries. Congratulations are said with pats on the back. Expectations of a beautiful ceremony for a beautiful couple are expressed. But Teller and I have tainted it. No one breathes when it’s our turn to walk down the aisle arm-in-arm like they’re waiting for us to quit any preconceived notions and blow the top off this place.
“This could have been us,” Teller whispers, leading me down the aisle.
Husher stands patiently at the end, but he looks ready to pounce if his best man decides to scoop up his soon-to-be wife’s maid of honor and make a run for it.
“It could have if you weren’t such a—” We part before I can clarify how maddening he is to me. Then again, he already knows.
Dinner proceeds in the same fashion as the rehearsal, but Teller and I remain on our best behavior. We even manage to give a small toast to the couple without turning it into something about ourselves. When we hold up our glasses, sip, and take a seat, the sound of everyone’s relief is audible.
Teller sits at the opposite side of the room with his mom, who probably pities her only son and his failure to put Maby’s happiness before his misery. His half-hearted attempt ended with the toast.
“Look at that sorry son of a bitch,” Maby says. She pulls the chair out beside mine and takes a seat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d never guess he’s educated, rich, and one of those most caring people I know. He’s acting like a wretched fool.”
“He is a wretched fool,” I counter, leaning against her to rest my head on her shoulder.
“You’re both fools, Ella.” She pats my hand. “Don’t ruin my wedding tomorrow until after I’ve said I do, okay?”
I catch a ride with the mother of the bride; Nic and Maby follow behind us. There’s nothing traditional about planning an entire wedding in six weeks, but very traditionally, Maby doesn’t want to see Husher until it’s time to exchange vows. She sent him packing with Teller, and we have a night of face masks and teeth whitening strips ahead of us.
“So,” Mili starts not-so-subtly. “Teller tells me you’re selling your dad’s house up north.”
“My realtor called me yesterday and said we received an offer. I accepted this morning.” There’s no point in hiding the disappointment that burns my eyes.
“That was fast,” she replies. Her caring, motherly tone leaves me uncomfortable. Mili Reddy has never treated me like anything less than a member of the family, but even after all this time, I can’t fully accept maternal affection. Dysfunction forced on me by my absentee mother fills the empty spaces with awkwardness and strain. “Did you think it was going to sell that quickly?”
“No,” I answer.
She nods her head. “Did you want to sell the house, Ella?”
“No,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve admitted the truth to anyone, let alone myself. My decision to return to St. Helena and sell the house was rash, and one I made without thinking. “But it’s probably for the best.”
“I heard you saw your mom,” she says thoughtfully.
A gunshot of disappointment and grief blasts through me, leaving me full of holes that expose my every fear. I’m taken back to the moment I saw the woman who brought me into the world for the first time since she abandoned her family. She looked the same but rougher around the edges. My mother, Karen Mason, has more gray hair than brown, which used to match my own. There are lines around her eyes and a filter on her face that all former drug addicts wear.
For years, I thought about what I would say if I ever saw her again, but when the moment came, I was wordless. Time stood still, and the only thought that crossed my mind as I stopped face-to-face with the past was that I wanted Teller.
“That won’t happen again now that the house sold. I won’t go back there,” I say.
Mili takes my hand, amplifying my level of freaking out. I could open the car door, jump, and run for the sake of my state of mind.
I’m messed up.
How broken does a person need to be to risk road rash than face emotional honesty?
“I can’t begin to imagine how painful that was for you, sweet girl. But do you think a conversation with her might give you closure?”
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.
She squeezes my hand. “Yes.”
“How does a mother leave her kids?” That’s what it comes down to. I don’t have kids, and I don’t know if I can bring myself to have them after what I’ve been through, but from what I know, it’s a crime against nature to abandon the lives a person forces into the world. I didn’t ask to be born, and I didn’t ask for abandonment. I’m a victim of circumstance, and it royally screwed me up.
“Well,” she starts, letting go of my hand and returning hers to the steering wheel. “As a mother, I don’t know if I can give you the answer you’re looking for. My children are complicated beings, and I don’t always like them, but I will always love them. They could never do anything to change my mind about being their mom despite their complications.”
We come to a slow stop at a red light, and I chuckle because said complications are the understatement of the century. Maby is mad, and Teller is layered.
“I am not a perfect parent,” she continues. “I’ve contributed to the people they’ve grown to be, and I have a lot of guilt every time Maby locks herself in her room for a week at a time, or when my son chases the girl of his dreams across the state when all she wants is to be left alone.”
I scoff, and she smiles.
“There have been plenty of times when I wonder if they’d be better off without me. I understand your mother’s thought process.” Mili parks the car in front of Maby’s place. “All parents think about running away from their families during the hard times. What I don’t understand is how she decided to do it. I can’t even begin to imagine how she felt about herself to truly believe you would be better without her influence.”
“She was on drugs,” I say. “She wanted her habit more than she wanted Em and me.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Mili takes my face in her hands. “But don’t ever question her love for you, Ella. Love for a child is not something a mother can turn off. You’re loved by so many, and I, for one, am thankful to have you in my life. I’ve watched you grow into a caring, intelligent woman who loves so hard and completely you don’t know what to do with it. That’s not a bad thing, Ella.”
“I don’t know how you can say that.” My tears run through her fingers. “With everything Teller and I have been through—”
Mili tilts her head back and laughs in the same exact way her son did earlier tonight. “Honey, my kid means the world to me, but that boy will drive the sanest person insane. I don’t think anyone blames you for slapping him around sometimes.”
“You can’t be serious.” I roll my tear-filled eyes.
She unbuckles her seat belt and opens the car door, letting in the cold night’s air. With one foot on the pavement, she looks over her shoulder and says, “I’m only half-serious. You guys drive me wild. Get it together.”
We spend the rest of the night in a blur of exfoliations and girl talk. I cringe when Nic gossips about her sex life with Emerson and swoon with Mili when she reminisces romantic moments with Theodore, who’s normally a hard ass. As they talk about how much they adore the men in their lives, substantial longing lodges my heart into my throat. It drowns out our conversation to a low hum, and I am restless.
Mili pats my thigh and whispers, “Are you okay?”
Nodding slightly, I’m claustrophobic under my charcoal face mask and blocked between Maby and her mom.
“I’ll be right back.” I grab my cell phone from the coffee table in front of me, knocking over my champagne flute, and escape to the backyard.
I can breathe under the stars, but I can’t escape the reality of what I’ve done: overreacted. Teller should’ve been honest with me, but I shouldn’t have destroyed the life we were only beginning to create together. If there’s one thing Teller has given me since the first moment we met, it’s unconditional devotion. In return, I accepted him no matter what.
Until I didn’t.
My hands tremble as I pull up his number, and my heart doubles, triples in size as it rings.
And it completely stops when he doesn’t answer.