12. MADDIE

CHAPTER 12

MADDIE

N ot to be dramatic, but having a period is like being subjected to medieval-style torture every month.

Of course it had to arrive literally when I'm having the best time of my life. This week's study sessions with Aran were precisely what they should've been all along. I explained something; he put it to practice. We worked together side by side in an easy-going silence. No teasing from him. No putting my foot in my mouth on my own.

Ryan is the coolest person on earth. She doesn't mind that my strawberry obsession—as Aran calls it—is starting to take over the apartment. And she cooks mouthwatering food in industrial quantities that she doesn't mind sharing with me. In fact, a couple of days ago, she made this incredible veggie couscous and offered some to me. I heaped a big spoonful of it, and she literally screamed at me to take more, which is a concept I'm not used to. People telling me to eat more.

I knew the happiness had an expiration date of one week, corresponding to the appointment with my mother and Meg. I just didn't know it would be that plus my murderous period.

The car behind me honks. The streetlight has turned green, and just pressing the accelerator hurts like a birch. The second my Beetle starts moving, the impatient driver passes me aggressively fast.

I try to press against my clothes a bit harder so the heating pad glued to my skin gets hotter, but that hurts more, so I stop.

The whole drive from my new apartment to the bridal shop would typically take about thirty minutes. I take an extra twenty, pausing in random parking lots first to take some more ibuprofen or to just breathe. Breathing is really freaking hard when there's an alien trying to claw out of your uterus.

Finally, I park right next to Mom's platinum sedan outside the shop. I leave my car running for a bit more and close my eyes. I tried canceling this morning—she knows just how severe my period pain is—but, of course, she didn't let me. Dresses were hard to get, blah, blah. The store won't hold them forever, blah, blah. You can't keep putting this off, yada yada.

"Fudge me." I grunt just like Aran does as I unbuckle my seat belt. I'm starting to see the appeal of his one-sound form of communication. "Oh, son of a birch." A horrible groan tears out of my throat as I shift to my side to exit the car. My back hurts too. I blink tears away from my face and wade through the parking lot. I cannot wait to get back home, slide into bed, and not move for the next twenty-four hours.

I open the shop's door with difficulty because it's very heavy and I am a weak, weak girl. An attendant appears before me like magic.

"Welcome to Tule and Silk! Are you with a party?"

"Yes, Berkley." My voice comes out in a croak.

The woman eyes my hand on my back and my stomach. "Oh, you must be expecting! We have really comfortable chairs in the dressing area. Can I get you some water? Herbal tea?"

"Tea, please. Although I'm not expecting anything other than a bad time," I say through gritted teeth.

"Excuse me?"

"Um, nothing. Do you mind taking me to my party?"

She plasters on an artificial smile. "Right this way."

Oh, how I wish I had a cane. I hold on to every sturdy surface as I follow her to the back of the store while a wave of dizziness hits me. I need to sit for a bit and not do anything. Only breathe. Maybe blink. Eyes closed would be best. I hope Mom and Meg are busy trying on all the things already so I can rest.

But no. They're both seated on a powder pink sofa, sipping something bubbly from champagne flutes even though it's barely eleven in the morning.

"Maddie, you made it!"

As if I had a choice.

Mom spreads her arms open for a hug I'm not in a position to give her, but I sit down next to her and let her pull me to her side. I clench my jaw so I don't spew out a curse.

"It's so great to have the three Berkley women together for a change," she says.

"You two can come visit me in the city any time, you know?" Meg laughs.

"Ugh, you're always so busy, baby." Mom pats Meg's knee before turning to me. "Ready? We were waiting for you."

I wince. "I need a few minutes."

"What for?"

"I'm in a lot of pain, Mom."

"Oh, nonsense." She waves a hand and releases an exasperated sigh. "That's nothing compared to the thirteen?—"

"—Hours of labor when you gave birth to?—"

I say "me" just as Meg says "Maddie." This is what Mom says every single time I complain about my cramps.

"Not Meg. She was such an easy baby, even during the pregnancy."

My sister leans back around our mother and gives me a grimace. I just shake my head a bit. Nothing we can do about Mom.

"Excuse me, miss? Are we ready to start?" Mom asks the attendant, who comes with a steaming cup of tea for me.

"Oh, thank you." I accept the mug and bring it close to my face. Peppermint. Not my favorite, but it'll do.

"Yes, we're ready and so happy you have chosen us for your big day." The woman smiles so wide her face must hurt. "Between one daughter getting married and the other one expecting, you must be so happy, Mrs. Berkley."

"Wha—" Mom turns to Meg, as if doing the math. Here's the one daughter getting married. But who's the one expecting? Then she turns to me and screeches. "Madeline! Are you freaking pregnant?"

I rasp out a laugh. "Goodness, no." I haven't even found a willing man to kiss me more than once. Forget about sex.

"Then what is this all about?"

The attendant's smile drops into an abyss, and with it goes all the color from her face. "Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I just thought…" As she trails off, she looks pointedly at my stomach.

Mom presses her lips tight and casts her patented disapproving state. Famous in at least two states. "Maddie, this is why I begged you to lose weight before the wedding."

"Mom!"

Meg clears her throat. "How about we change into the first option, huh?"

"You two go ahead. I'll drink my tea first."

"Maddie!"

"Let's go, Mom. Maddie looks really pale and probably needs a moment to feel better." Meg stands up, pulling at Mom's arm. "I'll try on the first dress and then you two try yours. How about that?"

