3. Felicity

felicity

. . .

After prepping all my appetizers, I jumped in the shower and washed my hair. As I blew it dry, I kept hoping maybe the shampoo and conditioner might perform some miraculous trick and it wouldn’t look so haphazardly chopped, but no such luck.

I threw it in a ponytail and hunted through my closet for something to wear, but after an hour, I gave up, drove over to Winnie’s condo, and banged on her front door.

“I need a fairy godmother,” I told her when she pulled it open.

She grinned as Dex’s daughters, nine-year-old Hallie and six-year-old Luna, appeared behind her. “How about three of them?”

“Even better.”

“Dex is out running errands, so we’re having girl time,” she said, shutting the door behind me. “Come on upstairs!”

Fifteen minutes later, I came out of the bathroom in my fourth dress.

“How about this one?” I did a little twirl for my audience of three, who sat on the edge of Winnie’s bed.

“Yes,” said Hallie, her brown eyes thoughtful as she tapped her chin. “It’s definitely the best so far.”

“I like it.” Golden-headed Luna clapped her hands. “Blue is my favorite color.”

“It is a great shade for you.” Winnie got up off the bed and moved behind me, pulling the zipper all the way up to the top. “There. Now it fits a little better.”

“Thanks.” I went over to the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door and studied my reflection. The dress was cornflower blue with small white flowers all over it. The skirt was short and flared, and the neckline was deep and round. It would have looked better if I’d had more chest to fill out the top, but even with three fairy godmothers, the chances of going from a B to a D cup by seven o’clock tonight were slim. “I do like the color. You don’t think the top is too...baggy on me?”

“Hmm.” Winnie studied my reflection too. “Do you have a push-up bra?”

“What’s a push-up bra?” asked Luna.

“It’s a bra that pushes up your boobies and squeezes them together,” said Hallie. “So they sort of bulge out like water balloons. Mom wears them.”

I laughed. “I might have something at home.”

“Good. Okay, now the shoes.” Winnie went over to her closet and came out with three pairs of heels. “I think the nude strappy ones will be the best, but the platform sandals could also be cute. How much standing do you have to do?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sitting on the bed to slip into the platform sandals since they looked the most approachable. “But I don’t want to have trouble walking, and I’m definitely not used to heels.”

“I like those,” Winnie said with a shrug when I was buckled into the tan leather sandals with a woven platform. “But it’s not a very dressy look. How fancy is this event?”

I shrugged. “The invitation said dressy casual.”

“That’s two different things,” Hallie pointed out.

I looked over my shoulder at her. “Exactly. Why do fashionable people make things more difficult than they need to be?”

“I think this look works for casual ,” Winnie said hesitantly, “but if you want to go a little dressier, maybe try the heels.”

“I want to look elegant and sophisticated,” I said.

My sister nodded. “Then go for the heels.”

I slipped my feet into the spiky things, strapped them on, and wobbled over to the mirror. “Well?”

“They look perfect,” Winnie said. “But can you get around in them okay?”

I wobbled to the door and back. “I’ll manage.”

“Good.” She glanced at my sloppy ponytail and uneven bangs. “Now what are we going to do about that hair?”

My posture deflated slightly. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have cut it.”

“I agree,” said Winnie, “but that ship has sailed, so let’s figure out what we can do. Take it down and we’ll look at it.”

I bit my lip. “It’s not pretty.”

“I’ve seen your self-serve haircuts before, sis.”

“This might be one of the worst.” But I yanked the scrunchie from my hair and let it fall in all its zig-zagging glory.

Behind me, one of the girls gasped. Maybe both of them.

Winnie’s mouth formed an O. She covered it with her hands.

“Why did you do that to your hair?” Luna wondered.

“It’s hard to explain,” I said, trying to rearrange my pitiful bangs to be more even. “Sometimes I just have this urge to cut it and I can’t stop myself. Like when I’m upset about something. And I think cutting my hair will make me feel better.” I spun around and faced them, worried that I was putting ideas in their young, impressionable minds. “But it doesn’t. It only makes me feel worse.”

“I have an idea,” said Luna.

“You do?”

She nodded happily. “Space buns.”

“Space buns?”

“Yes!” Hallie said enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea! Space buns wouldn’t show how it’s all crazy at the ends.”

