The Bridesmaid (11 page)

“Great,” Carol said. “That would be a huge help.”

Abby smiled. List keeping was simple and straightforward and sounded much more like a traditional maid of honor duty than the bridal gown torture of that afternoon. Maybe Carol hadn’t completely gone over the edge.

“Good. So . . . what’s in there?” she asked, looking warily at the box on her bed.

“Oh! I narrowed it down to one of these ten bottles of bubbles,” Carol said, picking up the box and holding it out to Abby. “Could you test all of them and let me know which ones bubble the best? That’d be great.”

Abby looked down at the box of little plastic bottles. “Which ones—”

“Make the best bubbles, you know,” Carol said, lifting one shoulder. “It all varies based on the bubble formula and the size of the wand. I mean, what’s the point of ordering bubbles if they’re just going to pop the second you blow on them, right? I need to order them tomorrow, so let me know. Thanks, Ab!”

Carol twirled out of the room with a grin, closing the door behind her. Abby stared after her for a moment, totally baffled. Just when she thought her sister was on the rational train, she took a detour right into Cuckooville.

Abby stalked over to her closet and chucked the whole box in on top of her sneakers and shoes, then slammed the door and slapped her hands together with satisfaction.

Abby: 1
Bubbles: 0

“The invitation is a first impression for your wedding,” Abby’s father said sagely. “It tells your guests what kind of party to expect the moment they open the envelope. It’s one of the most important elements.”

Carol, Abby and Tucker sat on a hard bench on one side of a huge table, looking up at him with big, blank stares. The stationery store’s main table was covered with hulking binders, each one packed with invitation examples ranging from the elegant to the kitschy to the just plain corny.

“You have an important decision to make here today, you two,” he said, his brow furrows deepening as he looked from Carol to Tucker. “Make no mistake about it.”

“He couldn’t be barbecue-obsessed like other dads,” Abby said under her breath when her father turned away to request a specific sample book. “No. Our dad has to have adamant views on card stock and vellum finishes.”

Carol snorted a laugh and she and Abby shared a smile.

“Yeah, our dads are definitely different breeds,” Tucker put in. “Clint Robb would probably break out in hives if he even walked into this place.”

Carol slipped her arm through Tucker’s and gave him a squeeze. Abby swallowed hard. Whenever Abby was around Tucker her stomach started hurting and she started obsessing about the conversation she had overheard. What was she supposed to do? Abby’s uncertainty only irritated her and that irritation, coupled with her ire toward Tucker, conspired to make her entirely miserable, angry, guilty and anxious whenever he was in the room. But she couldn’t
look
upset or Carol would get upset. And Abby didn’t want to make Carol any crazier than she already was until she was sure there was something Carol needed to be crazy about. It was all so complicated it made Abby’s upcoming U.S. Government final look like a cake-walk.

“Take a look at these,” Abby’s father said, placing a large red book in front of them. “This is my favorite designer. Her stuff is really original.”

Carol opened the book as their dad hovered over her with an expectant smile. The first invitation was square with a pink-and-white-striped border and a white card in the center that held all the wedding information. The flap of the envelope was striped as well and the RSVP card was circular and looked like a peppermint candy.

“These are wedding invitations?” Tucker asked. “They’re so cool.”

Carol flipped the page. The next invite was a sunflower theme, just as over-the-top with the invite cut out along the edges in the shape of petals. As Carol continued to flip, Abby’s heart continued to sink. There were starfish, sailboats, flip-flops, hearts, top hats, and champagne glasses. The invitations were adorable—if you liked that kind of thing.

Tucker did. “Oh, sweet! A cowboy boot!” he said excitedly.

“I knew you’d like them,” Abby’s father said, beaming.

“Can we get the cowboy boot? How cool is that?” Tucker asked, looking at Carol with a childlike hope in his eyes. Suddenly Abby was able to picture exactly how Tucker looked at age five. Abby couldn’t believe he was suggesting to Carol that they use cowboy boot invitations for their wedding. Didn’t he know her sister at all?

