Chapter 16 Amanda

Chapter 16

Amanda

Dane was going to kiss me.

He was going to kiss me, not for show, and I was going to let him.

Until I got cold feet.

I’m impulsive. I live for fun. Exciting unplanned adventures are my favorite.

But I absolutely cannot lead Dane on and make him an unplanned adventure , no matter how much I like him.

So the next morning, when he says he needs to catch up on some work at a coffee shop— outside of Tinsel—I take advantage of the empty house and call Yazmin, my roommate back in New York.

And with four days left until Dane and I are supposed to be having a wedding, I finally fill her fully in on everything .

Grandma wanting me to join Mom at the Gingerbread House with the intention of taking it over in a few years when Mom retires too.

Me saying I was engaged to Dane to get disinherited.

That not working, exactly, but now we’re in this together while we try to get our families to realize the other isn’t the enemy while we find an alternative solution for the bakery so Grandma can retire, or at least so Mom can get other help at the bakery that isn’t me.

Me liking him.

Thinking that maybe he likes me too.

Yazmin squeals a lot.

“This isn’t squealy,” I protest. “This relationship can’t go anywhere. I don’t do relationships.”

“Amanda. You do relationships. You do relationships when they’re worth it. Which isn’t often because your standards are so high, which is a good thing. So if this guy is meeting your standards—”

“He lives in San Francisco.”

“There are dogs in San Francisco.”

“My play—”

“There are community theaters in San Francisco that would love to do an Amanda Anderson original play.”

“ You are not in San Francisco.”

“ I might be your best friend, but I am not your soulmate.”

Yazmin can occasionally be annoying.

This is one of those times.

“Tell me the heat wave here is frying my brain,” I say.

“A guy pretending to be your fiancé so that you can end your family’s long-standing stupid feud is swoon no matter the outside temperature.”

“Maybe I told you the story wrong.”

“When’s your wedding?”

“We’re not getting married.”

“Your fake wedding.”

I look at my engagement ring and brace myself against the tsunami of guilt that comes with the lies we’re telling everyone. “Monday. Four days. But it’s not happening .”

“How are you going to break the news to everyone?”

“We’re still discussing exact details, but we’ll basically say spending time together made us realize we’re better off as friends and not as romantically attracted to each other as we thought.”

“You’re in over even your own head.”

She’s not wrong.

“And how’s this helping get you out of bakery duty?”

I sigh. “It was supposed to get me disinherited so that they’d find another solution on their own. Instead, Grandma’s insisting that I learn everything I need to know for when Dane and I break up.”

“Which you’re doing by Monday ...”

“And when I’ll be too sad at the idea of watching our families start fighting even worse and have to leave town ... and get fully cut off for being such a major disappointment.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Yazmin murmurs. “I hate that they’re putting you in this position.”

“It’ll be okay. It has to be okay. We’re doing everything we can to leave town better than we found it, you know?”

“None of them deserve you.”

A call from my mom beeps in, so on that note, I let Yazmin go and switch over.

Mom’s ready for wedding dress shopping.

Time to let more people spend more money on a wedding that will ultimately be canceled. Maybe I can follow Dane’s lead and find a way to auction the dress for charity.

I meet Mom at Mrs. Claus’s Runway. It’s a quaint, holiday-themed boutique formal dress shop, attached to Mrs. Claus’s Attic, which is where most locals go for all their ugly and chic holiday sweaters and one-piece fleece holiday pajama needs. Mrs. Briggs, wife of Mr. Briggs, who taught English at the high school, still owns and runs both.

“Oh, my dear, I am so excited for you,” Mrs. Briggs squeals when we arrive. With the wire-rimmed glasses, curly white hair, and classy red Christmas sweater featuring a quilted reindeer, she looks every bit the part of Mrs. Claus. She often plays it when the community theater has a need. “For all of us. An Anderson marrying a Silver! We never thought we’d see the day, but I love that your love is healing old wounds.”

“Dane and I have been talking,” I say as she leads us past rows of sparkly green, gold, black, and red gowns toward the bridal section in the back. “We realized we have no idea why our families fight. Do either of you know?”

I have homework, and I’m not letting Dane down.

Not this time.

“The fruitcake house was before my time, but I know your grandmother says that was just one more thing they’d done,” Mom offers.

It’s good to have her coming around. “But what other things did they do?” I ask.

“Your grandma has never elaborated. She’s always said I don’t want to know.”

Mrs. Briggs shakes her head. “It’s a mystery to the rest of us how it started. All I know is that my mom told me to never get involved in a fight between your families, and my dad was glad I was too young to date either of your grandfathers and too old for either of your fathers too.”

That actually cracks me up. “Guess I get to be the one to suffer instead,” I joke.

“No, dear, you’re going to live your happily ever after forever. Have you and Dane decided where you’ll live once you get married?”

“I can walk dogs from anywhere,” I answer, not looking at my mom, who quietly sighs like she doesn’t want to get caught sighing.

I want to believe that if I told her I’d been writing plays and my local theater was doing one and I wanted to be there for it, that she’d understand, but after the way I walked away from an acting career, I don’t want to share until it’s been a success.

I want to prove that I can see this through and that it’s the right path for me.

Mrs. Briggs lifts a brow. “Not much need in Tinsel.”

I’ve never wanted to squirm more in my life. “I can’t decide if I want to go with a white or ivory dress, or if I want to go full Tinsel and do something holiday themed,” I say. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re gonna be limited to what fits you on the racks because my seamstress is out on maternity leave.”

