chapter 31

Two hours later,the bus pulled up in front of the River Vista Resort and Lodge. A runner hurried them into a conference space redecorated to look like a bridal trade show. Banners reading ALLURE brIDAL COLLECTION covered every wall. The company’s signature bubblegum pink branded everything. Bella and her friends rushed at the racks of dresses staged around the space, oohing and aahing as though they’d never seen fabric before. Rick stood by the exit, staring at his phone and looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. He wasn’t her father, but Izzy sympathized. She’d grab him if she made a run for it. It was good to break heteronormative traditions by bringing the father to the dress fitting, but not if it made that father look like he was trying to will an aneurysm on himself.

“Your father is so silly,” Megan said, following Izzy’s gaze. “He won’t even come in the bathroom if there’s a box of tampons on the counter, says he doesn’t want to intrude.”

Had Megan rewritten history entirely?

“He’s not my father.” It came out sounding angrier than Izzy felt. I want to clarify that you do know where babies come from, and that Rick and I share no DNA.

“He thinks of you as his daughter. We both do.”

Yes. You ought to becauseyou are actually my mother. Not that you act like it.

Izzy wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. And part of her just needed to sit down and say, How the fuck are we having this conversation?

Megan continued with a detailed description of the wedding, oblivious to Izzy’s barely contained meltdown.

Bella stayed focused on her friends, not glancing at Izzy once.

A woman wearing a suit in Allure Bridal Collection pink beckoned them closer.

“Let’s get going,” an assistant producer said.

The cameras waited.

The assistant producer showed Megan, Bella, Izzy, and Bella’s friends how to enter the set as though walking into a real store. Ace, in their SPOUSE OF THE brIDE shirt, followed.

“Not you,” the assistant producer said. “Not dad over there either.”

Rick looked relieved.

“We’re doing girls only.”

“Ace is nonbinary,” Bella said with surprising vehemence. “We’re not doing all that heteronormative stuff.”

“How about it’s bad luck if the spouse sees the dress before the wedding,” the assistant producer said with a sigh. “That’s not heteronormative. It’s just weirdly superstitious.”

What followed—in the starts and stops of somewhat unscripted television—was a wedding dress shopping party.

Bella’s friends burst into the fake store like confetti.

“This is my sister.” Bella introduced her friends Michaela, McKenzie, McKenna, someone else, someone else, and Brooke.

Michaela, or maybe it was McKenna, went in for a hug. Izzy’s flinch must have told the others not to try.

“Brooke and McKenzie drove here all the way from San Diego,” Bella said, putting her arms around her friends’ waists.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Izzy said.

It wasn’t Brooke and McKenzie’s fault Izzy’s mother hadn’t loved her.

The clerk disappeared through a door leading to what would have been a back room if any of this was real. She returned with an armload of pink dresses.

“Sorry about all this,” Bella said, handing Izzy a dress. She seemed more annoyed than apologetic.

Bella’s friends took their dresses and rushed into a row of dressing rooms giggling.

“Try on your dress. Don’t be shy, Izzyboo,” Megan said. “You’re going to look lovely.” She looked a little worried. “I hope I told them the right size.”

The dress wasn’t designed for a woman Izzy’s shape. And she didn’t need to look like a twig. She could wear anything she liked. She could wear a glittering G-string that disappeared between her ass cheeks, and she could strut across the stage like a white Gladys Bentley or twirl pasties like Flame La Mache. She took the word woman and expanded it like her waistline. Beautiful. Big. Real. Except no matter how well you subverted gender norms and conventional beauty standards, society crept in.

“Come on out, Izzy,” Megan said. “We’re all girls here.”

Stripping in front of an audience of thousands would feel safer than this.

“This is so much fun,” one of Bella’s friends exclaimed. “I can’t believe we’re going to be on TV.”

If Izzy wanted to have fun, she could go find some yellow jackets or give plasma.

“Izzy does burlesque,” Megan said. “Don’t tell us you’re too shy to wear off the shoulder. We can get another style, can’t we?” Megan was probably asking the Allure Bridal Collection representative. “We just want everyone to have fun and feel comfortable.” Megan’s voice lilted with joy.

Megan must have pitched this wedding idea to the show, but Megan wasn’t trying to rekindle her lost stardom. She wanted Bella to have the perfect wedding. The thought struck Izzy hard, as though the metal scaffolding holding up the dressing room had collapsed on her. This was worse than Megan wanting to be a star. Star Megan got stuck with a child she didn’t want, but she’d left microwave mac and cheese in the cupboard for Izzy. She’d kept the power on and the water running. The first time she’d left Izzy alone for a weekend, Megan had offered to buy her a .22. That was awful parenting but pointed, vaguely, to the idea that she wanted Izzy to feel safe. But Megan was capable of being a great mom, she just hadn’t bothered to do it for Izzy because she hadn’t wanted her in the first place.