Maybe
Melissa
would be down with cutesy invites,
Abby thought.
But not Carol.

“Tucker, I let you have those Save the Date cards . . . ,” Carol began.

“I thought you liked those,” Tucker said.

“I did. They were cute. But this is the actual invitation,” Carol said patiently. “We’re not having a kid’s birthday party. We’re having a wedding.”

“You want something more sophisticated. I get it,” Tucker said, nodding. “Okay.”

“Wait a minute,” Abby’s dad said. “A wedding invitation doesn’t have to be—”

“Actually, Dad, I kind of already found one I like,” Carol interrupted, handing the big red book over to Abby. Carol pulled another book over to her—a standard gray one—and flipped to a page toward the back. “See?” she said, tilting the book up.

Her father put on his glasses and bent over the page. The invitation was ivory-colored and square with a single satin ribbon tied in a small and tasteful bow at the top. The wording was printed in a simple, classic font in the center and all the other pieces were just as plain and elegant.

Abby was not surprised. Carol had picked an invitation that was very her.

“I like it,” Tucker said.

“It’s kind of boring, isn’t it?” her father asked, standing up straight.

“No,” Carol said, looking down at the book. “I think it’s pretty.”

The front door opened and Abby’s mother walked in, all flustered. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I just spent two hours at the synagogue trying to get Rabbi Schaer to co-officiate the Wentworth–Schwartz wedding and that man can really talk.” She paused for breath. “Did you pick something already?” She sounded disappointed.

Carol turned the book toward her mother with a hopeful smile and Abby crossed her fingers. But her mom glanced down at Carol’s selection and made a dubious face. “Square, Carol? Really?”

Carol sighed. “What’s wrong with square?”

“I was thinking something more traditional,” her mother said. “You know, a four-by-six card.” She reached out, grabbed a book and opened it right to a page with seriously boring, white, oblong cards.

“Oh, Phoebe, come on,” Abby’s father scoffed.

Here we go,
Abby thought.

Her mother rolled her eyes. “I suppose you want her to get something shaped like a martini glass or a high heel.”

“If that’s what she wants,” her father said.

Carol attempted to interject. “Actually I—”

“Oh for goodness’ sake. That’s not what Carol wants!” her mother said, her voice rising. “Do you want our daughter’s wedding to look like a carnival?”

“Do you want our daughter’s wedding to look like a funeral?” her father shot back. “Actually, it may as well be a funeral with your boring relatives showing up.”

Abby’s mother slapped the book of invites closed. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about
my
family using the chandeliers as swings!”

Abby’s father turned purple. “That happened
one
time,” he said, lifting a finger. “And you were the one who ordered the good scotch.”

“Like it really mattered to those lushes?”

“Um . . . you guys?” Abby said, glancing around at the dozen or so people who were staring at them, slack-jawed.

“Not now, Abby,” they said in unison.

Abby’s heart thumped and she glanced at Carol, who stood up and tried to intervene.

“This does not look good,” Tucker said as Carol ushered her parents to the front of the store.

Ugh! He’s going to try to bond with me again, isn’t he?
Abby thought.

“Maybe you should go help her,” Abby suggested.

“Good point,” Tucker said.

“Yes! Go! Your bride needs you,” Abby replied, shooing him away.

Left alone at the table while her family argued, Abby felt more than a little conspicuous. She got up slowly and moved off, pretending to be interested in the guest books that were lined up on glass shelves near the wall.

“They’re a little stressed out about the wedding,” Abby said to a mother-and-daughter pair near the back of the store who were gaping at her family. The mother sniffed, like she was so superior, and returned to filling out an order form. The daughter, however, leaned toward Abby and spoke through her teeth.

“For my parents, it was the uneven number of ushers to bridesmaids,” she said quietly. “That’s what made
them
snap.”

Abby nodded. Then she found her way to a chair in the corner and sat down to wait out the power struggle. She had a feeling this could take a while. A little kid next to her swung his legs while working diligently away at a Game Boy. Smart kid. At least he’d come prepared.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done?” Abby asked.