Winnie laughed. “You know what? She might be right. Unless you have time to go get a professional trim.”

“I don’t,” I said. “I barely had time to come here. I have to get my fritters and crostini in the Cloverleigh ovens before the restaurant there opens at five, pack everything in the warming bags, load the car, haul it over to the banquet hall by six, then have everything set out by quarter to seven.”

“Space buns for the win,” said my sister. “Hals and Loony, can you grab me a comb, two elastics, and some pins?”

“Yes!” Both girls jumped off the bed and raced for the bathroom.

“Can you make space buns look elegant?” I asked as Winnie used the comb to part my hair down the center.

“I’ll do my best.” Her tone was not terribly reassuring.

Fifteen minutes later, I had two buns perched on my head like Mickey Mouse ears. There were a lot of pieces hanging out, but Hallie said that was okay. Space buns didn’t have to be perfect. Winnie had even managed to trim my bangs so they looked slightly less maniacal.

“Thank you so much,” I said.

“Want me to do your makeup too?” Winnie asked.

“Would you?”

“Of course! What else are fairy godmothers for?”

Hallie and Luna were like surgical nurses, bringing Winnie different bottles and compacts, brushes and palettes, standing at the ready for the next command. Highlighter. Bronzer. Mascara.

Finally, I was pronounced done.

“Well? What do you think?” I asked the girls.

Luna smiled angelically at me. “I think you’ll be the most beautiful lady at the party.”

“Me too,” Hallie said.

“Thanks.” I gave them all hugs. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Me neither,” Winnie said with a laugh. “You better get going.”

I traded the painful heels for my sneakers and wrapped them up in my shorts and T-shirt, tucking everything under my arm as I followed them downstairs. They walked outside with me, and we ran into Dex coming up the front walk.

“Dad!” Luna hopped off the porch and ran up to him. “Look at Felicity!”

“Hey, Felicity,” he said.

“Hi, Dex.”

Luna yanked his shirt. “Doesn’t she look pretty? She’s going to a party.”

Dex smiled dutifully at me. “Very pretty.”

“But that’s not the complete outfit,” Hallie was quick to explain. “She’s not going to wear those shoes, and she definitely needs a push-up bra for the dress, but we helped do her hair.”

Dex’s face turned crimson as Winnie reached around Hallie and put a hand over her mouth. “Bye, Felicity. Have fun.”

“I’ll try,” I said, laughing as I headed for my car.

“Just be yourself!” my sister shouted.

That probably worked all the time for someone like Winnie, I thought on the drive home. Being herself. Everyone loved Winnie. She was sweet and pretty and charming. She could talk to anyone, always knew what to say, and her nerves never showed.

I wondered what that was like.

Back at home, I dug through my underwear drawer and fished out the most padded bra I owned. I’d bought it on a whim but had never had the nerve to wear it—it felt like false advertising.

But I put it on beneath the sundress, and poof—my B cup breasts did suddenly resemble water balloons. Not big ones or anything, but there was a definite bulge happening above the neckline. Excited, I put some lipstick on and studied my reflection. Not bad. Actually, I thought I looked pretty good. The awful haircut wasn’t obvious, Winnie had done something with my makeup that made my brown eyes look wide and luminous, and I had at least two curves.

I wished Hutton could see me.

“It’s going to be fine,” I told the girl in the mirror. “You have come a long way, even if you don’t feel it. And there’s nothing wrong with being a work in progress.”

Happy with the way the girl smiled back at me, I rushed out of my room and raced down the stairs. Maybe that girl in the mirror wasn’t Mimi Pepper-Peabody or a Lithuanian supermodel, maybe she wasn’t even very elegant in her glasses and space buns, but she could get through tonight with her head held high.

She forgot the bag with the heels in it, so she’d have to get through it in sneakers, but really, she was more comfortable in sneakers anyway. She would be herself, and everything would be fine.

Of course, that was before the vodka.

I’m not quite sure how it happened.

I was only going to have a few sips of a cocktail to steady my nerves, which had seemed solid enough on the drive over, but had grown more shaky as the clock ticked closer to seven.