Tears filled Izzy’s eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand, staring at her face going blotchy in the dressing room mirror.

“Come on, Izzyboo,” Megan said. “We want to see you.”

All of this was happening so Bella could have a dream wedding. All this was happening while the Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company was performing. Lillian was dancing. If they lost, the show would whisk them away without a chance to say goodbye. That just wasn’t fair.

Slowly she disrobed and stepped into the dress. It was too small. If Arabella was here, she’d show Izzy how to make a bomb out of tulle and a lighter, but Izzy was alone like she’d been when Megan drove out of Broken Bush.

“Do you have a corset in my size?” Izzy called to the Allure Bridal Collection rep.

The woman popped her head in. “You mean shapewear?”

“No. A real corset. Like lingerie.” It was a long shot. Allure probably wanted women Izzy’s size squeezed into tight spandex shapers. You’ll never be a size 6, but we’ll do what we can. “Never mind. I’m guessing you don’t. How about this dress in a bigger size?”

The woman looked miffed.

“Of course the Allure Bridal Collection spring line has a corset. It’s part of the honeymoon set.”

“In my size?”

“The Allure Bridal Collection is size inclusive,” the woman said, still offended. “One moment. I’ll get them for you.”

Izzy felt a little better in a bejeweled corset and flowing silk pants (in a shade of red somewhere between Congenial Fuchsia and Moderately Hospitable Scarlet). She straightened, adjusted her breasts to their full advantage, wiped away her smeared mascara, and stepped out.

“Oh,” Megan gasped when Izzy appeared. “You have never looked so beautiful.”

They spent the next three hours watching Bella emerge wearing dress after dress. Finally, a runner returned their phones and led them to their hotel rooms with the promise that they were welcome to complimentary mani-pedis at the on-site salon and a shuttle would take them back to Portland tomorrow morning. Bryant texted them the call sheet. It’d be another away game, as the runners called the out-of-town challenges. Someplace in LA called the Mimosa Resort. Someone would pack her bags for her.

Finally alone, Izzy fell onto her bed and opened her phone. Sarah had texted a dozen times. Izzy scanned until she saw the one that mattered.

Sarah: Reed-W made it. Spice Angels went home

Izzy closed her eyes and held the phone to her chest.

“Thank you,” she said to the ceiling.

Lillian had texted the same news with a smiling emoji. Then another text.

Lillian: Are you ok?

Izzy: Just watched my sister try on 100 dresses

Lillian: Was it alright?

Izzy walked over to the window and looked out at the Columbia glistening in the darkness beyond the dog-walking area and a bike path.

Izzy: Fine

One word. One lie. It shouldn’t matter. The lump Izzy had been swallowing all day rose in her throat. Her phone rang. Her heart made her touch accept before her brain told her not to.

“Hey,” Lillian said.

“She’s doing it for Bella,” Izzy said before Lillian asked. “She wants the dress or to get her on TV, or maybe she just wants me there so she feels like we’re a family, like I’m a matching napkin ring. Complete the set. Just to make it perfect.” Izzy’s voice broke. “I’m sorry. I don’t care. I don’t know why, I’m—” She gulped a breath to steady her voice. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

“It’s okay to be upset.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to the wedding.”

“You can say no.”

“Just say, Sorry, Bella, I can’t come to your wedding because our mother once forgot me outside my elementary school because she’d gone to Burns to get a tattoo of a chili pepper?”

“Sweetie, that’s the best reason anyone has had for skipping a wedding.”

Sweetie.Izzy’s heart skipped a beat. In a good way.

“Bella didn’t leave me to get a tattoo.”

“You can say no just because you don’t want to. Your feelings matter. You get to do whatever you need to do to protect yourself.”

“You sound like Sarah.”

“Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Why do I believe you more than I believe Sarah?”

Lillian’s low chuckle dispelled a bit of the childhood/family dysfunction gloom that had settled over Izzy.

“Because I don’t take my own advice,” Lillian said. “Because it’s been so long since I protected my feelings, I don’t even know where I left them. Probably backstage somewhere in a locker. Someone’s going to open it up and be like, Shit. What’s all this baggage? So it’s okay to tell me about it.”