All of us laugh at that. “Fair enough,” I say.

The bells jingle, and a familiar voice calls a quick “Hello? Can we join you? We brought homemade tea cookies as a wedding-dress-party-crashing offering.”

Lorelei.

And Esme too.

Both of them.

I texted Lorelei that we were dress shopping and asked if she could make it, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the ornament shop.

Having her and Esme show up?

I think this is good.

I hope this is good.

I slide a glance at Mom. One of her eyes twitches, but she quickly turns it into a smile. “If that’s what Amanda wants.”

Progress.

This is progress.

I beckon them back. “Come join us. We were just talking about how silly it is that no one knows why our families fight.”

Esme rolls her eyes. “Whatever the real reason, I doubt it’s because of why Grandpa says it is.”

“Wait, Grandpa’s told you something?” Lorelei asks. “What did he tell you?”

“That when the Andersons were building the Gingerbread House, like the building itself, they knew Great-Grandpa was getting ready to open a fruitcake shop, and so all of the construction lining under the stucco had fruitcake sucks written all over it to taunt him.”

“Would our great-grandpas have used the word sucks ?” I ask.

“No,” Esme and my mom answer in unison.

They share a look.

And then hesitant smiles.

Lorelei meets my gaze, and I can see the smile she’s hiding while my own eyes get hot.

More progress.

“Aww, don’t cry.” Lorelei smushes me in a hug.

“I’m just so happy,” I reply honestly against her shoulder.

I still feel bad about lying. But it’s working. And I am happy that it’s working.

“Well, let’s make you happier with a wedding dress,” Mrs. Briggs says. “This one’s on the house. Seeing a Silver marry an Anderson ... knowing I might never again have to intervene in a fight about whose car is blocking whose in at a committee meeting ... that just makes my whole life.”

“Mrs. Briggs, I cannot—”

She interrupts me with a dismissive noise and moves to the racks, where she starts pulling dresses out. “Yes, you can. Come, come. I want to see you in this dress. And this one too.”

Before I know it, I’m buried under a pile of gowns in my size. Some are pure white. Some are white with green-and-red trim. One’s a true red velvet Mrs. Claus dress, which would be brutal in this heat.

Mrs. Briggs ushers me into the changing room in back after setting Mom, Lorelei, and Esme up with champagne and Lorelei’s tea cookies in the viewing area.

And I try on dresses.

And more dresses.

And more dresses .

This one’s too frilly. That one doesn’t fit right. This other one is too simple.

I feel like a picky asshole.

But more—it’s not my opinion. Not mostly. It’s Mom agreeing with Lorelei about that dress being just not you . Or Mom agreeing with Esme that this dress will be too much to handle for bathroom breaks during your wedding .

And then it’s Mom discovering that she and Lorelei both have a love of the fried shrimp balls that were taken off the menu at Elf’s Landing for being unpopular. Or that she and Esme share a love of punny jokes.

Dane and I didn’t explicitly discuss what “let’s end the feud” would look like—we both agreed it’ll be complex but we’ll recognize progress when we see it. Wrangling more people from each of our families to get along is pretty awesome from where I’m standing.

Definitely progress.

Mrs. Briggs is huffing and puffing by the time she gets back to the dressing room with what she’s declared to be the final gown in my size in the entire store.

“So I guess this one’s it no matter what,” I joke.

But once I get it on—no.

No, it’s no joke.

I’ve watched that wedding dress show on occasion with Yazmin. I know what’s happening right now.

And what’s happening is me staring at myself in the mirror, wearing the wedding dress of my absolute dreams.

It’s cream-colored satin with a V-neck and thick lace straps. Pearls are woven into a cascade across the midsection, mixed with red and green gems like I’m wearing a physical representation of a meteor shower in Christmas colors.

Or like I was trying to match my engagement ring.

When I shift, the skirt swishes and sparkles like the real snow in winter in Tinsel. My engagement ring sparkles with it.

My eyes well with tears.

This is it.

And it’s all fake.

I suck in a deep breath and blink back my reaction, but Mrs. Briggs is beaming at me.

She knows.

She saw it.

“Let’s see if we’ve finally found you a dress, yes?” she says, opening the dressing room door so that I can step out into the viewing area.

Mom gasps.

Lorelei squeals.

Esme chokes on the champagne she’s sipping.

“Oh my god, that’s the one,” Lorelei says while she pounds Esme on the back.

Esme gives me a thumbs-up while she coughs. Could be agreement. Could be an I’m okay .

And Mom dives for the box of tissues. “Oh, Amanda. I wish your father could see you right now.”

“Aww, Mrs. A.,” Lorelei says, and then she’s hugging Mom while all of us start bawling.

Lorelei.

Hugging my mom.

My mom letting her.

This is working.

“I need my phone,” I whisper to Mrs. Briggs. “Dane needs to see this.”

She hustles into the changing room and comes out with my phone, and I snap a pic of Lorelei hugging Mom and Esme joining them for an even bigger group hug, then send it to Dane quickly before I, too, leap into the hugging fun.

Or try to.

“Don’t get tears on the dress!” Esme shrieks.

“Or champagne or cookie crumbs!” my mom agrees.

“My brother is going to flipping flip when he sees you like this,” Lorelei says, and then we all burst into sobs again.

That’s the sign, right?

The crying?

It’s a good sign.

Or it would be.

If this were real.