Really, it was Mimi Pepper-Peabody’s fault. She strolled over with a clipboard as I was setting out my appetizers on a table, looking like Reunion Organizer Barbie with her long, shiny, blond waves, her strapless little black dress, and her black patent leather heels with the bright red bottoms. “Hi there,” she said with a megawatt smile that lacked an ounce of genuine warmth. “I’m Mimi Pepper-Peabody, soon to be Mimi Van Pelt.” She held out her hand so I could admire the diamond engagement ring twinkling on her finger. “I’m getting married.”

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thank you.” The smile stayed plastered on her lips. “And you are?”

“I’m Felicity MacAllister,” I said, glancing down at the name tag I wore. “We spoke on the phone? I’m the Veggie Vixen.”

Mimi looked confused for a moment, then burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, I thought you were one of the students I hired to help set up. You look so young with your hair in those things—what do you call them?”

“Space buns,” I said, touching one of them self-consciously.

“Space buns, yes. My little cousin likes to wear her hair like that. Of course, she’s eight.” More condescending laughter as she patted my sleeve. “But don’t worry, it’s cute for you.”

I glanced at her long, French-manicured nails and hid my hands behind my back. My cuticles were horrible. “Thanks.”

“But you should tell your stylist not to cut your bangs so short. They look a little silly.”

I bit my bottom lip.

Mimi snapped her fingers. “I remember you now—you used to get those awful bloody noses in the middle of class! Do you still get them?”

“Sometimes.”

She shuddered. “How embarrassing. Hope that doesn’t happen tonight.”

“Would you like to try an appetizer?” I picked up a platter of zucchini fritters and restrained myself from throwing it at her.

“No, thanks. So you’re in food service now?”

“Catering, yes. And a food blogger.” I gritted my teeth and asked the polite question. “How about you?”

She tossed her hair. “I’m a lifestyle blogger and influencer. How many followers do you have?”

“I just hit two thousand.”

Her smile was superior. “I have three thousand, four-hundred-eighteen. I’m growing really fast.”

“Oh . . . that’s cool.”

“Let me know if you need any tips on building a following. Good to see you, Felicity—you haven’t changed a bit.” She strolled away, leaving the overpowering scent of her perfume behind.

I was still angry when people started arriving a few minutes later—at Mimi for being just as terrible and beautiful as she’d ever been, at myself for letting her make me feel small, at Winnie for talking me into space buns, and even at Hutton for refusing to come with me tonight. Needing something to take the edge off my mood, I marched over to the bar and asked for a vodka soda with lime.

“Make it a double,” I told the bartender. “And easy on the soda.”

“You’re twenty-one, right?” He looked warily at my space buns before glancing at my chest.

“I’m twenty-eight,” I snapped. “Do you want to see my ID?”

“All good.” He grabbed a glass and plunked some ice in it. “Just checking.”

I took the drink back to my table and sucked down the whole thing in a matter of minutes. So I was a little buzzed by the time Mimi came around again, this time followed by a couple of her old friends from the cheerleading squad. Carrie was brunette and Ella was strawberry blond, but both wore their hair styled exactly like Mimi’s.

I smiled at them and said hello, pleased when they added some of my appetizers to their plates.

“Mmm, crostini,” said Carrie. She was wearing a black dress very similar to Mimi’s, but one-shouldered. “What’s on this?”

“Goat cheese, dates, walnuts, fresh thyme, and a little honey,” I said, thrilled she hadn’t called them cheese toasts. “And those over there are watermelon, basil, and feta.”

“Oooh,” said Ella, who also wore a short, fitted dress in black. They looked like an army. Or a row of backup singers. “I’ll try that watermelon one for sure. And what are those?”

“Zucchini fritters. Everything is vegetarian, and all the produce is local,” I said with pride.

“This is so good,” said Carrie, licking her fingers after polishing off a goat cheese crostini. “Mimi, you should try this.”

“I don’t eat bread or dairy.” Mimi looked longingly at the appetizers on her friends’ plates. She put a hand on her tummy. “The bloat, you know?”

“Live a little.” Ella laughed. “One crostini isn’t going to bloat you.”

I thought for sure Mimi was going to protest, but she shocked me by reaching for a watermelon, basil, and feta crostini and shoving the entire thing in her mouth so fast, it was as if she was hoping no one would notice. Her eyes closed as she chewed and swallowed. “Wow. That is good.” She eyeballed the rest of them on the tray. “How many calories are in them?”