Bless her. My sister is the only person who has seen me faint from my cramps, and ever since, she's been a true believer in just how severe my pain is.

Mom grumbles something and stands up. But a second later, she turns to the attendant. "Please inform me if my youngest here attempts to make a run for it, you got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." The woman gives me a wince, which I guess is all the apology I'll get.

They leave me to my tea for a bit. It apparently takes Mom and the shop's employee to help Meg wrestle into one dress, which I can already tell won't be the right one. If it will take Justin that much effort to take it off, it won't work.

The tea is really potent, but it warms up my insides and eases the tightness in my muscles, giving me enough strength to remove my coat, scarf, and hat. I leave them scattered on the sofa, along with my bag, and heft myself up. Slowly, I walk over to the party but stop when Mom rushes out, all emotional.

"Oh, Maddie. You sister looks so beautiful."

But beautiful is not enough to describe it. Meg comes out in this concoction of fluttery, feather-soft white fabric that drapes around her torso like a second skin. It cascades down her hips in a twist that doesn't seem accidental. As she moves, the twist remains intact and shimmers under the light. Megan's natural fiery red hair streams over her delicate shoulders. I don't know whether it's the exertion or that she's in her feels too, but her cheeks and her pointy nose are as red as apples.

She looks majestic. Ethereal. Soft, but at the same time strong.

Dang, maybe this is the dress. Justin will have to be patient.

"Oh, wow."

"You look stunning, Miss Berkley," the attendant says, and this time it's a genuine compliment.

Meg sighs when she looks at herself in the mirror, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I love this dress. But I'm curious about how the next one will fit."

Slowly, I pull out my phone. "Wait, let me take pictures. We can compare more easily that way."

"Oh, smart." Meg winks at me through the mirror.

I snap a few pictures from different angles, although it takes me a long while to do so with how slowly I move.

"Okay, okay. You're stalling now." Mom pushes me into the next dressing room. "Please bring the extra extra -large bridesmaid dresses."

"Mom, she knows which ones to bring. You don't have to be extra extra clear," I say with a whine.

"Shush, Madeline. Your mother knows what she's doing. You don't want to get down to your skivvies and try to put on a dress that doesn't make it past your thighs, do you?"

I grunt. I certainly don't.

In the dressing room, I take my sweet time removing each layer of clothes. I immediately miss the warmth of my wool dress with little cats on the bottom fringe. But I leave my thick leggings on. There is no force on this round earth that will make me remove them today.

"Ready, miss?" the attendant asks from outside the curtain.

"As I can be."

She slides in a truly hideous fuchsia number, and I say, "Please tell me there are other options."

"Oh, you don't like this one?"

It looks like Barbie's curtains, but I don't say this aloud.

"Um, maybe I should see the whole range and pick?"

The whole range turns out to be only three other dresses. All of them are varying shades of pink, though they're at least less offensive than the first one. I lift one in nearly the same powder pink hue as the sofa. Actually, the fabric feels similar too.

I snort a laugh. It figures that they'd dress me to match the furniture. Very on the nose. But praise! I can pull it over my head. I don't have to bend down!

It's a bit too large, which I guess they'll have to fix, but it makes trying it on easier. The bust area hugs my boobs perfectly, even without zipping it, though. Almost as if it was tailor made. In fact, the way it holds them makes them look ah-mazing and defines my waist more clearly.

"Hmm, not bad, sofa-dress," I mumble.

"Do you need help?"

"Yes, please," I respond to the attendant. "Can you zip me up?"

"Of course." She squeezes in as if there are people other than my family outside. "Oh, it looks very nice, miss."

Not an effusive compliment, but I'll take it.

"I actually like it."

Then she zips it up, and like I thought, it needs to be taken in about half an inch on each side. But the color works well with my pasty skin and almost makes it look healthy. My hair is more brown than red, so it doesn't clash either.

Still walking like a duck, I make it outside and wait for the verdict.

Meg gasps. "Maddie! You look unbelievable. Guys won't take their eyes off you."

I wrinkle my nose. What guys? Our old uncles?

"Or guy? Have you found a plus-one already?" My sister wiggles her eyebrows.

"Puh-lease. You and I both know my dancing partner will be Kevin." I'm referring to the ten-year-old son of Meg's best friend from work.

"I don't know." Mom's frowning. "The fat under your arms is too visible."

"We have some delicate boleros that would pair with this dress very well."

"Actually, that sounds like a great idea," I tell the employee. "I'm getting cold."

"Shall I fetch a few samples?"

"Yes—"

"Isn't there another dress that covers your arms?"

I close my eyes.

"Well, I love this dress on Maddie," my sister says, which I know is her way of supporting me without antagonizing Mom.

And yet, I have to open my big mouth and say, "Mom, it's not a crime if people see my arms."

"Of course not," she snaps. "It's just a bit too much skin."

"Why isn't it too much skin on Meg? She's also wearing a strapless dress."

"It's different."

"How?"

Mom and I glare at each other in a Berkley standoff. The next few seconds will dictate whether this outing will end in at least a week-long impasse.

"Um." The attendant coughs delicately into her hand. "I'll go fetch some boleros."

"Can you please bring more champagne?" Meg asks with a serene smile. "I think I'd like to get plastered for the rest of the fitting."

If I hadn't driven, I'd ask for a whole bottle for myself. Instead, I opt for the healthier version. Which is marching into the dressing room and not coming out until I've tried on the rest of the dresses without an audience.