Carol Marie Beaumont

Possible Invitation Wordings

Mr. and Mrs. David Beaumont
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Carol Marie
To
Tucker Clint Robb
Saturday, August first

If Tucker wants his parents mentioned . . .

Mr. and Mrs. David Beaumont
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Carol Marie
To
Tucker Clint Robb
Son of
Mr. Clint Robb and Ms. Mary McKee
Saturday, August first

But if his stepmom needs to be mentioned . . . .

Mr. and Mrs. David Beaumont
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Carol Marie
To
Tucker Clint Robb
Son of
Mr. and Mrs. Clint Robb
and
Ms. Mary McKee
Saturday, August first

But he’s not technically his stepmom’s son and his mother
would probably freak if the stepmom was mentioned before
her, so . . .

Mr. and Mrs. David Beaumont
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Carol Marie
To
Tucker Clint Robb
Son of
Mr. Clint Robb and Ms. Mary McKee
And stepson of
Ms. Sharon Robb
Saturday, August first

Okay, that’s just TOO MUCH INFORMATION!!!

How about this?

Carol and Tucker are getting married.
Come see.
Saturday, August 1st

Abby pulled into the driveway and was psyched to see Tessa Leone’s black VW Bug parked next to her mom’s Avalon. It was the next day and Abby was supposed to be meeting with Tessa and Missy Marx, Carol’s two best friends from Harvard, to talk about the bridal shower. Normally such a task would send Abby into dry-heave territory, but Tessa was totally cool. She was a student athlete on the Harvard volleyball team and, unlike some of Carol’s other friends, she never talked down to Abby, never made her feel inferior. If there was anyone who was going to be with Abby on the whole Carol-is-jumping-the-gun thing, it was Tessa. Maybe she had even shown up early to talk Carol out of it! Then Abby wouldn’t have to tell Carol about Tucker’s possible indiscretions. And Abby’s parents would stop being crazy. And her room would start looking like her room again. And Tucker would go on back to Colorado. And everything would be just fine!

One could dream.

Abby slammed the door of the van and raced right upstairs. She could hear voices coming from Carol’s room so she barreled right in. What she saw in front of her nearly made her keep going—straight through the room and out the window.

Carol sat on her bed grinning up at Tessa and Missy, who were standing in the center of the room wearing the most awful dresses Abby had ever seen. They were blue-and-white shimmering plaid and strapless, with blue ribbons around the waists. The girls looked as if they had just stepped off the set of
Grease.
A weird version where everyone’s clothes were supershiny.

“Abby!” Tessa cried, grabbing her into a hug. Abby just stood there, arms down at her sides. Then Tessa pulled back and struck a pose, pulling her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Well? What do you think?”

Missy executed a twirl. “I love the way they spin!”

“What are they?” Abby asked. Maybe Missy and Tessa
were
doing
Grease.

“They’re our bridesmaids’ dresses,” Tessa said. “Missy found out that this place in Boston was having a secret sale so we went over there this morning and they actually had one in each of our sizes.” She went to the closet and pulled out yet another offensive frock, holding it out to Abby. “You’re an eight, right?”

Abby’s heart dropped. This was wrong on so many levels. Not only had Carol promised her that she would get to pick out her own dress, but wasn’t Abby the sister here? The true best friend? The maid of honor? The other bridesmaids weren’t supposed to go around picking out dresses without her, were they?

“Carol, what’s going on?” Abby asked.

“Don’t freak out,” Carol said, standing. “They didn’t even tell me they were doing this.”

Missy’s brow creased. “Yeah, but this is the dress you wanted, right, Carol?” she asked. “The iridescent plaid in sky. That’s what you told us on the phone last week.”

“Oh, God. Did we get the wrong thing?” Tessa asked.

Abby felt like a furnace was about to explode inside her head. Carol was in on this travesty? “You decided on bridesmaids’ dresses without me? You went behind my back and told
them
what we were all going to be wearing?” she demanded. “Carol, how could you do this?”