“I’m not sure exactly,” I said. “But the bread is sliced very thin, and compared to other cheeses, feta is very low in calories and?—”

“Maybe just one more.” Mimi plucked another one from the tray and gobbled it up.

Carrie laughed. “Told you they were delicious.”

“They’re pretty good,” Mimi admitted. After stuffing a third and fourth crostini—goat cheese and date—and then several zucchini fritters into her mouth, Mimi picked up a business card. “The Veggie Vixen. But there’s nothing very vixenish about you, is there?”

I rattled the ice cubes in my glass and tipped it up again, hoping for a few more drops of vodka.

“Do you cater weddings, Felicity? Mimi is engaged,” Ella told me.

“I heard.” I made myself smile at Mimi. “And yes, I do. And I’d love to talk about your wedding. I have plenty of dishes without gluten or dairy.”

Mimi put the card back on the table. “Oh, Thornton would probably revolt if I planned anything vegetarian,” she said with a condescending laugh. “He’s such a man’s man. You know how those millionaires are, with their hunting cabins and big game safaris. Such carnivores.”

Her friends murmured their agreement, as if they were all engaged to carnivorous millionaires.

“But maybe some cute little things for one of my showers. I’m using Dearly Beloved to plan everything. Are you on that app?” Mimi set her wine glass down, and I watched in horror as she dug her phone from her purse. “I’ll make sure I’m following you.”

“Following me?” I squeaked.

“Yes. On Dearly Beloved.” She snapped her fingers twice. “Keep up.”

Suddenly there was nothing I wouldn’t have said to keep Mimi from looking at that shitty one-star review on Dearly Beloved.

“I’m engaged too,” I blurted.

Mimi looked up at me in surprise, fingers poised over the screen. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“To who?”

“To a hot billionaire.”

Mimi’s jaw dropped. “ You’re engaged to a hot billionaire?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Hutton French.” The name popped from my lips before I could think.

“Hutton French?” The trio echoed with identical intonation. They exchanged surprised glances.

“The one from our graduating class who was dating Zlatka?” Carrie asked.

“They broke up,” I said quickly.

“So where’s your ring?” Mimi arched a brow and gestured toward my left hand.

I thought fast. “It’s being sized. It’s at the jeweler’s.”

“Hard to believe that guy from high school is now a famous billionaire,” said Ella. “He was so...”

If she said weird , I was going to throw a fritter at her.

“Quiet,” she finished. “And shy.”

“But smart,” I said. “He’s brilliant.”

“And gorgeous.” Ella giggled, her cheeks turning pink. “Like, I see his photos now, and I’m like, damn, why didn’t you look this good back in high school?”

“He did,” I told her, setting my empty glass on the tray of a passing server collecting them.

“I heard he was back in town,” said Carrie. “My nana saw him at the park.”

“So where is he now?” Mimi demanded, looking around. “Why isn’t he here?”

I wrung my hands. “He’s very busy with work.”

“What exactly does he do?” Ella asked. “I’ve read the articles about him and all, but I’m embarrassed to say I have no idea what cryptocurrency is.”

“It’s complicated.” I glanced toward the bar, dying to excuse myself and get another drink.

“It’s too bad he couldn’t be here tonight,” Mimi said with a suspicious look in her eye. “You’d think he’d want to support your little business venture and all.”

“He’s very supportive,” I said. Which would have been fine, except that I added, “He’s coming later.”

Mimi smiled like she still didn’t believe me. “How nice. I can’t wait to congratulate you both in person.”

Shit! Now what was I going to do?

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go call him and see if he’s on his way. Nice chatting with you.” Grabbing my purse, I turned and walked away from them. As soon as I was out of the room, the sneakers came in handy, because I bolted to the end of the hall and ducked into the coat closet. Since it was summer, it was dark and empty—I slammed the door behind me and leaned back against it, breathing hard.

I had to think. Should I call him? He might have his phone off. I could text him, but it would be hard to explain myself in a text. And I wasn’t sure he’d view the situation with the same urgency I did. Could I pretend I was having a bloody nose and beg him for a ride to the ER? He’d show up, but he might be mad when he got here and there was no blood. Could I give myself a bloody nose? I briefly considered punching myself in the face.

Then I sank to the floor and sat cross-legged, my phone in my lap, the tips of my thumbs between my teeth.

Curse my big mouth!