And suddenly Izzy was spilling the whole story, going over everything she’d told Lillian on the beach but in detail, scattered memories and conversations. The girls she’d liked. The smell of the range. The sound of the trailer creaking in the wind. How Megan looked at Bella like she was a sunflower and pretended Rick was Izzy’s father as though she forgot all the nights she went out on dates with Rick and missed Izzy’s performances. And how it shouldn’t hurt but it did. And every few sentences she’d remember that Lillian didn’t need to hear all this. No one wanted to hear about how hard it was to be a healthy, young white woman with a good job, a thousand fans, a spot on TV, a free Allure Bridal Collection outfit, and her own house (for now). “I’m sorry,” she said every few sentences, like a swimmer coming up for air every few strokes. Each time, Lillian said, “Izzy, you don’t have to apologize.” Her words felt like a balm. And finally, I’m sorry turned into I’m fine, and then really, I’m okay. Finally, they got off the phone. Izzy lay in the cocoon of Lillian’s kindness… for about five minutes, until embarrassment hit her full in the face.

She’d just poured her heart out to Lillian for an hour. She’d lost track of time. What if it was hours? It was one thing to tell Lillian a little bit about her childhood, but she’d gone on and on. She’d cried at one point. Her stomach knotted. Lillian had probably been watching the minutes pass, thinking, How do I get out of this? Tomorrow Lillian would look at her, and Izzy would see that look. You’re not who I thought you were. Not tough. Not glamorous. Lillian saw through the Blue Lenox act, but that didn’t mean she wanted this part of Izzy.

Izzy tried to push the thought away. What was the mantra Sarah was always pushing?

I am worthy of love?

I am worthy of love.

I am worthy of love.

Being worthy of love didn’t mean that people loved you. How self-pitying had she sounded? Sarah would tell her it would all feel better in the morning. Izzy looked at her phone. It was well after midnight, so it was morning. She’d be a mess today, all pale and drawn.

Go to sleep. I am worthy of love.She rolled over. Bitch, go to sleep. She shouldn’t use the female as a pejorative. Had anyone ever fallen asleep by snapping at themselves? She turned on the TV and flipped through channels, one inane show after another. She turned it off. A ship passed on the river, blowing a low horn. The lonely sound brought fresh tears to her eyes, making her a healthy white woman with a good job and a free Allure Bridal Collection outfit crying over a foghorn. She wiped her eyes with the edge of the pillowcase. She’d look worse if she cried again. Then she’d be puffy and pale and drawn. Go to sleep. Maybe the Allure Bridal Collection rep could hook her up with makeup before they left. She’d snag the corset, put on some lipstick, pull herself together.

She had almost fallen asleep, had at least exhausted herself enough to lose track of her thoughts, when a knock at the door brought her back. It was too soft and polite to be one of the runners dragging her to another bridal hazing.

“I think you’ve got the wrong room,” she called without getting up.

“Izzy?”

Izzy rubbed her eyes. She was awake. Maybe Sarah had come to rescue her. The voice just sounded like… Lillian. She got up. Her reflection in the mirror told her she’d already achieved pale, puffy, and drawn. No way to fix that now. She peered out the peephole in the door. Lillian’s white suit shone against the dark wallpaper in the hall. She was so beautiful. Izzy’s breath caught. She opened the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“We have to be back in a few hours, but I thought you might like company.” Lillian reached for Izzy’s hand. “We don’t have to do anything. You look tired.” She touched Izzy’s cheek. “I know you’re fine, but.” That was the end of the sentence.

“You just…?”

“Borrowed the car that the show loaned Kia because she’s an influencer. And drove up.” For all her poise and the fact that she was wearing a perfectly ironed suit at three in the morning, Lillian looked nervous as she stood in the doorway, holding Izzy’s hand but not looking at her. “Was that too much?” Lillian shrugged, but her shoulders didn’t lower.

“You drove up here for…” Me?

Lillian stepped inside and closed the door. “Okay, actually, you didn’t sound fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Izzy.” That was the same tone Sarah used when Izzy was making bad emotional choices. “Stop apologizing.”

Izzy was so tired. She stepped forward and rested her head on Lillian’s shoulder, then remembered her smeared stage makeup and pulled back.

“Sor—”

Lillian placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Come on.” Lillian led them toward the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I mean… I did, but only for a minute. Is it okay that I’m here?”

How could Lillian even ask?

“Of course it is.”

“Good.” Lillian’s confidence returned. “And tomorrow I can drive you back… unless you want to take the shuttle back with your family.”

“And listen to my mother talk about wedding napkin holders. Please save me.”

“I got you. Now get in bed and back to sleep.”

Izzy lay down and watched Lillian undress until she was wearing white panties and a white silk camisole. How could Izzy possibly sleep with Lillian here. Lillian nudged Izzy to scoot over, then nudged her to roll over, and then put her arm around Izzy’s waist. By the time Lillian had nestled herself against her, Izzy was asleep.