Every time I got nervous, I spewed something weird or shocking. And just like stress-cutting my hair, it often got me into trouble. Or ruined what could have been a nice moment.

Like my first kiss.

If I closed my eyes, I could still smell the public library study room and picture the table where we’d been sitting. Our AP calc exam was the following morning, and Hutton and I were seated next to each other, working through the study guide.

We’d already been to prom together, and there were only a few days of school left. Once exams were over, all we had left was the graduation ceremony to get through. Lately I’d been a little panicked at the thought of losing him—the one true friend I had.

I kept looking over at him, and my stomach was doing this weird flippy thing. I liked the way his dark blond hair was messy and tousled in the front. He sometimes played with it while he worked. He was so intense when he studied, his blue eyes laser-focused on the page. He had a long, straight nose, nice ears, and when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed. Sometimes he moved his jaw to one side or another when he was concentrating, and his lips would part. I’d never kissed a boy and wondered what kissing Hutton would feel like.

Absently, I rubbed my pencil eraser over my lower lip while I stared at Hutton’s mouth.

He looked over at me. “What?”

I sat up straight and put both hands on the table, pencil down. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were staring at me.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was staring into space. And thinking.”

“About what?”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” My stomach lurched.

Hutton’s cheeks flushed and he dropped his eyes to his notebook. “No.”

“Me neither.” I picked up my pencil again and doodled in the margin.

“Have you ever wanted to?”

He went completely still. “Wanted to what?”

“Kiss someone.”

He looked at me. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Have you?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

Bob. “Me too.”

Suddenly I was aware of how close we were sitting. And how no one else was in the study room with us.

He leaned forward a little. His eyes were on my mouth.

I thought he was going to do it. I was positive he was going to do it. I wanted him to do it. But then I panicked—how did you kiss a boy?

Like, where did your noses go? What did you do with your tongue? Were my glasses going to be in the way? Was my breath okay? How long were you supposed to keep your lips together? Should I move them or keep them still? Dammit, I was chewing gum! Should I swallow it? And what did this mean that I wanted Hutton to kiss me? Was I in love with him? If he kissed me, were we more than friends? What did he really think of me? My heart was pounding and I was sweating profusely and the seconds were ticking by, I could hear them on that old clock on the wall—tick, tick, tick—and he still didn’t make a move, and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I shot words into the silence like bullets.

“My mother didn’t want me.”

Hutton sat back and blinked. “Huh?”

“My mother didn’t want me. My real mom.”

“The one that left?”

I nodded, my heart still pumping with fear.

“How do you know?”

“I heard her say it one night when I was about six.”

He looked uncomfortable, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck.”

“She left about three weeks later. And she never came back.” So it must have been true , I left unspoken.

Hutton didn’t say anything. His eyes dropped to his lap.

“God, what am I doing ?” I put my pencil down and covered my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I’m sorry.” My entire body burned with embarrassment. “I have no idea why I just dumped that on you.”

“It’s okay.”

Picking up my pencil again, I stared at my page of problems and pretended the numbers weren’t blurry.

After a moment, Hutton went back to his calc problems too—or at least I thought he did. But about five minutes later, he ripped a page out of his notebook, folded it in half, and slid it toward me.

I glanced at him. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

I unfolded the page and laughed when I saw a message written out in pigpen cipher text. “You wrote me a note I have to decode?”

“You remember how?”

“I think so.” It took me a minute to recall the grid symbolizing the pigpen’s geometric substitution of the alphabet. But a few minutes later, I had it.

“I have been and always shall be your friend,” I read out loud, my throat constricting as I reached the last word.

“It’s from Star Trek.”

“I know,” I said, slightly insulted. But I was really touched. “Thank you. That means a lot.” I blinked away tears once more.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I think—I think graduation is messing with me. And maybe the fact that we’re going separate ways in the fall. You’ve sort of been the best friend I’ve ever had.” I gave him a tentative smile. “What am I going to do without you?”

“No matter where I am, I’ll always be there when you need me.”

“I’ll use the code like a bat signal,” I said. “Then you’ll know it’s really me.”

He laughed. “I’ll do the same.”

“And let’s make a deal—we can’t ignore the code, okay? If one of us uses it to reach out, we drop everything and come to the rescue.”

“Deal.”

And just like that, my problem was solved.